#timeskip osamu miya x reader

[capricornlevi]

Atsumu: you’ll be fine samu, ya big baby Atsumu: she’ll say yes obviously  Atsumu: just don’t fuck up the speech 

Osamu reads the last text over and over again until the words are nearly burnt into his retinas.

Oh, shit. 

Oh shit shit shit, Osamu hadn’t even considered the speech. He hadn’t so much as made a rough draft. 

That’s one way to ensure his composure gets completely and utterly shot to hell: a reminder that he’s forgotten what is arguably the most important element of a proposal.

He thought he had all the bases covered – this took several months of planning, after all. He had found the perfect ring, came up with an excuse to have you out of the apartment all morning so he could prepare, subtly persuaded you to book tomorrow off work so you can celebrate properly this evening. 

He had also made sure to glare at Atsumu every time you all hung out together so as to remind him to keep his stupid mouth shut. 

Osamu had also bought roses to decorate your shared apartment – a bit cheesy for both of your tastes, but when will you have another excuse to cover every surface of your living room with some obscenely expensive flower petals? Not only that, but he had a bottle of champagne on ice as well, along with a jug of peach juice in the fridge to make those cocktails you like so much. 

And so this morning he had waved you off to brunch with your college friends with a self-satisfied smile, marvelling at how perfectly this entire thing had worked out. He’s the only Miya capable of conjuring up a semi-convincing poker face so he was certain you didn’t suspect a thing. 

It was all perfect. 

Until about thirty seconds ago, that is, when ‘Tsumu had to go and ruin fucking everything. Now Osamu feels himself spiraling towards panic, unable to identify a single articulate thought, much less the words he’ll say when he gets down on one knee. 

Another text buzzes through. The ring box suddenly feels as though it weighs a tonne, burning a hole in Osamu’s pocket. 

He checks the text with a grimace on his face. 

Atsumu: good luck to ya both. she’ll need it <3

Osamu sighs as he types up a reply. 

Osamu: thanks, dumbass

He locks his phone and sets it down on the counter. 

He had never been great with words; Atsumu was the talker, not him. Sure, his brother could be annoying as shit, but he could also spin together some well-thought-through pickup lines that guaranteed him a date every weekend throughout college. 

Osamu, on the other hand, had never really cared for eloquence. He had always made his way through life using more practical methods, relying on other things, tangible things, all of which had been instrumental in winning you over. It wasn’t with flowery language or poetry, no — he had charmed his way into your life through his genuine nature, considerate actions, and the effort he puts into your relationship. That’s what matters to him. 

But while that’s all well and good, he still has to reckon with the fact that this is a proposal, and even though you didn’t fall in love with a poet, you’re likely expecting something that expresses his feelings for you. 

That’s what’s eating away at Osamu more than anything else: it’s not that he doesn’t feel these things, because he does. God, he does. 

He finally gets all those soppy proposal speeches in the movies, those cheesy sonnets you sometimes read on the front of Valentine’s cards. Every room he’s in, he’s aware of your presence. He seeks you out when you’re not by his side. He has memorised every single detail of your face, your laugh, all your quirks and traits that he’s so achingly fond of. 

He just doesn’t know how to say it aloud, to do it justice. 

The door handle turns and Osamu’s heart leaps in his chest. 

Shit. Does he get on one knee now? Does he wait for you to come in first?

What if you say no?

The door opens and you walk through, oblivious to the romantic decor in your apartment as you shrug off your jacket to hang on the coat rack. There’s a faint smile on your face as you toss your keys on the dresser by the entryway. 

You turn around to see Osamu standing there in the centre of the living room. 

His eyes widen as if he wasn’t expecting you, and then he slowly gets down on one knee. 

As he fishes around in his pocket for something, you see his hands shake. He swallows thickly as pulls out the ring box. 

You blurt out a delighted “yes!” before a single word even leaves his mouth.

A beat of silence passes, the ‘yes’ almost reverberating around the room as both of you process the weight of it. 

Osamu’s eyes widen even further and then he barks out a laugh, loud and full of relief, his hands still trembling. 

“I didn’t even get ta say my piece,” he objects half-heartedly, the breathlessness with which he says it tells you that he wasn’t too set on giving a speech in the first place. “Don’t ya need any convincing?”

You shake your head, closing the distance between the two of you. “No convincing needed.”

The smile on his face looks like it hurts. He’s still on one knee but is far more relaxed now, shoulders having released their tension, some colour returning to his cheeks. 

“Can I at least ask ya anyway?” he points out with a shrug. “Just ta make it official, y’know?”

You’re next to him now and he takes one of your hands in his free one. The ring sparkles in the light from the room around you but you don’t notice it; not with Osamu looking at you like that, like you’re the centre of his entire universe no matter what you say or do. 

And you owe him an answer. 

“Yes, you can ask,” you whisper, delight leeching into every syllable. 

He takes in one deep breath, eyes fixed on your face now as though it’s a calming force.

“Will ya marry me?”

“Yes,” you repeat, voice clear as you can make it, before he gets to his feet and you’re wrapped in his arms. 

You already know what he was going to say in his speech — he tells it to you through his actions, and the way he looks at you. He tells it to you along every step of this life you’ve built together. 

So you thought it best to save him the trouble of saying it, and just answer the easiest question you’ve ever been asked.

“Yes.”

[4unnyr0se]

Could I ask for Akaashi, Osamu, Kenma, and Bokuto + them giving oral?

❥ til your teeth rot! | akaashi, osamu, kenma, bokuto

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader, cunnilingus (duh), praise, degrading, overstimulation, face sitting, semi-public sex, osamu's accent, kenma is v lazy, fingering

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.8k

a/n: i wrote this when i was having tummy issues so i'm sorry if its awful

got a request? my ask are open!

❥ Keiji Akaashi | Slow and steady

Akaashi eats your pussy like it’s made of glass like it could break at any moment. Every flick of his tongue, every sucking motion on your clit is calculated based on your previous reaction. Did you mewl louder when he harshly sucked on your sensitive bud? He’ll apply more pressure next time, hopefully earning another one of your adorable moans. 

Just because he was calculated to give pleasure does not mean he was inexperienced or selfish. Absolutely not. He could never dream of denying you anything you so plainly desired. All you had to was flash him those beautiful, sparking eyes of yours, and you would be on your back, legs spread, and moaning like an amateur pornstar while Akaashi made you cum for the second time that day.

He never rushes you through your orgasm, he doesn’t think that being intimate with you is some kind of game. It’s a puzzle that he simply wants to solve. His tongue is achingly slow against your folds, making the most precious moments between the two of you last longer. He is savoring each bit of your sweet nectar, and he fucking loves it. 

K-Keiji!” you sobbed, your hands flying to his neat mess of dark curls, desperate for purchase. Your legs were wrapped around his shoulders, just in case he would try to flee. Akaashi fucking loved it when you trapped him between your legs, it made him feel like the two of you were the last people on earth. “Gonna cum!”

Akaashi smiled against your folds, his tongue pausing momentarily. “I know, pretty girl. Wanna fall apart on my tongue again? I love it when you do that.” he praised, diving back to make out with your core. His tongue slipped past your entrance, the tip of the wet muscle gliding in and out with ease. His soft hands squeezed the inside of your thighs, rolling the supple and soft flesh between his fingers. 

Your head was rested on the pillow beneath you, hair growing knotted and messy whilst your thighs trembled in Akaashi’s grasp. His nose rubbed against your clit so deliciously, the additional stimulation pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm washed over you as you cried in pleasure, his name leaving your lips over and over again. Akaashi purred at the sensation of your release coating his mouth and tongue, pulling away once your high had subsided.

“Amazing job, pretty girl. You did so well for me.” he praised, wiping your slick from his chin. He leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips, lingering just long enough for you to taste your own release. “See how delicious you are, darling? So unbelievably perfect for me.”

❥ Osamu Miya | No time to lose

Osamu eats your pussy like he has somewhere to be at all times like he’s in a hurry. Being the owner of a popular rice ball spot keeps him occupied most of the time (as well as dealing with his pain-in-the-ass older brother), so when he finds a free moment to be intimate with you, he makes sure he makes himself efficient. 

Even though Osamu is the more relaxed and lazy twin, he’s never lazy in the bedroom. His usually tired and ‘over this’ attitude would melt away the second you two shared a longing kiss, his body being taken over by some kind of insatiable desire. He’s driven by his motivation to make you scream his name for the shop next to him to hear. His tongue lashes at your pussy like a man starving in the middle of a desert. 

If there’s a rare lull in customers entering and exiting his onigiri shop, he’ll change the ‘open’ sign to a ‘come back later’ sign and text you to be in the back of his shop ASAP. And, of course, you’re there in less than ten minutes, your skirt flipped up and your hands supporting your weight on the steel countertop as his tongue ravishes your cunt, drinking in your slick like honey.

“Stay fuckin’ still,” Osamu groaned into your heat, slapping the inside of your thighs. “I can’t make ya cum if yer wigglin’, sweets.” that was a lie. He was a liar. He could make you cum regardless of how much you were moving, he didn’t matter to him. But if you writhed around so much that it caused some ingredients to fall onto the floor, then it became a problem. 

“S-sorry ‘Samu! Fuck!” you moaned, your hands gripping onto the steel material of the counter for dear life as his tongue hungrily, your sweet nectar coating his tongue beautifully. It was the best alcohol he could ever wish to taste. “M’close!”

“Ya better fuckin’ be. I only got five minutes before those fuckers wonder why the shop ain’t open,” his words sent vibrations through your core, your clit painfully pulsating. The rough pad of this thumb swirled around the sensitive bud, pressing against it harshly. “Be a good girl and fuckin’ cum already, yeah? Gotta open up soon, sweets.”

Osamu finally flattened his tongue in the way that drove you over the edge, still swirling your bud with his rough thumb. “That’s it, good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, lapping up your release eagerly. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He pulled himself out from between your thighs, wiping off his chin with the backside of his hand. Osamu stood up and pecked the top of your head, playfully slapping your soaked cunt. “Get outta here, I got customers to serve.” he also had to sanitize his countertop hard. 

❥ Kenma Kozume | Suffocate him

Kenma will only eat you out if you sit on his face. Not hover, not dangle, fucking sit on it. Despite being a CEO and a popular streamer, this man is lazy as hell. Typically, you do all the work during sex. Bouncing on his cock, sucking him off, etc. But on the rare occasion Kenma wants to eat you out, you still have to pull a heavy load. He is not getting up off his ass by any means, so you might as well cooperate with him. He’s stubborn as a fucking mule.

Kenma was a selfish lover, and he didn’t want to change that. He liked being taken care of and not putting much effort into it. He’s already so successful. Why should he do more work than he already is? That’s so exhausting. But how could he refuse when his pretty girlfriend practically paws at him to help get her off? He’s lying on the bed in a minute, gesturing to you to tear off those pretty red panties and take away his ability to breathe.

“Ride my fucking face,” Kenma groans into your core, squeezing your ass with hands as your hips buck into his mouth wildly. He loved it when you got like this, so desperate and needy for his tongue. His tongue plunged into your sobbing cunt over and over again, eliciting the cutest moans from your pretty lips.

“Fuck, Kenma!” you whimpered, your hands grasping the mahogany headboard like it was the last lifeboat on board. Your ground your clit onto his nose, mewling pathetically as his tongue lashed at your most intimate parts. Kenma savored your sweet honey, adoring how it nicely coated his tongue. Maybe he should make you fit on his face more often. 

His deep brown hair stuck to his forehead, the skin slick with sweat as the tip of his tongue traced meaningless shapes on your clit, occasionally nibbling at the sensitive bud. He knew you were close. The way your entire body was shaking was a dead fucking giveaway. That, and his name practically being screamed repeatedly, was also a good sign. “Gonna cum? Do it, princess. Make a mess on me.”

And you did, your orgasm spilling all over your boyfriend’s cute face. Your writing stopped, with Kenma slapped your ass, indicating that you should get off. You sighed and chose to straddle his lap, pecking his nose gently. “Thank you, baby, that was amazing.”

“Did you think we were finished?” Kenma groaned, resting his arms behind his head. “You got me really fucking hard, princess. How about you take care of that for me, yeah?”

❥ Kotaro Bokuto | Pure addiction

Boktuo fucking loves eating you out. Whenever you mentioned that you were horny, he would drag you into his bed and plunge his face into your thighs until he got you to coat your inner thighs with your release. He could never get enough of you and how good you tasted. How you would only crave his tongue and his fingers on your most imitate parts. 

He didn’t fucking care when or where you were horny, he was more than happy to make you scream in pleasure. Whispering to him in a cafe? He locked the bathroom and had you sitting on the sick, your dress bunched up at your hips, and your stockings ripped so your soaking cunt could be displayed just for him. Woke up at two in the morning from a wet dream? No problem, he had you riding his face while he jerked his fat cock to the sounds you made. Did you also wanna suck him off? No problem, baby! You were sixty-nining until the rooster screeched. Truly, Bokuto was addicted to eating you out. 

“Why are you covering your mouth, baby? I wanna hear your moans,” Bokuto groaned into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your slick like a man gone mad. Your trembling body was pinned against the bathroom door of your favorite restaurant, your skirt pushed upwards, and your soaked panties dangled off your ankles while Bokuto whispered pure filth into your cunt. “Don't you wanna let all those people out there know how good my tongue can make you feel?”

“Ngh, we’ll get in trouble, Kotaro!” you whispered, doing your best to keep your voice at an acceptable level while your boyfriend spelled his name with your tongue, eliciting a sharp squeak in return. “F-fuck, don’t stop!”

“Yeah? You wanna cum on my face in a public bathroom, hm? God, you’re so fucking hot. How’d I get so lucky?” he purred against your clit, swirling the tip of his tongue over the throbbing bud. “You taste so fucking good, holy shit. Way better than lunch.”

His index and ring finger bullied their way inside of you, curling at the spot that made you instantly cum all over his face. He didn’t stop sucking on your folds when your orgasm hit, his fingers still scissoring deep inside of your broken cunt. Your hand slapped over your mouth, covering out your molten cries of ecstasy.

“Good fucking girl, I’m so proud of you.” Bokuto praised, licking off his tongue as he stared at your ruined state. He pulled your panties up and your dress down, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Now, do you wanna go back home and cum again, hm?

[got2sleep]

it’s already late at night when 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 walks out of the gym, his sport bag in his hand.

the droplets of water falling from his platinum blonde hair run down his face and the back of his neck. paired with the chill breeze of the night, it makes a trail of shivers run down his spine and goosebumps appear on his light skin.

god, why did he forget to bring a towel ?

he grabs his keys from the back pocket of his shorts before opening the car’s door, throwing his sport bag somewhere on the backseat while he slides down on the driver seat.

he turns his car on, a white porsche 718 spyder, hoping that his hair will dry during the ride home before driving off to your shared apartment.

the wind that blows through his blonde locks makes the pro athlete sigh in contentment, a small smile appearing on his slightly chapped lips as he drives through the busy streets of osaka, the neon lights of the stores lighting his face in various colors.

it doesn’t take him longer than twenty minutes to get to his residence, parking his convertible car in it’s usual spot.

atsumu grabs his bag’s handle and gets out of the car before locking it. he walks over to the apartment building’s entrance, opening the door and making his way to the staircase.

once he reaches the third floor, he walks over to the door of your shared apartment, the only one on the third floor.

the blonde-haired man unlocks the front door with his keys before stepping inside.

your fiancé carefully closes the door behind him, not wanting to wake you up. he kicks his shoes off his feet before placing his sport bag on the floor next to the door.

atsumu’s dark brown eyes are attracted by a small light coming from the living room.

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the pro volleyball player walks over to the living room, scratching the back of his neck.

the frown on his face immediately disappears at the sight in front of him, a fond smile replacing it.

the television is on, mamma mia is currently playing on the screen, one of your favorite movies. there’s a plate of muffins on the coffee table, blueberry and lemon ones with powdered sugar icing on top along with a glass bottle of lemonade.

all the while you are laying on the skandi couch, facing the television, visibly asleep. one of your cheeks is pressed against the back of your hand, your eyes closed and your plump lips slightly parted. soft breaths escape you as one of atsumu’s large shirts is draped over your body.

despite all of his efforts not to wake you up, atsumu’s foot bumps into one of the couch’s footers, making him yelp at the sudden pain, which wakes you up.

atsumu watches as you turn around, facing the couch’s back, a frown on your face while a small whine escapes you. your eyelashes flutter open, trying to adjust your eyesight to the light coming from the television.

as you sit up, you start rubbing your eyes, letting a groan of complain before finally glancing to the side, glaring at your fiancé.

“sorry, baby.” atsumu flashes you a small smile, a hint of regret visible in his eyes, despite his urge to laugh at your sleepy appearance.

“how’s my future mama ?” he asks as he places his hands on the back of the skandi couch, leaning towards you.

“fine, but she was quite calm until you arrived.” you accusingly tell him, a subtle frown on your features as you place a hand on your baby bump.

“‘t’s not my fault she likes my voice.” atsumu lets out a chuckle, placing a hand on the side of your face, turning your head to place a small peck on your plump lips. “only two months left…”

you let out a small hum at his words, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

atsumu parts away from your plump lips, licking his own. “imma eat somethin’, what do ya wanna eat ?”

you scratch the bridge of your nose with your nails, thinking about his offer. “i want vanilla ice cream… with olive oil and salt.”

atsumu nods his head at your request, a small ‘kay’ leaving his lips before he walks over to the kitchen.

he knows better than to criticize your cravings, especially since it isn’t the weirdest one out of your seven months of pregnancy.

your fiancé turns on the kitchen’s lights, scratching the back of his neck as he walks around the kitchen to gather the ingredients.

he grabs two bowls from one of the drawers before turning over to the fridge and opening it. he grabs the vanilla ice cream container along with his oatmeal and the milk.

atsumu places a good amount of oatmeal into his bowl before pouring some milk on top and putting the bowl on the side.

he then begins to scoop out some vanilla ice cream, placing it in the second bowl before grabbing the olive oil. he pours a trail of the oil on top of the ice cream and sprinkles some sea salt on top.

the blonde-haired boy wipes the kitchen counter, cleaning the small mess he made, and puts the ingredients back in the fridge.

he grabs both the bowls, along with two tablespoons and walks back to the living room.

“here ya go, pretty girl.” atsumu announces with a grin on his face as he hands you your bowl and a spoon.

he slides on the skandi couch right next to you and digs into his oatmeal. he glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches the pleased expression on your face as you savor the ice cream.

“do you want to try it, ‘tsumu ?” you ask as you look over at atsumu, pointing to the mixture in your bowl with your spoon.

“nah, i’m not trustin’ you with that.” he shakes his head, a loud laugh escaping him.

safe to say that you were pissed at him after that, which only made him laugh more.

[yurishots]

CAFE AU ━ o. miya

GENRE ━ fluff + the smallest amount of angst

WC ━ 770

Ever since Osamu has aged and settled into his new life as a shop and home owner, it seems like couples have been miraculously popping up everywhere he looks. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit of loneliness seeing couples in booths sharing the food he made. Him being a romantic never helped either—the fantasy of seeing his s/o after a long day at Onigiri Miya plagued his mind constantly, as well as the domestic feeling of coming home knowing that someone will be there waiting for him. 

The brunette began to put himself out there more, but not like his blonde counterpart. It was more subtle; making more conversation with his patrons and posting a little more on instagram. He became a fanatic for a short while—constantly stalking his notifications and dm requests even though he knew there would be nothing new. He contemplated giving up on the whole romance act, maybe it's a luxury only certain people can have. 

Sighing for the fifth time this morning, Osamu shoves his phone into his back pocket. A past friend of his posted some pictures from his wedding. “Must be nice,” he mumbles under his breath. After washing his hands, he prepares to head to the back before hearing a delicate voice break the silence of his early morning shift. 

“Hi, can I get a coffee?” Osamu froze as he heard the voice of this customer, he’s never heard anything like it. He looks up to see a smile adorning your face as you wait for him to confirm the order. The shop owner hopes he doesn’t look stupid as he quickly wipes his hands on his apron and clears his throat. 

Osamu quirked up his brow in curiosity,”just a coffee?” The request was quite vague, there’s a million coffees in the world, he’s not a mind reader after all. 

“What kind? we carry a bunch of flavors y’know!” He watched as an amused expression took over your face as you listened to him. 

“Well, I actually don’t know since your menu up there is quite empty.” Osamu looked up at the digital menu screen above him to realize that it is indeed—blank. a wave of embarrassment washes over him as he grabs the remote off the counter behind him and presses the on button. The menu soon lit up with a bunch of options for you to continue your less detailed coffee order from earlier. 

“I'm really sorry about that,” his face feels flushed from the embarrassment of the moment and because of the sound of your laughter entering his ears. 

“It's fine, I'll take an espresso.” Osamu nodded as he entered your order into the system in front of him. “And your name?” You looked up quickly with a small ‘hm?’ and gave him your name, “Y/n L/n.” The tapping noise resumed as he typed in your name, smiling softly at the fact he knows you a little bit more. As you leave the counter to find a seat, the shop begins to fill up slowly as people come in for breakfast. 

Usually Osamu calls out his customer’s names for them to grab their items, but he felt as if you deserved the delivery. He calms his nerves before walking over to your table by the window, “Here you go Y/n,” he says softly as he hands you your mug, telling you to be careful because it's hot. He slowly retreats back to his spot behind the counter to make the orders since his coworker has shown up to take them. Watching you out of the corner of his eye, he smiles seeing that you’re enjoying your drink as you gaze out the window. “Osamu!” His co worker snapped to get his attention, the amount of drinks he had to prepare had piled up. Sending her an apologetic look, he got back to work. 

After making and sending off the last coffee, he looked over to where you were sitting to see an empty table with a lonely mug. Osamu sucked his teeth, he planned on asking you if you enjoyed it. As he walked over to the table to clean it, he noticed a slip of paper poking out from under the mug. He grabbed it and read its contents. 

“Y/n L/n: XXX-XXX-XXXX. here’s my number, I’d like to talk to you some more. P.S: I saw you staring at me ;p.” 

Smiling to himself, he pocketed the note and cleaned up the previously occupied table. Maybe this romance thing isn’t so hard after all. 

[hatsukeii]

if you're too shy (let me know) / bsf!osamu miya x reader

genre(s): fluff! + bsf to lovers!! they're both kinda stupid but i respect it! this is an apology from me to you for all the shit i've put you through in the past few angsty fics

warning(s): suggestive at the end, but no explicit nsfw, and you can interpret it as literally never happening as well! mc had one meh/bad experience w a hookup and it's mentioned in passing but nothing graphic

wc: 1.7k

tldr; the five kisses that osamu thinks he'd like to give, and the time that he does

#5: Miya Osamu would like to kiss into the palm of a hand

Osamu's hands have been calloused, bruised, and battered from youth. His fingers have caught flying volleyballs by the bloodied tips, knuckles have beaten up Atsumu countless times, palms have scraped and squeaked against the floor of the school gymnasium every day and night. Osamu doesn't remember what it feels to run his fingers across the smooth lines of his palms, or how it feels to touch his bare skin without some scratching sensation from the hardened rounds that decorate his hands.

Tonight, Osamu lies on the rooftop of some bar, the twenty-something people here for Atsumu's MSBY victory party shaking the walls and collapsing the ceiling with bouts of dancing and screaming. The fake grass beneath him cushions his body, bending and curving under his weight, and the weight of another beside him. His head tilts to glance over at you, limbs splayed out across the ground.

"What... whatdya lookin' at... 'samu?"

His head fogs, eyes spinning as he turns back to the starry sky, and the white dots in a backdrop of black begin to draw spirals around his head as he subconsciously rubs at the calluses on his fingertips and picks at the dried skin peeling off his palms. You. He's looking at you. Tonight, he thinks he'll use the sky as an excuse.

"Stars... they're pretty."

#4: Miya Osamu would like to kiss the top of a forehead

The earliest kiss Osamu can recall is from none other than his own mother, who held his face so gently in her equally calloused palms as her thumbs rubbed at the bruise on his forehead, earned from running into a glass panel wall. It must've hurt, Osamu! Be careful! She had said, inevitable tenderness seeping from her angry brows and worried eyes as she pressed a soft kiss into the bruise. The purple stain must've disappeared then and there, healed by a kiss, Osamu thought.

You roll over to lie on your side, and shuffle towards Osamu, who's still picking at nothing on his hands. A whiff of hot breath fans the skin of his ear, and Osamu freezes up at the proximity, shifting in the grass.

"...'samu! areyouuu drunk?"

His ears are red at the tips when you giggle stupidly into them, almost scalding to the touch, like they will melt skin and boil blood at direct contact. You haven't changed one bit since graduating from Inarizaki, still a lightweight, still whiny when alcohol begins flowing through your veins. If he could, he would pick you up, and tuck you into the nearest bed with the blankets up to your chin, just the way you like it, as he usually does when you show up at his house like this on random midnights. This time, he swears the alcohol is getting to his head too.

"Nooo...?"

The ground beneath him collapses when your fingers come up to flick his forehead. He twitches, before shooting up and rubbing at the sore spot. He curses himself for forgetting about the shots from before settling in when his mind blanks and his body sends itself straight back into the grass, the impact forcing a grunt from his chest. You cackle at him, and Osamu thinks he could definitely use a kiss on the forehead right now.

#3: Miya Osamu would like to kiss someone on the cheeks

Whenever Atsumu brings his team along to the store, brooding, foreign men soften into mounds of affection, teddy bears who engulf Osamu in all-encompassing embraces, and push sloppy pecks into both of his cheeks. In these situations, Osamu isn't sure what else to do but stand and let every teammate have their turn. He made an offhanded comment once to Atsumu, something along the lines of not understanding why a kiss on the cheek was the default greeting for foreigners. Atsumu, with grains of rice decorating the corners of his mouth, laughed at his question, and told him, it's the cheeks that smile back.

"Hey...'samu?"

You've propped your head up in your hand, elbow digging into the grass beside Osamu's motionless figure as you lie sideways on your hips, face angled above his own. Your eyes travel to his that stare at the sky, and you swim in intoxicating pools of mercury, bedazzled by the reflections of rhinestones sewn into the night sky. Osamu tries to look at the stars, he really does, yet his noticeable glances at your flushed cheeks are enough to catch your attention. Somewhere downstairs, a bet has been won as fists slam into tables and cheers erupt from the bar. Somewhere on this roof, your hair hangs loose in the elastic that's unwinding from your head, a silk cover draping over a Roman statue.

"Can weee... try something?"

#2: Miya Osamu would like to kiss along the side of a neck

Osamu likes to make fun of you the mornings after you stay over at his place, from the second you shoot up from his bed and storm into his kitchen, where he prepares onigiris to shake away the hangover from the night before. Once, a few years ago, he had to run to the nearest convenience store for bruise cream, all to help ease away purple marks the size of someone else's mouth on your neck. He deliberately fucked around when helping you, poking at different spots until you slapped him and snatched the canister of cream from his hands. Whose fault was it that you now look like you can't 'curl your hair?' He had spat out. Osamu knows that he only made fun of the purple splotches because they weren't his own.

"Are you...sure?"

"Yeaah!"

Osamu is cautious, hands hovering above your waist as the two of you lie on your sides. What he's doing, he isn't sure. After all, in his twenty-four years of living amongst the likes of you, and in eight of those years spent watching you from the corners of his eyes, he has never touched anyone like this. Not their hands, not their face, not their waist. He moves away from your waist, opting to graze his pinky with yours instead. You tangle your fingers with his, holding his hand tight against your own. His calluses are hard beneath your soft palms, toughened through trials of time and effort. You lead his hand up to the side of your neck, and release it there. Osamu lets it mold into the shape of you, palm fitting on your body as if it was carved for only his touch.

"Feels right?"

"...Feels good, 'samu."

You return his touch with a hand cupping his cheek, and something unfamilar, more dizzying than the shots he took, surges through Osamu's entire being. He turns his face to your touch, and his mouth just makes contact with the lines on your palm. They're soft, so warm against his lips, and he presses them a little deeper, a satisfied hum voicing itself from your throat.

"Do you...like that too?"

"I...do. Is it okay if you keep going?"

He nods, pulling your face towards him as he turns away from your palm, and planting a kiss on your forehead instead. Your breathy sigh is music to his ears, and he lets his lips linger on your skin. But Osamu is only doing this for a friend, a friend who is confused about what feels good, and what feels wrong. A friend who hasn't felt genuine touch since the night they showed up at his house, hickeys decorating their neck. He remembers your grumbles beneath your breath as you slathered the cream across every single purple stain, fuck, it hurts. He didn't get it then, and he doesn't get it now. How could this touch ever hurt, when everything about it seems tailor-made for the mouth that gives?

"Was that okay?"

"...Yeah, that was nice."

Osamu's eyes migrate to your cheeks now, flushed and red even in the guise of darkness that encompasses the air around you. He wants to see them smile. He moves from your forehead, and his vision darts between each of your eyes. Your breath hitches at his staring, and it gets stuck in your throat when fluttering warmth lands on your left cheekbone, then your right. His hair tickles your forehead, body now impossibly close to yours as his hands massage and stroke at your neck. You think about slipping your hands beneath his shirt, so you can touch him the way he's doing to you, bare skin and all, and you smile.

"Do you want a few more?"

You don't want just a few more, you want it all.

"Yeah, do what feels right, 'samu."

He grins, dipping into your neck as he peppers kisses across its length. You squirm and giggle at the sensation, his breaths and hair tickling your sensitive skin.

"'S-samu! That tickles! Something else! Please!"

He laughs into your neck, before coming back up to meet your eyes. Your figure is getting blurry beneath his vision, either from the alcohol still running through his system, or something else- something better, more addicting too.

Then Osamu's got his lips on your own, and you're slipping your hands beneath his shirt the way that you thought you wanted to. His torso is smooth beneath your fingertips, and he shivers, sending trembles from his body to yours. He can't see a thing beneath his eyelids, but his hands find the skin of your waist instinctively. His hands were made for this, he thinks. Not to pick at his calluses or to trace lines into his palms. No, they were made for you, made to hold your waist against his own. Your hands travel from his torso to his back, feeling for the dip in his spine as you push him close, even closer than he already is.

"Do you like me, 'samu?" You mumble against his lips at the chance, and he gives you a shit eating, albeit smitten smirk in response.

"I think you know that already. But maybe…”

His head inches towards the side of your own, sending a hot breath into your ear. His hand slides towards the centre of your stomach from your waist, irritatingly slow.

“…I would like you better if you took off your clothes."

#1: Miya Osamu would like to kiss you

author's note:

i'll kiss u fr if u know what song this is made from because i can't get it out of my head like it's SO GOOD also i need osamu like this too he's a YEARNING MAN HERE!!! this is the apology for all the angst i've been pumping out lately i know i've hurt a few souls but it's nothing a yearning osamu fic can't fix bbs

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @catsoupki @akaakeis @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @iiwaijime

ok bye bye see u next fic pookies love u guys

[randomdoodlesandstories]

Haikyuu Men(time skip) when their Gf has her Per*od ( Osamu Miya, Suna Rintarou and Kenma Kozume)

Kenma:

Okay, first, this guy works at home.

second, he's a streamer, bro's his own boss.

Thus he can DEFINITELY stay next to you 24/7 (Unless his fans badger him into streaming.)

Probably wraps you in warm blankets and gives you all his games so you guys can play them together.

He tries to make you comfort food like fries and chips but fails, so he just buys them instead.

But at least he can make hot cocoa. :P

He'll play games next to you when you have terrible cramps while you sleep.

If he really has to stream, he'll make sure you are fully comfortable with like a ton of games, some food, hot drinks, blankets and lets you sit with him.

he give you personal space when you need it and comfort as well.

Suna:

Tries to get out of practice ASAP

Stares at his phone twice more often during practise.

Makes you comfortable by giving you five times more blankets, games, music, movies basically anything you need.

When you tell him you miss him via text, he comes back in under ten minutes.

The coach can't do anything about it cuz he will and can blackmail the coach if he doesn't let him out.

I feel bad for the coach :(

When he gets back, he will tell you all the gossip and rumours.

which, by the way, 80% of the rumours were spread by him.

If you ask, is more than happy enough to show you all his pictures and videos.

Cuddles with you nearly all the time.

has no sense of personal space.

Also tries to make you comfort food but mostly he buys them from his friend Osamu, cuz you like Osamu's rice balls.

By the end of the day, you basically know every volleyball player's secrets and rumours brought to you by Suna. XD

Osamu

Okay, first of all, his guy can actually make amazing-tasting comfort food. ( Unlike the other two lol)

Tries to stay home but his business needs him.

Before he leaves, he makes you any food you request and when he comes back he brings you all your favourite Rice balls ( Yum )

Will watch whatever you want to watch with you.

Dinner will literally be equal to a 3-star Michelin restaurant.

When you want to he will cuddle with you.

Let you enjoy peace and quiet when you want to.

Blankets, food, movies, games, name it. he will try to buy it.

If you text him about what food you crave, will make it for you immediately.

I'm probably going to talk nonstop about his food. :P

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, I'm hungry.

[kiyoomiiz]

miya osamu's love is constant and quiet. there's too much of it clogging his throat and he struggles to get the simplest of compliments out. it's clunky and doesn't come out right most of the time. but its love, nonetheless.

its love in the way that he slices mangoes and peals oranges for you to snack on. its love in the way that the sun spills from his lips when he smiles at you. its love in the way that it's all-consuming and surrounding the both of you in its warm embrace. its love in the way that he tells you awful jokes to lift your mood, even if it's at the cost of his embarrassment. osamu would put everything on the back burner for you, and no, you wouldn't even have to ask him to. he'd do it simply because he loves you.

[ushiwakaout]

Yooooo. I’m feeling kinda in a angst mood so I want to like politely ask maybe a argument scenario from like angst to fluff? For kita, Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna. Or you can just do one. Love yuh lots.

I’ll make these short and good so you can get the whole experience with 3 of them.

TIME SKIP!

SPOILERS!

BETA DRAFT! srry.

[Osamu is a little ooc tbh but i think out of all the haikyuu boys he’d be the most poetic and im leaving out Suna because i cannot seem to write him correctly for the life of me, i am not satisfied.]

Shinsuke Kita

He’s not emotional. We know this. He’s apathetic, and you knew this the second you got into this relationship so why are you arguing with him. He finds this pointless. He breathes heavily and pinches the ridge of his nose, “Don’t do that! You said you would do better and you haven’t! Are you even listening to me?”

“If you don’t like what we’ve got then just leave!” He slaps his sun hat on the table, his gloves are still on. Kita literally just got back from a long, hot, exhausting day at the rice farm.

He didn’t mean to yell, and he didn’t mean the words that slipped out his mouth. It was too late. He knew that. Kita stared at his shoes, not daring to look at you. “Seriously? Kita? You promised me you’d try be more expressive with me…”

He tugs at you heart strings when he keeps his head down, he’s squeezing the chair nearby and it’s making his knuckles white. “Kita…” You try to cup his cheek, making an effort to try and get him to look at you but he swatted your hand away.

“That’s enough y/n, I don’t need you to babysit my emotions and the way i express things.”

Oh now you where upset.

You took a couple of steps back in disbelief, “I understand that you’ve been having a difficult time at the farm but that’s not an excuse for being a shit boyfriend… How about i take a load off your shoulders- we’re done Shinsuke, I-I’ve had enough…”

He doesn’t stop you from collecting your things. He doesn’t stop you from walking out the door.

It slams shut and he’s just standing there, in his empty kitchen. His house is a ghost of you. Every corner had been decorated by you. So he looks to the floor.

Tears fall to his shoes and he’s shaking.

It’s from crying he thinks, but the more he cries the harder he was shaking.

“Kita.”

Your soft whisper breaks him from a nightmare.

His cheeks are wet.

He was crying. But it wasn’t real.

“Kita? What’s wrong honey? You were having a nightmare…”

His head was still resting on your chest, the same position he was originally in before his nightmare. You caressed his hair. He loved feeling your fingers run through your hair. He felt safe. Kita tightened his hold around you, “I’m okay now.” He whispered, kissing the closes part of you before nuzzling back into your chest. “I love you, y/n… i know i can be a little apathetic… but i care for you the most in this world.”

Atsumu Miya

He’s always been a ladies man.

You hate how stupid good looking he is.

It makes you feel insecure sometimes how much he gets hit on and you don’t. “It’s because he’s respected in the male community.” His twin brother spoke. “Everyone knows your his partner… so they back off.” It made your head hurt.

At a large volleyball gathering, you decided to wear something a little more eye catching. He thinks nothing of it, he tells you how amazing you look and you’re off to the party.

He’s pissed that he’s brought you now.

Who the hell told him it would be a good idea to bring his freaking partner. Osamu laughed at him when he mentioned something about it. “Now you can finally see how y/n feels…” Atsumu raised a brow. “What do you mean by that?”

Osamu regrets speaking. He lets out a sigh, “Y/n been feeling insecure lately. They don’t like the way you instigate things with them, that your flirty or that you look at them for that matter-“

Atsumu began waving his hands, trying to get him to stop speaking “You sure they didn’t you you were me? T-they wouldn’t keep something like that from me...” He glances over at you, a man from a different team was making your laugh. You fixed your hair shyly as you smile to the man who talks to you.

Before Osamu could try and stop his brother from doing anything stupid. He hand already marched towards you. “Uh yeah excuse me- this is my partner and we are leaving, thank you for keeping her company-”

“Atsunu what the fu-”

He’s dragging you out of the building and you don’t struggle, he was never one to run out of a party so the suden rush prevented you from even thinking of stopping him.

“Atsumu can you please tell me what the hell we’re doing out here! I’m freezing!”

His hand was still squeezing your bicep, “Why did Osamu have to tell me that you’ve been feeling insecure.”

You freeze. This was not, a conversation you wanted to have. Not now especially.

“Can we not- Can we not do this here, please?”

“No, i thought we didn’t hide stuff from eachother.”

“Atsumu-”

“It’s me right? Because i pretend with them-”

You’re stuttering and stumbling threw your worlds as he continues to speak.”

“Did they say something to you, I swear-”

“I DONT FEEL GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!”

You blurted out, grabbing at fabric of his shirt. “I don’t think i even have…” You’re looking at your feet now. “I know you don’t see the things they say about me for dating you, but it’s mean… I wanna give you so much love but how much sanity will i have left… they pick at me for every little thing i do, wrong or right. I love you ‘Sumu… I really do but I don’t know know how much more i can take.”

He’s the one frozen now.

“You’re not breaking up with me.”

“What-”

“Like hell you’re breaking up with me. Give me 5 minutes… stay here… please.”

He kisses the tip of your nose while squeezing both of you’re shoulders.

You’re standing there confused and sad. Sniffling and cold air brushed your chilled skin. From inside the building you could see through the glass door how he paced back in forth and spoke into the phone. it wasn’t long before he came back out.

Once we was in front of you, he cupped your hands on his. “Do you love me?” He kisses your wrist. You nod, sniffling back a tear. “Good. Do you trust me?” He kisses your other wrist, you nod again- almost choking on your breath. “I called my agent… He’s calling a press meeting for me, and i’m going to state that if any network, any fan girl, any article writes poorly about you- they will be sued by me every single time. We’ve already got a few people in mind, the paper work will go through tomorrow.”

“Sumu… you didn’t have to do any of that.”

“I will rather quit volleyball, then have you break up with me, because of an issue i can fix.” He kisses your cheek softly. “You’re perfect for me, i won’t let other make you think otherwise.”

Osamu Miya

He couldn’t close on time again.

He cursed under his breath, running towards the restaurant that you had originally picked out. He let the hostess know your name but her lips tightened and she shook her head. “You’ve just missed em, drank a glass of [liquor] and then made their way out… Sorry.” Her apology was apathetic.

He walked out the establishment and once he heard the door close behind him, he cursed loudly into the air.

He tried calling your phone but it didn’t even ring. It was off or worse he was blocked. It was late, the trains where no longer running so he walked himself home in his suit. Osamu quickly had put it on, and it was clear that he did because it was wrinkled and his tie was not tied correctly. It took him about an hour to get home. The one you shared.

He had a gut feeling before he opened the door. So he stood there, his hands in his pockets. Your stuff would be picked up and gone. He was with you because he loved that you had such a strong head on your shoulders… you wouldn’t take it any longer. Today, one-hundred percent, was the final straw.

3 year anniversary.

He let his forehead drop to the door, making a light thud. He gripped the little box in his pocket.

The reason he had been working like a dog, day and night.

This stupid little ring.

It was perfect too. He knew exactly what you liked, what you wanted. It was way over over his budget but he’s do anything for you.

“Osamu? Is that you?” Your voice chirped from behind the door. His head shot up and looked ahead. “Y/n?” You unlocked the door, slowly revealing that you had changed into you pjs, eyes swollen from crying. “I waited for you…” You whispered, your voice breaking in the process.

God he hates himself. He hated himself for making you like his. “y/n im so sorry…” he whispered. “please forgive me…” he dropped to his knees, his body lightly brushing yours as he held you. “i shouldn’t have been late, i should have never missed any of our dates… please give me one more chance, please hear me out...”

he backs up and props up a knee, digging into his pocket. there’s a shift in your eyes that he notices, “Don’t freak out, this isn’t me trying to tie you down that way… not necessarily…”

he clears his throat, opening the box that was in his hand, displaying it to you. “there is no one in the world… no one… i would rather be with than you. i can’t see myself with anyone else. i would be the luckiest man in the world if you married me, but this- you can say no to this…”

you’re still frozen, tears falling down your cheeks, sniffling. “I want to earn you… i don’t deserve you right now… i’ve been the worse boyfriend there is… there’s no excuse for it but all those nights i’ve been working late have been for you- and you only… i’m sorry i couldn’t communicate that with you. let me earn you again… let me show you that i am worth being your husband.”

you start nodding slowly, sinking down onto your knees to kiss him. “I’ll promise i’ll be better.” he says in between stolen kisses as he slips the tin onto your finger.

Author Note: My request are open!!! Please do fill free to ask for something.

i did lie

i came back from the dead

i write for haikyuu, jjk, chainsaw man and MHA primarily <3

[kiyosamu]

Then & Now. ♡

——— ♡ ———

Pairing: Osamu Miya x Reader

Genre: Fluff! Angst if you squint? Maybe? High school sweethearts who reunite as adults. ♡

——— ♡ ———

Growing up, the idea of a first love was embedded into your mind with theatric-like imagery. A dramatic, beautiful first kiss. Loud, screaming arguments over unwarranted jealousy. Passionate, intense declarations of love for the entire world to hear. A love that felt so real it physically hurt. A love that, when it came to it’s inevitable demise, would stick to you for the rest of your life, leaving you wondering “what if…?”.

That’s what you thought, anyway, until you’d experienced it first-hand.

Your relationship with Osamu was nothing like that. In fact, it was almost too easy. A fast forming friendship in your first year blossoming into a romantic relationship as high school seniors. You two just… clicked.

When the two of you made things official, it wasn’t the grand proposal you’d hoped for. Instead, it was Osamu waking up next to you with a sleepy smile and incoming hangover asking you the classic “what are we?”. You simply smiled back, knowing damn well the night before that the liquid courage had run through both of you to the point of confessing your true feelings and realizing they were mutual.

Osamu was comfortable. He was carefree, but not recklessly. He paid attention in school and had priorities, but didn’t let small things bother him. “Don’t worry about it” he’d say, pulling you against him with an arm around your waist. “I’ll take care of it.” “It’s no big deal.” “It’s fine.” “Just leave it to me.”

Dependable, reliable Osamu who always seemed to fix any major or minor inconvenience in your life with a simple solution and saving you from yourself for the zillionth time.

Despite the positives of your relationship, even you couldn’t dodge the cliché “we’re going to different colleges, so let’s break up” trope. You talked it over, mutually deciding it’d be too stressful to continue your relationship when you were going to school 6 hours away. You spent your last few days together as if everything was normal, and then you just… left.

“Too bad.” His gaze dropped to the floor, a bittersweet smile crossing his lips. “We coulda had a real nice life together.”

You nodded and laced your fingers in his.

“It was nice while it lasted, though.” Osamu sighed, looking down at you. Your eyes met his, only for a moment, before you fully embraced him and soaked in every ounce of him. Muffled, barely audible words came from your lips as you pushed your face into his chest.

“It was nice while it lasted.”

But it didn’t hurt like you’d expected it to. You didn’t want it to. Your relationship with Osamu was wonderful. He was perfect for you, and the two of you shared so many incredible memories. You smiled when you thought back to one of your silly inside jokes. Felt warm when you saw anything that reminded you of him.

While you started casually dating other people in your second year of college, Osamu didn’t do the same. He was busy opening a restaurant and supporting his brother, information that you’d collected from his few and far between Facebook updates. Other than that, you hadn’t really spoken since the day you’d left.

The years flew by, and just like you’d promised your family, you moved back home the day after your college graduation.

Various relatives cooed over you, commenting on how different you looked, how proud they were of you, hurling questions at you the moment you stepped inside that you instantly regretted returning after such an eventful week.

“Where are you going? You just got home!” You mom called as she watched you lace up your shoes from the other room.

“Out. I’ll be back soon.”

That stressful evening is how you’d ended up at a dodgy, dimly lit bar two streets down that had always piqued your interest as a teenager. You and Osamu had promised to go there together when you were younger, both of you making up silly theories about what lied beyond the doors.

You chuckled into your drink as you remembered the conversations and compared them to reality.

“I wonder if it’s some kinky strip club.” Osamu smirked, “Ya know, like with ropes and handcuffs and stuff?”

“Do those exist? Strip clubs just for stuff like that?” You squeezed his hand and jumped up on to the sidewalk.

“I dunno. Anything’s possible. Better than your theory.” He teased. “An illegal animal sanctuary? Where’d ya even come up with that one?”

“Hear me out! I bet there’s some old man who has like, 17 tigers, an alligator, and a polar bear. Nowhere to keep them.” You stopped at the crosswalk, grabbing his cheeks so he looked straight at you. His eyes were wide with amusement and a massive grin was plastered across his face. “Picture it, ‘Samu. Really think. Can you see it? He probably lives there and just takes care of his exotic animals in secret.”

“Right.” He snorted, “And how do you explain the customers?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever actually seen anyone enter or leave that building?”

“Well, I-“ He stopped, pausing to think for a moment. “Ya know what? No. I haven’t.”

You tugged him into the crosswalk when the light changed and marched away proudly. “Exactly. Point proven. It’s a front.”

The two of you spent the rest of your walk home from school that day laughing and debating what kinds of animals the theoretical old man was hiding in the fake bar.

Osamu’s laugh was something you’d heard many times, but never gotten tired of. His laugh was infectious; deep and loud and right from his chest. A laugh that would cause anyone to smile just from being around it.

A laugh that you recognized the moment you heard it.

You spun around on the bar stool, drink still in hand, in complete disbelief as the man who you were just thinking about was practically summoned in front of you. What a coincidence - you made a mental note to call your old roommate and tell her that her manifestation theories might not be bogus after all.

“Ain’t that somethin’,” Osamu whistled, taking off his hat to reveal his natural hair colour and giving you a playful nudge. “Didn’t know I’d run into ya here.”

“You didn’t?” You smiled.

“Had no clue.”

You pulled out your phone, showing him your most recent social media post. It was a photo of your drink, the location tagged with a passive caption about returning home.

“You didn’t see this?” You snorted when he shook his head no.

“Osamu Miya liked your post. Explain that.” You pointed directly at your most recent notification, showing that Osamu had definitely seen it 20 minutes prior.

“Hackers. Gotta be.” You felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you indulged in his sarcastic banter. “‘Cuz it’s clearly a coincidence that I just happened to show up to the same shitty bar on a certain Tuesday night.”

“You’re such a fuck.” You laughed, “Be serious.”

“Obviously I knew.” He rolled his eyes playfully and waved down a waitress. “Just wasn’t sure if you were gonna talk to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I talk to you?” You took a sip of your drink and watched him as he ordered his own. The way he carried himself was different. Subtle, but different. Confident and unapologetically himself.

He shrugged. “Just didn’t think you wanted to. I never heard from ya after you left.”

You blinked at him. “I kinda thought that’s what you wanted. That’s why I never reached out.”

“Why would I want that?” He thanked the waitress and took a sip of his drink the moment she handed it to him.

“I dunno. I just assumed since you didn’t say anything to me after I left.”

“So you’re tellin’ me we didn’t talk because we both thought the other didn’t want to?” Osamu’s question wasn’t really even directed to you, if anything, he was talking out loud to himself.

You were the first to crack up. “I guess so.”

“Hah.” He chuckled, “How stupid is that?”

“…Pretty stupid.”

He shook his head, smiling and silently cursing himself for allowing a little breakup and a few hours distance ruin the best relationship with someone he’d ever had, dating or not.

“Well, whatever. We’re here now. Wanna hang out?”

You almost choked on your drink. You weren’t expecting to see Osamu at all, let alone expecting to be hanging out with him on your first day back after four years of radio silence.

But you didn’t even think twice.

“Of course I do.”

The two of you picked up where you left off and it was as if you’d never even gone away. The connection was instant.

“You dyed your hair brown.” You smiled, reaching up and ruffling it in between your fingers. “It looks good.”

“I’d be worried if it didn’t.” He smiled wide but got lost in your gaze for a few seconds, studying your expression carefully. He took a careful look at you while sipping his drink. “You look good. Every bit of ya.”

“Thanks, ‘Samu.” You felt your cheeks get warm and turned away. A feeling you hadn’t experienced since high school.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Before you could answer, Osamu set some cash on the bar and grabbed your hand. Again, it was familiar, but felt different. Stronger. Bigger. His hand completely engulfed yours and you wondered if he knew how tight he was holding you.

The two of you walked down the road for a few minutes, silently, soaking in the past two hours spent catching up with each other.

He stopped in front of a building a few blocks down, nodding up at it so you’d take a look. You knew instantly where you were.

“I still can’t believe you actually did it.” You looked back and forth from his proud stance to the large sign above the door reading “Onigiri Miya”.

“Let me show ya inside.”

He took you around the back, unlocking the door and flicking on the lights as he came in. The light was warm and the restaurant was inviting. Warm, inviting, comfortable… everything Osamu had always been.

“It’s so cozy in here.” You ran your hand across the clean countertop. As you paced through the kitchen, you walked around the barrier separating the staff area from the main dining room. “Reminds me of your Mom’s house in here.”

“In a good way, right?” He followed closely behind, not wanting to interrupt your first impression too much.

“Of course.” You turned around, beaming a smile at him. “I always loved coming over. You know that.”

He nodded. “Guess I’ll have to have ya over again sometime. I’m sure Ma would love to see you.”

“I’d love to see her, too.” You picked up and put down all of the little trinkets and decorations Osamu had laid out in his restaurant. A small MSBY mascot bobble head, various culinary contest awards, cute little stickers with the restaurant logo, and a stuffed alligator eating a mini onigiri.

“Hm.” You hummed, picking up the alligator. “Now all you’re missing is 17 tigers and a polar bear.”

Osamu blinked at you.

“Sorry.” You laughed awkwardly, “You must not remember. It’s nothing-“

“That’s the exact reason I have that.” He smiled, walking over and taking the alligator from you. “I had it handmade. Even named it after ya.”

“Shut up.”

“M’serious.” Osamu’s confident demeanour almost disappeared as he appeared bashful for just a moment. A small moment, but you still saw it.

Osamu ended up pouring you a drink while you continued to talk. He leaned over the counter as you sat at the bar opposite of him, your faces only a few inches apart.

“I still can’t believe you remembered that.” You said quietly before taking a sip.

“Of course I remembered it. I couldn’t forget the silly shit you say even if I wanted to.” He teased, “Plus, I had to walk by that place every day after you left. Made me think of ya every time.”

“Silly shit, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one who thought it was a strip club.”

Osamu blinked at you. “That’s much more believable than being an old man’s exotic animal sanctuary.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” You didn’t realize how stupid the conversation was until he said it like that. The two of you broke into a fit of laughter just like you used to.

You looked at Osamu, the top of his cheeks squishing just under his eyes, loud, deep laughs filling the room and suddenly you’d never felt such an overwhelming feeling of… home.

Osamu looked back at you. His ash-coloured eyes studied your expression.

“Hey, do ya need a job?”

You hadn’t been home long, so you’d barely even thought of that. You had planned to take things a day at a time and try to find a career with your education, but your degree was hard to find employment with right away. Opportunities and internships were there, but there was no way you’d be getting an actual, paying job right away.

“…Yes?”

“Wanna work here?” He leaned in closer, “I don’t go around offerin’ just anyone a job at my high class establishment, ya know.”

“Something with the way you said that makes me feel like this is a joke.” You smirked.

“I’m just foolin’ around. I do need someone though. Wanna try it, at least? Tomorrow for dinner? I’ll show ya what it’s all about.”

You agreed. If anything, you wanted to see how Osamu ran his restaurant.

——— ♡ ———

The next evening, you entered through the back door just like he’d told you to.

“Osamu?” You called, immediately met with a response to come in the kitchen.

“Sorry, darlin’, couldn’t meet ya at the door. Doing prep for tonight.” He gestured down to the cutting board in front of him, “Wanna try?”

You quickly put down your things and washed your hands. When you took the knife from Osamu’s hand, he hesitated for a moment before giving it to you.

“It’s sharp.”

“I know.”

“You gotta be careful. It’s a real chef’s knife.”

“I know.”

“Go for it, then.”

You held your breath before getting to work, chopping up the onions quickly and stopping when you felt a hand on top of yours. Osamu was directly behind you, towering over you and pressing his chest into your back.

“‘Samu-“

“You’re gonna slice your hand off if ya keep cutting like that.” He muttered. You could feel the vibration of his low voice and were suddenly hyper-aware of the current situation.

“What’s wrong with my technique?” You huffed.

“You don’t have any technique.” Osamu snorted, “Don’t ya remember when I taught ya like… a million years ago?”

“I do remember you teaching me.” You leaned back into him, “I also remember you never letting me prepare or cook any food ever again after that day. So I could never practice my new skill.”

Osamu hummed in amusement. “Not even in college?”

You spun around, Osamu set the knife down safely on the table but caged you in with his arms. He looked down at you with a smirk. “Hm?”

“I’ll have you know, I didn’t cook a single time in college.” You declared. “You’d know that if you’d talked to me.”

Osamu sighed, hanging his head down on your shoulder. “We’ve already gone over this.”

“I know, I know. I’m just teasing you.”

He lifted his head back up, only a few inches from your face. You felt like the breath was taken directly out of your lungs when all you could think about was kissing him. You wanted to reach out and touch his muscular arms just for him to get greedy and grab you wherever he wanted.

“Miya-san?”

You froze, both of you wide eyed in surprise at the sound of a much younger voice. A young man, most likely freshly graduated from high school, stood beside the two of you as you remained in the compromising position.

Osamu pulled back, and both of you stood up straight.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-“

“It’s okay, ya didn’t interrupt.”

He did, you thought, but you were silently thankful for that. Every ounce of self control that remained was about to fly out the window had you stayed like that for even a few seconds more.

His small group of employees started to file in and prepare the restaurant further for dinner. You retreated to Osamu’s office and laid down on the couch.

Osamu would have a couch in his office.

You listened as Osamu instructed his team. Taught the younger staff how to tune their skills, taking the time to show them with nothing but patience and positivity. The same comforting presence he always had.

You missed that.

You missed him.

“Hey.” Osamu walked into his office and shut the door behind him. “Finished prep, sorry it got a bit crazy. Didn’t realize we were so close to workin’ hours, thought we would’ve had more time before everyone else got in.”

“It’s fine.” You shook your head, “No need to apologize. It’s really cool seeing you in your element.”

“Ya think?” He couldn’t hide his grin. He stood in front of you, leaning back slightly with his hands on his desk behind him. “I like workin’ here.”

“Well, that’s good. I’d hope so.”

Osamu agreed with a chuckle and sat down next to you.

“Can I tell ya somethin’?”

He sat with his arm around back of the couch, which was technically around you, now. You looked up at him and nodded silently.

“I, uh-“ He shook his head, it was clear he was trying to say something but it was difficult. “I really missed ya.”

“I missed you too-“

“No, like…” He sighed, “I really… really missed ya. I tried goin’ on dates with other women. Didn’t get along with any of ‘em. I always compared ‘em to you. I waited for you to finish school, to see if you’d come back home, and you did. It felt like a sign or somethin’. So when I saw you at the bar last night,” He paused, “Totally, completely coincidentally, I may add.”

His serious tone turned lighter as you smiled at his words.

“I just had to talk to ya. And now that I did, it feels like when we were kids, ya know? Just the way that I always wanted you around. Wanted to spend time with ya, hell, you have no idea how badly I just wanted to kiss ya when we were in the kitchen earlier-“

“‘Samu.”

“I don’t even know why I let our breakup happen in the first place. Usually I would’ve just said we could work through it. But I guess I wanted ya to grow on your own, too. To not have me encourage ya every step of the way. Not that I don’t like to do that, but I wanted to show ya that you don’t need me either. That you’re incredible and strong all on your own.”

“Osamu.”

“But then I realized I didn’t have to do that. We didn’t have to break up for us to grow into who we are on our own. By then it was too late, though. But you just looked so happy. I never wanted to mess with that. So I didn’t bother ya, and now that I’m lookin’ at ya as an adult I’m just so fuckin’ proud of ya, of all of your accomplishments and the way you carry yourself. You’re just-“

“Osamu.”

“Yeah?”

You reached up and wiped a single tear drop falling down his cheek.

“You’re crying.”

“Oh, shit.” He turned away, wiping his eyes quickly and looking back at you. “I’m sorry. Man, I just started pourin’ my heart out to ya and couldn’t stop.”

“It’s okay.” You leaned in, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You felt him let out a heavy exhale as he pulled you on top of his lap and right against him.

“I missed ya.” He sighed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “So much. Fuck.”

You tried to respond but you were choked up. You hadn’t realized you were crying, either.

He lifted his head up and looked directly at you. Osamu’s smile was kind, his expression vulnerable and it warmed your heart just looking at him.

“I missed you, too.” You said quietly.

“Really?”

“Yes, really!” You pulled back, planting the palms of your hands on his chest. “You have no idea how much I missed you, ‘Samu. Every day I waited for you to call me. But I thought you didn’t want to. So I finally accepted it and tried to move on. But like you said, I couldn’t actually do that. Nobody compares to you.”

Osamu hummed in agreement, resting his hands comfortably on your hips.

“It’s nice to hear ya say that.”

“Speaking of that,” You smirked, “Did I hear you say you wanted to kiss me in the kitchen?”

“Oh, yeah, you did.” He blinked up at you, absolutely no hesitation in his response. “I wanted to real bad.”

Your last strand of self control snapped the moment you heard those words. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his and instinctively tangling your fingers in his hair.

His voice rumbled low in his throat as he wrapped an arm around your lower back, pulling you against him as tight as possible while he stood up.

“Osamu!” You giggled, wrapping your legs around him. “Don’t-“

“I won’t drop ya, baby.” He assured you, pressing his lips back to yours. The sweet name of endearment made your heart melt and all you could think about in that moment was him. “Not now, not ever. Never again. You’re stuck with me.”

———

AN: Thanks so much for reading! I didn’t proofread this more than once, so please excuse any mistakes. I wrote this two years ago and forgot how much I loved it. God, timeskip Osamu is such a husband. ♡

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Comparing You to Their Ex-Girlfriend

Featuring Osamu

Osamu Miya x Fem! Reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, arguing, under appreciation, mentions of ex’s, mentions of alcohol, Atsumu being the voice of reason 😵‍💫

AN: I’ve been wanting to continue this series for a while and I figured who better than our favorite Twin, Osamu 🥰

*Atsumu fans please don’t come for me, I adore him I promise 🥺

You and Osamu had been dating for a little over a year and what a year it’s been. Filled with tons of highs and equal lows, you and Osamu had navigated it all together.

When you’d first met Osamu, he had just opened his first Onigiri shop and things were hectic, but you somehow made it work. You’d visit him whenever you could, stop by to support his business and even stay late helping him clean up after close. You were the epitome of a perfect girlfriend and yet, sometimes it felt as if your good deeds went unnoticed.

You knew Osamu didn’t purposely ignore you, he was just busy being a business owner. The stresses of the early mornings and equally long days were hard on him. Still, you wished he’d occasionally throw a “thank you” or a “what would I do without you babe” your way. Nevertheless, you continued to thanklessly help your boyfriend whenever and wherever you could.

On one particularly busy Friday night, you swung by the shop to help Osamu close up, excited that he was leaving the shop in the care of his valued employees so you could spend so much needed quality time together. You pushed open the door, announcing your arrival as you did most everyday, only this time, you were not met with your usual chipper boyfriend.

“I’m here!” You shouted, the door sitting behind you as you placed your coat and purse on the coat rack besides the door, a welcome addition to the cozy little shop. The kitchen door slammed open as Osamu immediately started in on you.

“Dammit Yn you are so late! What took you so long? I’ve been cleaning all by myself!” He shouted as you looked at him, a bit taken aback by his hostile attitude.

“Geez Mr. Grumpy, I’m sorry I’m late but the train was packed, and I had to wait for the next one. I did text you,” you clarified, walking over to the counter as Osamu huffed and turned heading back into the kitchen as you followed.

“Well, I sent everyone home early because I assumed you were coming to help me, but I guess I shouldn’t have because I pretty much did everything myself,” he growled as you stood by the kitchen sink, eyes narrowed on your unusually hostile partner. He was never this mean, never this rude to you.

“Samu, I said I was sorry, ok? Geez it’s not like I don’t come and help you every day after I work a full 8 hours. I even take the train opposite my normal station just to be here to help,” you recalled, trying to keep your cool. Surely something had happened today to warrant this.

“You act like I’m forcing you to be here Yn! Like I’m making you help me out with my store!” Osamu exclaimed as you crossed your arms over your chest. You were done being patient and forgiving.

“I never said that Samu! I offer to help you and I’m always glad to help but you don’t need to yell at me especially when you can’t even spare a thank you half the time for all that I do for you!” You roared, pissed off that he seemed to be blaming you for the free help you offered him.

“Don’t act like you're such a saint Yn! You weren’t here through any of the hard stuff like Amy was! Now she was a real saint!” Osamu hissed as your eyes widened and you took a step back.

Amy was Osamu’s ex-girlfriend and someone you had always felt inferior too. When you had met Osamu, he had told you about how Amy had left him shortly after opening his restaurant, stating that he never had time for her. Osamu was a broken man when you met him, and you worked to help pick up the pieces. He worked long hours, sometimes 7 days a week just to avoid being alone. When you came into the picture, that all changed as you helped him manage his store and make time for himself, cherishing every small moment you had with him.

Tears welled in your eyes as you stood tall, your eyes locking with Osamu’s as you spoke, “Well if Amy’s such a saint, then why don’t you call her up and ask her to come help you close shop because I’m done!”

You pushed open the kitchen door, quickly moving to grab your purse and coat as you swiftly left Onigiri Miya. Osamu stood still as a statue, his mind flooded with guilt as the words he had spoken to you rang over and over in his mind. He snapped from his stunned state, running to the door as he made his way outside to try and catch you.

“YN!! YN!” He shouted, the streets flooded with people as he looked all around for you, only you weren’t answering him, you weren’t there.

You cried as you walked to the train station, your vision blurred from the mascara that flooded your eyes and cheeks. You sat down on the train, pulling your phone out and calling Atsumu.

Your relationship with Atsumu had been relatively strong since he visited his brother's restaurant often with his teammates. You valued Atsumu’s opinion no matter how idiotic it might be at times. The phone rang as you waited for the star setter to answer his phone.

“Hey YN, what’s up?” Atsumu cheered as your voice broke, and you started crying harder.

“A-Atsumu,” you agonized over the phone as the atmosphere of your phone call suddenly changed.

“YN! What the hell? Are you ok? Where’s Osamu?!” He shouted as you began crying harder, surely clearing the entire train car with your blubbering.

“I-I think Osamu is still in love with Amy!” You cried harder, a sigh escaping Atsumu before he spoke.

“Trouble in paradise? I always told you that you were too good for him Yn, but I’m confused, why do you think he’s still in love with that squealing pig? She left him!”

“He-he told me that I’m not as good as she was and that-that I’m not supportive like she w-was,” you responded, snot now running down your nose as you wiped it on your coat sleeve, not even caring how you looked.

“YN, Samu can be a jerk sometimes, trust me but he loves you. There’s no way he would go back to Amy after all the shit you do for him.”

“Well, he never acknowledges all the help I give him, nor does he ever say thank you!” You shouted back as Atsumu sighed again, rubbing his temple.

“Samu adores you YN and he always brags to me how you come after work to help him and how you stay super late just to make sure he gets out at a decent time. He really does appreciate you Yn,” Atsumu countered as you rolled your eyes, frowning angrily that Osamu bragged to everyone about how you helped him but yet never seemed able to spare a single word of appreciation.

“Yeah, well now he’s going to have to figure it out himself because I’m done! And don’t try to talk me out of it Atsumu, your brother is such a fucking asshole!”

“Hey Yn, you ain’t telling me anything new. I’ve been telling people he’s an asshole for 20 some years!”

You talked with Atsumu for a few more minutes before arriving at your home station. You bid him a farewell as you made your way home, swinging by the connivence store to grab booze and drink snacks to drown your sorrows.

Osamu locked up his shop, his mind elsewhere as he made his way back to his apartment. He had been on autopilot since you’d run out, the words he spoke continuously looping in his mind. How could he have said those things? He no longer harbored any feelings for Amy and hadn’t for a long time. He knew shortly after he met you that you were the one for him. You were just as devoted to his dream as he was, and you were always so happy to help him in any way you could.

His phone rang as he entered his apartment. He was hoping it was you but instead he was greeted by the annoying picture of his twin brother flashing on the screen.

“What?” Osamu growled, answering his phone as he heard a chuckle coming from the receiver.

“Messed up big time didn’t ya?” Atsumu laughed as Osamu grew more annoyed by the second.

“What the hell did you call for?” Osamu hissed back as Atsumu cleared his throat, his tone suddenly becoming serious.

“Just wondering how you're going to make it up to her. You really did it this time man. She called me completely heartbroken from the train station,” Atsumu responded as Osamu felt his chest tighten. Sure, he had felt like a jerk before but now he felt like a complete asshole.

“What do I do Sumu? I love her and I really fucked up this time. I brought up Amy which was a fucking low blow and I know it. Worst of all, YN is a million times more supportive than Amy ever was,” Osamu acknowledged, sitting on the stool at his kitchen counter.

“We’ll have you told Yn that?” Atsumu asked as Osamu played with a pen on the table.

“Told Yn what?”

“God you really are an idiot! And here everyone thought I was the stupid one! Have you told Yn how much you appreciate everything she does for you? How she comes after working all day to help you clean up? Or how she makes sure you get out at a decent time? Or even how she stands outside advertising your stupid new onigiri recipes that sometimes taste like absolute garbage?”

Osamu paused, looking up and staring at the picture of the two of you outside of Onigiri Miya. It was one of the first pictures you’d had taken together, and it was right after whirlwind sales day. His mind tried to recall all the times he had thanked you and all the things he had done to show his appreciation. His mind came up blank.

“Fuck! Fuck I haven’t even told her thank you once!” Osamu shouted, grabbing his keys and running from his apartment to the street below.

“Damn not even once Samu? And people say you’re the nice twin?”

“Shut up ya idiot!” Osamu snapped as Atsumu chuckled.

“Go make it up to your girl, ok? But remember who saved your relationship! I want an Onigiri named after me!”

Osamu ignore his brother as he quickly hung up the phone and ran to the station, tapping his feet as he waited for the train to arrive. Thankfully it wasn’t busy as he boarded and waited for your stop.

He ran from the train, booking it across the city as he made his way to your apartment. He took the steps two at a time as he pounded on your door, out of breath as he waited for your answer.

The door opened slightly, your eyes narrowing on his as you slammed the door right in his stupidly handsome face. Alright he definitely deserved that.

“YN please! Please baby- please just listen to me. I know you hate me, and you have every right too. I was a completely selfish jerk, and I said some awful things to you. I’ve taken advantage of all your help and kindness, and I haven’t even bothered to once acknowledge it. The truth is that you’ve done way more for me than anyone ever has, even Atsumu. You loved and supported me and never once complained about it,” he breathed out, tears welling in his eyes as he continues,” I know I don’t deserve you YN but please just know that I love you and I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.”

Behind the door, your eyes flooded with tears again as you listened to his words. You loved Osamu more than anything and while his words stung, you knew he said them out of anger. While it still didn’t make it right, he had come all this way to apologize so the least you could do was hear him out. You turned around, opening the door as you peeked at him, his beautiful eyes meeting yours.

“What you said hurt Samu. It gutted me when you brought her up,” you cried as Osamu deflated. He knew what he said stung. He hadn’t met for his anger to get out of control like that. He knew he had to fix this.

“I’m so incredibly sorry for bringing her up Yn. I don’t have any excuse for what I said. Amy never gave me what you give me. She never supported my dream like you do and that’s why I love you so much Yn. You’re it for me,” he whispered as your eyes again flooded with tears and you opened the door, pulling him into an embrace.

“I love you too Samu and I’ve only ever wanted to see you happy. I love helping you and I don’t need praise all the time but sometimes it would be nice,” you responded as he pulled you in right, holding you close as if you would disappear if he were to let go.

“I can do that Yn, I can definitely do that.”

[capricornlevi]

professional obligations - osamu miya x reader

summary: attending your neighbourhood's annual business awards ceremony is not exactly your idea of an ideal night out. however, the owner of a shop a few doors down from your cafe makes an appearance and, to your surprise, you end up liking him quite a bit. timeskip osamu x reader.

cw: explicit sexual content, consumption of alcohol

NSFW, 18+ - MDNI - MINORS and AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 5.9k

“Champagne?” 

The waiter holds out the silver tray with a polite smile and no judgment in his eyes, so you take two of the flutes without thinking twice about it. You’ll need some liquid courage if you have any hope of sticking this out to the end. 

If you had any other place to be on this Saturday night then you likely wouldn’t be here right now, in a mid-range hotel ballroom, attending the 25th Annual Local Small Business & Restaurant Awards ceremony with absolutely no connections to help you break the ice, and without a date by your side to keep you company. 

You knock back half a glass of champagne with a grimace, hoping the waiter isn’t offended; your expression has nothing to do with the refreshments. 

The champagne is actually quite delightful. 

Thankfully, he’s moved on to serve the table next to you and so he doesn’t notice. You spot him chatting with the co-owners of a successful flower shop located across the street from your café, congratulating them on their win. You seem to be the only person having difficulty with small-talk this evening. 

Your table has mostly been cleared except for a few coats and handbags draped over the backs of empty chairs. You watch as the guests mingle on the ballroom floor, showing off their medals and trophies and certificates. 

Your own award sits proudly next to your place card – a small golden trophy bearing the name of your coffee shop, with “INDEPENDENT CAFÉ OF THE YEAR” written in tiny but perfectly-engraved letters at the base.

It’s silly. Just a trivial little token. After tomorrow’s celebratory post on the café’s Instagram account, you’ll likely forget all about it. 

It’s silly, meaningless, but you feel proud nonetheless. You smile to yourself, allowing a moment of indulgence as you reflect upon your journey.

Running your own business hasn’t been easy. 

It all started five years ago when you were fresh out of university, burdened with student loans and with absolutely no plans for the future, and so you took up a job as a barista in a locally-run café to pay the bills. You had zero barista experience and could barely prepare toast successfully, let alone the intricate pastries that the café was known for, but the elderly owner took a liking to you and gave you a chance to learn from her. Her wisdom and experience were unmatched. 

Surprisingly, you found yourself loving almost every part of the job - baking in the tiny kitchen, brewing the coffee, chatting to customers - and just one year after joining you were promoted to supervisor. Business was never better than with you in charge and so you climbed up the ranks quickly, and when the owner retired three years later, she offered you the right of first refusal in buying the place.

It seemed ridiculous at first. You were twenty-five, had no experience in the behind-the-scenes aspects of running a business, and still had most of your loans to pay off. Even though your heart soared at the idea of making the café your own, it just didn’t seem realistic. 

However the owner, only wanting to earn enough from the sale to retire comfortably, set the asking price far lower than what was typical for this area. It was still a big commitment, but it was one that you couldn’t refuse. As a result, you were able to secure a small business loan from the bank and, with your mentor’s blessing, started a complete rebrand of the café the moment your signature was on the dotted line.

The café soon became remarkably popular. It went from being a hidden gem that people tended to stumble upon by accident to a bustling local hotspot, reviewed in countless travel guides and magazines.

Word-of-mouth did the rest of the publicity for you. You only use fresh, local ingredients in your baked goods and the finest coffee beans for your beverages, and the steady line of customers outside the café every morning shows how your efforts are appreciated.

The award helps, too.

Setting aside your awkward reluctance to mingle, you suppose this evening hasn’t been a total waste. You allow yourself this moment of pride in your achievement.

“Best café, huh?” a voice calls out from over your shoulder, and you turn to face the person speaking. “Not surprised, to be honest. I had ya pegged to win it from the beginning.” 

Standing to your left-hand side is Osamu Miya.

Osamu Miya, the owner of what is soon-to-be a chain of beloved onigiri businesses, is shooting a lop-sided smile in your direction, making your face heat for reasons you don’t quite understand. 

He’s wearing a shirt and tie - business formal, as the dress code stipulated - but his suit jacket is slung over his arm, the top button of his shirt is undone, and his dark hair is a bit more dishevelled than it was when delivering his acceptance speech onstage.

You just stare at him for a moment. 

He’s standing here as if you were expecting to see him, praising you so earnestly and seemingly without any ulterior motives. You’re very confused as to why he’s doing this. 

You’ve spoken to him all of twice in your life; the first of which was to place an order at his shop to see if it was worth the hype (it was), and the second time was when you knocked on his door to ask him to sign a petition for new parking regulations to be implemented in the neighbourhood. Both conversations were brief and civil and very unexciting.

You don’t know him at all. To be honest, the only thing you have in common is that your café is three doors down from his flagship store. 

And to be even more honest, a tiny part of you has been quite jealous of him for a while now.

You wish you didn’t feel this way. No part of you wants to begrudge anyone’s success — it’s not that he doesn’t work hard, he really does, you’ve seen as much from the countless times you’ve passed his shop on the way to work — but he just manages it all so effortlessly. His shop has been open for only ten months now and he’s already expanded to two new locations. He gets more publicity and acclaim than you’ve seen from any other business at this event, and every afternoon you see how the queue for his place doubles that of yours. 

He has been honoured with no less than four awards for Onigiri Miya  - Best Casual Dining, Best Newcomer, Most Popular Promotional Campaign, and the coveted Small Business of the Year prize - and the only times you’ve spotted him over the course of the evening have been while he’s on stage collecting a trophy or when he’s surrounded by people congratulating him on his success.

He seems perfectly nice, but some dark part of your brain worries that he’s just here to rub it in. He’s received fawning praise from pretty much every other person here – maybe he wants you to do the same?

Worst of all, you know he doesn’t mean what he said about anticipating your win tonight. He’s never even been to your café. 

This is especially hurtful considering you bought not one, not two, but three onigiris when you visited his shop, yet he hasn’t bothered to even try a shot of espresso.

How rude. 

He must notice the way you tense up, your lips pulling together tight, but his smile doesn’t falter even for a moment.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the one beside you. Up until twenty minutes ago, it was occupied by an overly-chatty local councilman who hogged all the red wine and kept making jokes at his opponents’ expense, but from the way he suddenly sprinted outside while on the phone with his campaign manager, you doubt he’ll be returning anytime soon. 

You shake your head and watch as Osamu takes a seat by your side. 

“Some event, huh?” he observes conversationally, as if you two have known each other for years. “I kinda figured it’d be boring as shit, but an open bar fixes all that, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you repeat back to him. 

Your delivery isn’t exactly rude - even as jealousy rears its ugly head, the rational side of you knows that none of this is really his fault - but any observer could see that you’re not returning his enthusiasm at all. You’re barely smiling, nodding along just to be polite, clearly distracted.  

Still, he perseveres.

“And hey, thanks for gettin’ that petition started, by the way,” he carries on, “I’m sure ya saw already, but it’s helped business on the street like nothin’ I ever saw before.”

Damn, he’s good at this. You feel your defences drop, the hostility evaporating from your system with every word that comes from his mouth. 

Still, you don’t want to give in. He’s surely here just to pad his own ego, right? What other business would he have talking to someone who he barely knows?

“Yeah?” you prompt, testing his resolve. You look his way, trying to gauge his reaction – if he’s lying, you’ll surely catch him out now. “You think so?”

Osamu nods thoughtfully, the very picture of sincerity, and passes your test with flying colours.

“Hundred percent. It wouldn’t’ve gotten anywhere if ya hadn’t put the time in. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to help ya a bit more.”

Oh, shit. You’re smiling now. You didn’t do it consciously and you’re not even sure when it started, but it’s happening. You can’t seem to stop it.

“No problem. I’m glad it worked out,” you concede, taking another sip of the champagne – finishing the champagne, would be more accurate. You hadn’t realised how quickly you knocked back that last glass.

Osamu seems to have had a few glasses, too, judging by the pink blush that’s dusting his cheekbones. 

It looks sort of nice, actually. 

Both the blush and his … face, in general. 

Woah. That development takes you by surprise. 

Osamu leans back in the chair, looking at you in a way that makes you worry you’ve been found out, but his expression doesn’t betray anything other than a fond curiosity. 

“Wanna go for another?” he asks, gesturing at the empty flute in your hand. “A drink, I mean?”

You glance around the room, trying to find the friendly waiter with the tray of champagne. You can’t see him, can’t see anyone offering glasses to the crowd – the crowd which has thinned out considerably since you last checked, leaving only half the attendees standing around. It must be later than you thought. 

“I can’t see any servers … I don’t think they have any more champagne.”

Osamu flushes.

“I … uh, didn’t mean from here.”

He - what?

You set the glass back down on the table a bit too quickly, hoping the gesture doesn’t come across as hostile. 

“I just meant … this place is gettin’ a little tired,” he explains, his delivery remarkably confident considering the blush has reached the tips of his ears. “There’s a bar just down the street if ya wanted to go fer a nightcap or somethin’?”

Your grin is back, and you blame the champagne for the words that slip out next. 

“Getting tired of your adoring public?”

Osamu clutches his chest in mock offence. “You’re tellin’ me ya don’t adore me?”

It’s getting really difficult to pretend you have no interest in talking to this man. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you flipped, how you want to say yes to his request right now. You want to go for a drink with him. You want to keep the conversation going, to maybe find out he’s not as cocky and self-assured as you originally assumed. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking things over.

“I might not adore you,” you begin, laughing when he pretends to slump down in his chair with despair, “yet, anyway,” and he sits up straighter, encouraged, “but I will go for a drink with you, if that helps things?”

“That’ll do fer now,” he agrees, holding out a hand to help you up after you’ve grabbed your award from the table and slipped it carefully into your handbag. “As long as we get out of here before the mayor’s staff try to corner us again.”

You cast him an amused glance. “I thought you said this was a good night?”

“Yeah, it was, when the bar tab was still open,” he scoffs. “I couldn’t subject ya to their lecture about fuckin’ urban sanitation without at least one drink in your hand.” 

Once you’re on your feet, he lets go of your hand and turns to fetch his jacket and his own awards from his table, promising to be back in just a second. 

You take a few moments during his absence to try and process this whole thing, willfully ignoring the pang of disappointment you feel at the loss of his touch. 

This is … weird. Not ten minutes ago you were sitting alone, proud of your victory but still sulking a little, feeling an embarrassingly childish resentment for the star of tonight’s show, Osamu Miya.

But now he’s after ruining the whole thing by walking to your table, charming you out of your self-imposed isolation, and making you kind of … like him. 

And you’re leaving this event to go for a drink with him. Just the two of you. Alone. Since that’s the perfect way to commemorate the third conversation you’ve shared together, apparently. 

Your mind starts to race. Are you friends now? Is he going to start stopping by the café in the mornings? Will he expect you to do the same?

Maybe this is too much too fast. You start to have second thoughts, instinctually racking your brain for a decent excuse to bail out. 

But then you see Osamu approach you again, his tie loose around his neck and smile still so infectious, and all those anxious thoughts disappear … only to be replaced by more exciting, more confusing ones. 

Seeing him now, he’s taller than you remembered - broader, too, as shown by the way his shirt tightens against his chest as he moves - and his features more striking, with his grey eyes capturing your attention in a way you’d never noticed before. 

Your integrity is taking a serious hit tonight.

Still … you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little bit curious as to how things will play out from here. 

___

The bar that Osamu takes you to is surprisingly cosy. You’re not sure why, but you had expected something lavish - this is an expensive neighbourhood, after all - but this seems to be more of a family-run establishment, small and contained, with an open fireplace and candle-lit lamps providing most of the visibility.

The wall is lined with booths and cushioned seats, only a few of which are occupied, and the music is playing through an old vinyl player perched on the bar counter.

You much prefer this to one of the busier, fancier cocktail bars that have popped up on this street. 

The bartender waves at you both as you walk inside, clearly recognising your companion as he gives him a friendly greeting. You take a seat in a booth by the corner as Osamu goes to place the drinks order. 

Once he returns with two beers in hand you stop nervously fidgeting with a loose napkin on the table, instead choosing to lean back in the chair to appear more settled.  

You smile, thanking him for the drink. 

Osamu takes his seat but doesn’t even get to take a sip of his beer before his phone starts to ring.

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, grabbing the phone and turning down the call. “I’ll mute it.”

“You sure?” you ask in a way that’s almost teasing, prompting a grin and a shake of his head. “It could be urgent – it could be about another award.”

“You’re tryin’ to embarrass me in my favourite bar?” he asks, as close to deadpan as you think he can get. “After I got my hopes up you were startin’ to adore me?”

You chuckle and shrug, trying the beer yourself. It’s nice – from a local brewery you hadn’t tried before. He has better taste than you’d thought. 

“That was my brother callin’,” Osamu explains with a roll of his eyes as he says the word brother. “Dumbass is playin’ abroad right now - well, the game is over, so he’s technically celebratin’ - and he doesn’t have any concept of time or schedules.”

“I mean, you’re out drinking too,” you observe, prompting another dramatic eye roll. 

“He doesn’t have to know that part!” Osamu objects, sliding his phone into his pocket and leaning back in his seat. Another heart-melting smile. “Plus, I’ve got company. That’s where I wanna keep my focus, not on whatever shitty drunken singalong ‘Tsumu’s gonna try an’ start again if I pick up his call.” 

Your face heats. At this point, you’ve given up all attempts at staying resentful.

Which reminds you of something you’ve completely forgotten to tell him. 

“Congratulations, by the way. I never said it earlier – four awards, very impressive,” you say, finding that against all odds, you actually mean it. 

“Thanks,” he beams, running a hand through his hair. “But it shoulda just been three, to be honest.”

You frown, confused. Osamu was the frontrunner for every award he was nominated for tonight, and you hadn’t taken his modesty to be that extreme. “What do you mean?”

He catches your gaze, almost as if he hopes the point will come across through eye contact alone; when it doesn’t, he clarifies;

“You shoulda won Small Business of the Year.”

Your resulting laugh nearly makes you choke on your beer. It’s flattering - sweet, really - and now that you have more faith in his intentions, you can appreciate the gesture. 

But you’re also a realist. That award was one you knew you weren’t walking away with tonight. “C’mon-”

“I mean it!” he objects.

“Miya, I know you’re being nice, but you opened two new shops this year alone. And hey, don’t get me wrong, I did fine. But I didn’t get nearly as much business as you did over the summer.”

“Firstly, call me Osamu,” he retorts, his expression showing that he’s clearly having a lot of fun with this. He pauses as he brings the glass of beer to his lips. “And secondly, I’m not just being nice – I voted for ya.”

You blink at him for a moment, heart fluttering in your chest as you process the admission. 

It doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He doesn’t sound like he’s lying. Still, you’re baffled – there were dozens of businesses on the shortlist for the award, and you can’t imagine Osamu Miya putting your name above all the others. 

Mostly because he’s never even set foot in your door.

“I - uh, thank you, Osamu.”

He laughs. “You look confused.”

“Well, I am a little,” you admit, not even sure of where to start. “I appreciate it, but I just … have you ever tried my coffee? I mean, it’s completely fine if you haven’t, I’ve just never seen you-”

“I get it every day.”

You freeze, expression shifting from confused to utterly taken aback. “What?”

“I put in a mobile order every day, around eleven in the morning. I’m usually busy in the kitchen at that point, so one of the sales assistants collects it and I give them the order number.”

Same order, same time every day …

“Shit!” you exclaim, suddenly putting it all together. You set your glass back down and clap your hands together, lifting them to your mouth as if you’ve just solved some complex mystery. “You’re the one who buys all my lemon cake!”

He shakes his head — no malice in the gesture, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is that a question or an accusation?” 

“Definitely an accusation,” you answer, knowing without a shred of doubt that your assumption is correct. Of course, this also means that Osamu is telling the truth about his consistent ordering, but you’ll unpack that in a moment. “Every day I get an order around that time – the drinks change every now and then, but they always order a slice of lemon loaf cake. Always.”

“And yet, no loyalty programme for the cakes,” he sighs, “I get every seventh coffee free, but no stamps for the cake. Just heartbreakin’.” 

“I’ll take your suggestion on board,” you acknowledge with a soft laugh, thinking back to how long those orders have been coming in and how many slices of cake that must equal - a lot, if your addition is anyway correct - and feel this pleasant, warm feeling flood your chest. 

Guilt also starts to tug at you, but you can’t see the sense of dwelling on that emotion for too long. 

Not when Osamu’s here, looking at you like that, professing his admiration for you not just as a business owner and an equal, but as a purveyor of baked goods as well. 

The least you can do is buy the next round. 

Two beers later and the conversation drifts back to the topic of work, but in a different way than before. This time, it’s more vulnerable; the struggles of getting started in the hospitality industry, the insecurities of your line of work, and how the ever-changing nature of the city landscape means your business plan might change overnight. 

“I guess I, uh, kinda worry sometimes,” he admits quietly, looking down at the table and tracing circles on his glass with his thumb. “About this whole thing, runnin’ it by myself.” 

“Worry about what?” you ask, hoping your question comes across as reassuring and not outright dismissive. “Your place is the busiest on the street from what I’ve seen. Definitely the most stable business at the event tonight.” 

“Thanks,” he replies, eyes flickering up to yours again. His lips quirk upwards when you meet his gaze.  “‘I ‘spose I just worry that it’s more from … name recognition, than anythin’ else. And I don’t like that.”

“Name recognition?” you inquire. “From your brother?” 

He nods. “Tsumu’s - well, he’s not a celebrity, exactly, but he’s well-known around here, as much as it kills me to admit it,” he says with the ghost of a smile. “And I guess I just … don’t want people to be comin’ to my shop out of some sort of sympathy. Like they think I’m only runnin’ the place because I couldn’t make it in volleyball.” 

Before you can think things through, before your brain can slow your muscles down and offer you the chance to think sensibly, you reach a hand over to rest on top of one of his. He doesn’t acknowledge it with words, but he lets go of his glass and rests the hand down on the table so you can properly clasp it. 

He continues speaking before either of you has to address the impromptu hand-holding.

“And I know it’s stupid, right? Cos hey, as long as business is comin’ in, it makes no sense to complain. But yeah … that’s the worry, I guess.”

“I’ve never met anyone who thinks that about you, Osamu,” you say softly, ignoring the thrumming of your heart in your ribcage as you feel his fingers intertwine with yours. “And I certainly don’t, anyway. You’re just a talented guy who puts in a hell of a lot of hard work.”

He smiles again. “Is that why you’ve gone all mushy on me? Ya like my work ethic?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, a little petulantly, “being nice to you isn’t mushy.”

“I’m a fan of mushy,” he clarifies, tracing slow circles on the back of your hand, “if that helps things.”

It does, and you show him as much by tugging on his hand, tilting your head towards the door to show your intentions. 

Osamu pays the bar tab while you collect your things. A taxi is called, goodbyes are said to the bar staff, and for the second time tonight, you leave together. 

Though this time, you know exactly how it’s going to go.

___

Osamu’s hands on your waist are careful but firm, pushing you back against the door as soon as it closes behind you. 

The ride to his place was only ten minutes long - all of which was spent making out like desperate teenagers in the back of the taxi - and now that you have some privacy and space to yourselves, you’re not sure how you can last even a second without touching him. 

You can’t imagine a better kiss, and then he gives you a better one just moments later. 

You arch into him, feeling him groan against your lips, looping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest against him to feel as close as possible. 

The kiss goes from languid and passionate to heated and messy, and you let out a whimper when his tongue meets yours, licking into your mouth as you keen almost pathetically. 

The varnished wood of the door feels cold against your shoulder blades and you shiver. Osamu notices, resting a hand on your nape to pull you towards him. 

You fist your hands into the crisp fabric of his shirt. He smells incredible, clean and fresh, and you want to make his hair look even more dishevelled than it did after he ran his hand through it at the bar. What started as him trying to guide you away from the door has now turned into something that would be more accurately described as grinding — his hips are flush against yours, and you feel so desperately empty that you start to rock back and forth almost involuntarily. 

“Do ya wanna-“ he mumbles into the shell of your ear once he pulls away, lips pink and kiss-swollen, voice torn and almost desperate, “- want to go to bed?”

You can think of nothing in the world you’d want more. 

Your nod comes instantly, so enthusiastic that it should be embarrassing but it isn’t, and he takes your hand in his once again and leads you to his bedroom. 

His surprisingly neat, very organised bedroom. 

But you don’t have time to survey your surroundings too much because before you know it, Osamu is guiding you to lie down on his dark-grey bedspread, caging you in with his strong arms. 

He leans over you, covering your body with his, peppering soft kisses to your jawline and whispering sweet praise into your ear. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted ta do this?” you hear him say, and you grin lazily as you finally run your fingers through his hair. “How long I’ve tried ta build up the courage ta ask you out? To have you like this underneath me, making those pretty lil’ sounds fer me?”

Warm, liquid heat starts to collect in your stomach, and you suddenly feel that you’re both wearing too many clothes. 

You reach for the buttons of his shirt and feel his lips curl upwards against your neck. You undo his tie before starting to unbutton the rest, exposing more and more of the hard muscle of his chest. Not content to let you do all of the work, he paws at the back of your dress until he finds the zipper, lifting your back off the bed for a moment as he unties it. 

Osamu sheds the rest of his clothes as you shrug the dress and your underwear down your legs and onto the floor. When he leans over you again, you notice he’s hard; you feel exactly how hard he is when his cock presses against your stomach. He grabs your tits, squeezing them and playing with your nipples as you moan more wantonly than you thought possible. 

You’re not usually this vocal, but he seems to draw it out of you.

Things escalate quickly, or maybe they don’t — you can’t really tell how much time has passed. All you know is his broad frame engulfing you, the pretty words he’s whispering, and the feeling of his fingers as they dip into your underwear and run through your folds, your body growing warmer and warmer under his touch. 

You gasp - gasp audibly, your voice weak and thready - as he circles your clit, feeling how wet you are and slipping two fingers inside you moments later. 

Your entire body shakes, trembling as he starts to move his hand, and you can hear how he’s working you open. The thrusts are steady and careful, his fingers curling in a way that makes your words slur - a string of ‘Osamu, Osamu, right there, please, please, fuck’ on repeat until your mind stops working - and you feel yourself dripping down his wrist.

Osamu looks delighted. When he’s not kissing you or rutting gently against your thigh for some relieving friction, he’s propped up on his other arm and just looking at you, taking in every lip bite and flinch and the way your hips cant upwards when he switches to a new angle. 

He looks like he’s having even more fun than you are, which seems impossible since you’re practically on fire, that ball of heat growing and burning and getting more intense until –

“Fuck, Osamu, I’m coming,” you gasp, rocking against his hand as he fucks you through it, feeling it ripple through you for what seems like hours. 

Your eyes screw shut as you come but when you finally gather enough strength to open them again, you see him admiring you with blown-own pupils, his cock rock-hard and leaking against his stomach. 

“Need you,” you just about choke out the words, your body feeling utterly weightless. You’re surprised at how soon you want to go again, still feeling the aftershocks pulsing from your core, but the way he’s looking at you now makes you want to lean over and take him in your mouth. 

“Need me?” he mumbles, pulling his soaking fingers from your pussy with a lazy smile. 

You want to laugh, smack him playfully and bite back with something like don’t let it get to your head, Miya, but your mind isn’t letting you get that far. Instead, all you can articulate is a broken-sounding;

“Need you inside me.”

Thankfully, Osamu doesn’t try and tease you any further. Your words ignite something in him; he pulls back on his haunches and grabs a condom from his bedside table before you can even blink, breathing out a low moan as you start to pump him slowly. He fucks into your fist, biting into his lower lip as he does so, hands resting on his muscular thighs.

He starts to leak into your palm and at that, he’s had enough of the touching, leaning back over you and kissing you in a way that knocks the breath from your chest.

He rolls the condom onto his length and positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your clit and making you whimper, and gives you one last look to make sure you’re ready for him – he’s not exactly small. 

You nod, certain that if he’s not inside you soon, your core will start to physically ache.

He pushes inside you in one slow but fluid motion. It fills and stretches you in a way that you’ve never felt before and your thighs spread wider for him, needing to feel that sensation again and again. Once you’ve had time to adjust to his size, he starts to move, thrusts steady and firm.

It’s unbearably hot. Every movement, every touch, it all makes you feel as though you’re burning up underneath him. Judging from his expression, he feels the same. 

If he seemed like he was enjoying himself before now, it pales in comparison to the look on his face at this moment; cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering shut as he swears under his breath, lips shining from having kissed you over and over. 

He tells you exactly how good you’re making him feel: how your walls are squeezing him just right, how he’s imagined fucking you before but this is somehow better, how you’re so wet he wants to stay buried in your pussy forever. You want to reply but his thrusts are hitting too deep for you to form coherent sentences. 

His hands are back on your waist, manoeuvring you easily since the pleasure has rendered you utterly boneless and pliant underneath him. 

However, that all changes when you see him approach his peak - you can tell as much from the way his movements turn erratic, and the swears and praise start to flow out as if he has no control over it - and you decide to take charge. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him into you, gripping his shoulders and leaving little crescent-moon indentations in his skin.

He groans into your shoulder and comes deep inside you. He keeps thrusting into you; even in his fucked-out state, he seems intent to bring you to the edge along with him. 

It works – you come again without warning, the build-up from before now entirely absent as the orgasm burns through you. You cry out, the sound barely muffled against his shoulder as you spasm around his length, your quaking thighs struggling to stay wrapped around his hips. 

Cliche as it may sound, it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. 

You take a ragged breath, feeling your chest move up and down, your nipples grazing against his chest. His lips are still at your pulse point, kissing you gently.

Slowly, very slowly, you start to untangle yourselves. Osamu pulls out with a soft hiss, still half-hard, and you let your legs fall back against his bed. You lift a hand to your forehead, feeling how your skin is damp and flushed, and let yourself come back to earth as Osamu disposes of the condom. 

He returns a moment later, laying down next to you on the bed, giving you a smile that is surprisingly but achingly affectionate. 

Your heart skips triumphantly. You’ve gone from resenting him to liking him to really liking him in the space of a single evening, and there’s no denying how much you want him to keep smiling at you like this for the foreseeable future. 

He cups your face with one of his large hands, and you can easily predict what he’s about to ask you next. 

“Wanna stay over?”

You hum, pretending to think it over even though, once again, you know what your answer will be. 

“I mean, it’s sensible – we share a commute,” he points out, and you can’t argue with him on that one. “Plus, I heard ya make decent coffee.”

You let out a weary sigh, oozing fake annoyance. “So that’s why you brought me over?” 

“Nah, it’s just yet another point in your favour.”

Before you can say anything else, he brings you in for a kiss - tender this time, soft and careful - and as strange as it sounds, you find yourself looking forward to the morning after. And maybe the morning after that, as well. 

There are definite perks to working three doors down from Osamu Miya. 

[baeshijima]

anyway since my hq!! hyperfixation has reared its head around once more, i shall remind u all of one thing:

iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer (+ argentina player oikawa tooru)

[got2sleep]

today is 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔’s day off and — as expected of your stubbornly hardworking husband — he’s busy in the kitchen, trying out new onigiri flavors instead of resting.

you, on the other hand, are sitting at the dining table, painting the watercolor coloring book you bought on the market a few weeks ago. your eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as you paint some hibiscus flowers in bright orange and hot pink colors.

unfortunately, after only half an hour of painting, you grown bored, pushing the watercolor set and coloring book away. you look up, glancing at the silhouette of your husband, cooking in the kitchen, which makes a subtle pout appear on your plump lips.

you had been excited all week for this day, hoping to spend even more time with osamu — even if it meant spending the whole day in bed, relaxing in each other’s embrace. but no, the brown-haired man just decided to spend the whole day trying new onigiri flavors with raw salmon, much to your dismay.

you were always so eager to try osamu’s new recipes only now you can’t eat those while being four months pregnant and your husband knows that, which is why he banned you from the kitchen.

you stand up from your chair, balancing yourself with a hand on the dining table before making your way over to the kitchen.

when you step in your apartment’s kitchen, the first thing you notice is the familiar smell of the koshihikari, the rice osamu uses for his onigiris.

osamu is standing there, dressed in a large, black shirt along with a pair of grey sweatpants. the shirt draped around his body is an old one, the color is fading away and the fabric extends under the brown-haired man’s collarbone, flashing you a great view of his upper-chest.

he doesn’t notice you entering the kitchen until he feels a hand wrap around the biceps of his left hand. he doesn’t even turn his head towards you, busy finishing the last touches on his new onigiri, a small smile on his face.

“‘n. . . done !” he announces, dragging the ‘and’ a bit longer than necessary.

he finally turns to you, opening one of his arms to you. you immediately snuggle to his side, both arms wrapping around his torso, your head resting on his upper-chest while one of his arms wraps around your waist.

“looks good, heh ?” your husband asks you, looking down at you, a proud expression on his face. softly, he lifts his hand, pushing a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, one that got out of your low ponytail, before pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“you’re mean.” you complain, letting out a humf as you pout your plump lips, glaring at him. “you know i can’t eat those and you’re nagging me !”

osamu laughs at your accusation, shaking his head from side to side before holding his free hand up in surrender. “yeah i know, ‘m sorry.”

he places a chaste kiss on your lips as an apology, to which you immediately kiss him back, the frown on your face disappears, replaced by a soft smile.

osamu is the first to part away from the kiss, pressing his lips against your temple before turning to the plate of onigiri in front of him.

much to your dismay, he moves his body away from yours, grabbing the small plate and putting it in the fridge.

while your husband cleans up the space he used on the countertop, your eyes find a small bowl of leftover koshihikari rice.

“you’re not gonna use it, are you ?” you ask the brown-haired man as you point to the small bowl in front of you.

osamu looks away from what he’s doing, noticing the rice bowl you’re pointing at. “nah.” he shrugs his shoulders.

as if on cue, an idea comes to your mind, a new pregnancy craving, a very strange pregnancy craving.

you turn on your heels, making your way towards the fridge as you hum a soft tune. you open the fridge’s door, bending over, your eyes searching for something as you rest a hand on your pregnant belly.

your eyes shine as you finally find what you were looking for. you close the fridge’s door behind you, holding a pot of yogurt in one hand.

osamu watches with furrowed eyebrows as you make your way back to your original spot, watching as you peel the yogurt’s lid open. “the hell are ya doin’ ?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“creamy rice.” you happily answer him, grabbing a large spoon in one of the kitchen’s drawers.

“‘n what is that ?” osamu asks you again, even more confused than before, visibly not trusting you with whatever you plan on doing.

“it’s a craving i just came up with !” you announce as you pour a bit of the liquid-ish yogurt in the rice with the spoon. “rice, yogurt, peanut butter, jam and granola !”

as soon as you present the ingredients to him, osamu makes the most disgusted face you’ve ever seen.

“that’s not a craving, ts’ a crime.” he declares, which makes you roll your eyes. “so y’er tellin’ me that y’er gonna eat that ?”

“that’s what your son wants.” you tell him as you roll your eyes. “you don’t have a say in that.”

“don’t ya dare tell me y’er stomach hurt after that.” osamu warns you, still not quite trusting you.

you shoot him a glare, making him raise his hands, before turning back to your concoction. you mix both the rice and the plain yogurt together, creating a creamy, chewy texture by doing so.

osamu moves closer to you, just in case you need his help, leaning against the kitchen island, watching with furrowed brows as you cook your craving.

he watches as you grab the pot of peanut butter on one of the kitchen’s upper shelves, getting on tip toes to reach it, determined not to ask for your husband’s help. unfortunately, you try to twist the pot’s lid open, only for it to stay closed, making you groan in annoyance.

osamu moves beside you, taking the peanut butter pot with one of his hands, it you’re still holding it firmly in both your hands.

“i can do it myself.” you affirm, looking up at your husband than at his hand, silently telling him to let you handle it.

“i know, but lemme do it for ya.” osamu insists, taking the peanut butter away from you while your grip on it loosens.

he effortlessly snaps the lid open, a cocky grin on his face as he shoots you a glance. he grabs the large spoon sitting in the kitchen countertop, taking a spoonful of the peanut butter before pouring it into the small bowl.

your husband then grabs the raspberry jam pot, opening it with one hand before pouring a good amount in the bowl. he does the same with the granola, spreading it a bit everywhere on top of your concoction.

“there ya go.” osamu hands you the bowl and spoon, still not convinced by your strange craving.

you thank him, planting a sweet peck on his cheek before turning to the bowl in front of you. you dig your spoon inside of the mixture, taking a spoonful of everything and shoving the spoon into your mouth.

a pleased sigh escaped your lips as you munch on your craving, closing your eyes and savoring the different flavors of the concoction.

“better than i imagined.” you admit as you point the spoon towards osamu who looks at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“yeah nah, i can’t do this.” he says, scratching the back of his neck as he watches you enjoy your meal.

osamu steps out of the kitchen, shaking his head from side to side, still surprised by the way you actually liked it, which makes you laugh.

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 2

🌅Don’t you dare runaway (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing, Mention of Blood & Childbirth

Words count: 3.8k

chapter 1 -

It’s late December, the leaves have left the branches and the last rays of sunlight shine timidly.

It’s late December and Atsumu thinks he might die from fratricide.

“I swear, ‘Samu, I’m sorry-”

“I told ya I needed ya today. For once in yer damn life, I ask for help, and ya can’t even do that," Osamu snaps, his jaw is tightening so much, he feels a tension forming from his neck to his forehead.

Atsumu cringes, on the other side of the call, he tries to lighten the atmosphere. “Stop cursin’, it ain’t that bad.”

“D’ya know how important this is for me?”

The younger twin starts walking around his restaurant in circles. It’s starting to get dark outside, Osamu should turn on the light, but his hands are too busy (holding the phone with his right; clenching his fist with his left).

A tornado of thoughts is invading his mind: how will he manage to get his stocks ready for the beginning of the year? He’s supposed to release the new recipe in two days, but how can he do that when he is out of rice? What if he can’t respect the orders his clients have made? Each question is coming faster than the one before.

“Listen I’m sorry, I really thought I could come but coach called us and with the winter holidays we won’t have a lot of time to practice and the Olympics Games are next year, it’s in Tokyo I really want to-“

“Please stop talkin’ about yer ass, yer just selfish- like ya’ve always been.”

Osamu’s voice is much calmer this time, more than calm, it’s cold. He has stopped walking, his thoughts have slowed down now, he just feels frustrated and angry.

“Selfish? Yer the one who doesn’t want to hire someone to help. That wouldn’t happened if ya were able to trust others but nah, Osamu-sama doesn’t want anyone but him to work in his prestigious restaurant.”

How he is supposed to rely on someone when his own brother cannot do him a favour on the busiest week of the year, the one that is supposed to make his business’ profits grow by two?

He opens his lips to bark back but a sudden wave of fatigue surges in him, “Okay, forget it. Happy new year ‘Tsumu.”

“Wait, let’s-“ Atsumu’s voice is cut short as Osamu hangs up.

The tension in the kitchen crackles like the freezing air outside.

Osamu lets himself fall on a stool in the corner of the room. He sighs heavily, desperate and lonely.

It all started earlier in the day when Kita called him. Osamu immediately felt panic in his former captain's voice and current rice supplier.

“Osamu, I’m deeply sorry, I was supposed to deliver yer order but my sister, she’s gone into labour, and it is not goin’ well. I thought I could stop by Osaka first but she’s strugglin’, she’s losin’ a lot of blood and-“

“Kita-san, it’s fine.” Osamu didn't really register the consequences of the situation at first, but he is not a monster, Kita’s sister seemed to be having a hard time, rice was the least of priorities right now.

“But I was supposed to deliver the bags this afternoon, I know how busy this time of the year is for ya. I’ll make sure to make a discount on this month’s order.”

Osamu smiled a little, “we’ll talk about that later. Take care of yer sister.”

The older man explained to his friend that with all his workers away for the New Year holidays, he had no one else to help him manage. The only remaining solution was then for Osamu to make the trip himself, Kita’s grandmother, too old to travel, stayed behind at the farm.

“I’ll inform her ya or yer brother is comin’, she’ll welcome ya. Please accept my deepest apologise.”

“Thank you, captain, I’ll call ‘Tsumu now, we’ll find a solution.”

He had then called Atsumu, who’d promised to help so that Osamu could stay in Osaka and the restaurant would be open all day tomorrow. But now, with evening falling and no sign of his brother, Osamu's temper is boiling over.

It is quiet, almost peaceful, in Onigiri Miya, still, he can feel a weight pressing down on him and stiffing his muscles. Osamu starts thinking about customers relying on him, the orders he was supposed to have prepared for the next day. He can’t even go to a supermarket since they’re all closed because of the holiday.

The situation is getting out of his hands and Osamu hates that.

The door creaks open. It’s you. Your breath fogs in the cold air as you step inside.

Osamu hears you call his name, once, twice, thrice before you finally catch sight of him.

You stand in the kitchen threshold with a bottle in your hands. He can’t see your fingers under your gloves, but the warmth of the oven makes your cheeks and nose redden a little bit.

“Hey, I wanted to bring you something. My mum made some yuzu juice, and I thought you might like it.” You set the bottle on the worktop; the sound of glass against the wooden surface makes an echo.

“Why is it so dark in here?” You turn on the light and with a teasing voice you tell him, “are you meditating or—"

You don’t finish your sentence; Osamu guesses you decipher the stormy look on his face. He lowers his cap a little as if that would hide his furrowed brows and lips pressed into a tight line. He doesn’t look like the calm, collected Osamu you know, and for a moment, you look like you’re unsure if it’s the right time to be here.

“You alright?” you ask, getting closer to him.

He exhales sharply, letting his hands fall on his thighs. “Not really,” he mutters and checks the time on his phone again. “Kita can’t get the rice to me ‘cause his sister’s gone into labour. Nobody can deliver it for me. Called ‘Tsumu for help, he said he will go but in the end he can’t. Of course, this happens today when I have eight orders to prepare, and a stall to get ready for the Christmas Market.” He clicks his tongue, it’s sharper than the sound of the glass.

You blink, taking in his words. “That’s rough,” you murmur. “But… I’m here now. What can I do to help?”

Osamu looks at you, his expression softening slightly at your offer. However, the weight of everything hasn’t lifted, and he’s unsure how to respond.

“I dunno,” he sighs. “I just need to get this rice, otherwise I’m screwed for the next few days.”

You pause, considering. “Well, how far is it to Kita’s farm?”

“It’s not the distance,” Osamu grumbles, “it’s the timing. The whole week’s been booked out, and with the rush, I can’t just go and leave the shop.”

You nod, leaning against the counter. “Alright, then if we leave now, we’ll come back during the night, and everything will be ready for tomorrow.”

Watching you talk makes his heart feel oddly light. You go to the back room to grab his jacket and hand him, you also put your navy scarf around his neck. You don’t let go of the scarf and bend towards him. The storm that is lying in his veins becomes a delicate summer breeze as soon as you lay eyes on him. Of course, he can rely on you, how could he have forgotten? The two of you have been each other rock and anchor for years. He’s helped you as much as you’ve helped him, always so gently. But what is crazy is that that gentleness of yours seems so effortless. At that moment, Osamu appears incredibly small and stupid compared to you.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

“Ya don’t have to help m-“

Your features harden and soften at the same time, it makes him feels safe and solid again. “Let me help you, please.” You simply answer.

Osamu’s knuckles are tight around the steering wheel, his phalanges even start hurting. His jaw remained clenched. He’s so worked up he barely notices the heavy silence between you two at first.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches you looking outside the window, a quiet sigh escaping your lips.

A sense of guilt surges in him, you made the effort to come with him and he is not showing any sign of gratitude. So, he tries to engage the conversation—it’s usually so natural to talk with you in the car.

“So-hm- how was work today? Aren’t the guys too hard to handle? Did Bokuto force ya to do that TikTok trend again?”

Without looking at him, you reply, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to pretend, you know. Not with me.”

“I’m not pretendin’, I’m just confused because yer not talkin’. Ya usually like to talk when I drive.” Osamu finally mutters, trying to mask the irritation in his voice, though it’s still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

You chuckle a little and finally turn to him, “I’m fine with the silence too Osamu, as long as we are together, everything’s fine.”

That simple statement makes him swallow his next words. He knows you’re right, in joy and madness, in despair and excitement, you always accept him. He knows that he doesn’t need to put on a brave face around you. But the habit of keeping his emotions in check, especially when things go wrong, runs deep. He also wants to appear composed in front of you so that you know he can always protect you.

You shift in your seat, then reach for your phone and put on some music. You look back out at the passing landscape, your voice a little higher now. “The countryside’s beautiful this time of year, don’t you think? I’ve lived in Hyogo for so many years, but I’ve never really been out here. It’s different from where my family is from up north.”

Osamu listens, though he doesn’t respond immediately. He takes a quick glance at the quiet evening roads and large fields of matcha? Rice? Flowers? It’s too dark to know exactly what is grown here. Still, he wants to enjoy the world through your eyes. To be honest, even he who was born here, never really cared about the landscapes. When his grandmother would take him and his brother on a hike, he wouldn’t complain but he wouldn’t be amazed either. Getting on top of the mountain was fun (especially when he arrived before Atsumu) because it meant he could finally sit down and have a snack. But he hated it when his grandmother asked him to wait and look around. Osamu wanted to eat not stand in front of a still view. “Listen to the wind Osamu-kun, feel the sun on your face. Yer a part of this world too, never forget everything that ya see, everything that ya touch is connected to yer own story.”, his grandmother would tell him, and the boy pretended to understand what she said. Sometimes he would stay a little bit longer to look at the landscapes, what’s so special about them anyway? He would always wonder but even today he is still seeking for the right answer.

His grip on the wheel loosens and the tension in his muscles relieves. You must feel the boy relax by your side because you steal his cap and put it on your head even if he groans. It’s too big for you, “that’s because of my brain, yer not as smart as me.” Osamu concludes with his teasing tone.

“Whatever.” You pout. Cute, he thinks.

He feels a pleasant feeling in his cheeks as his lips form into a smile and almost forgets about the chaotic evening he had just spent.

“Shin-chan told ya were comin, please get inside, ya must be cold.”

Grandma Yumie opens the door to welcome you the second you get off the car. Osamu wonders if she had been waiting on the doorway.

You bow before offering her the bottle of yuzu juice your mother had made (at least, it was useful) and thank her again and again.

“I prepared some tea, it would warm ya up.”

You take a glance at Osamu, probably to ask for his approval. He wouldn’t lie, he wants to take the rice bags, put them in his car and leave as soon as possible. But Kita’s grandmother’s kindness mixed with the need to drink something hot (Decembers are brutal in this region), doesn’t make him think twice. So, he follows her.

Once Osamu passes the entrance and takes off his shoes, he is enveloped by the aroma of something cooking in the kitchen. It smells like meat and mushrooms and seafood; she’s probably making nabe soup, he guesses. His stomach starts to ramble and his mouth to water.

The living room is clean and organised, it almost seems like nobody lives here. At the same time, there’s this present warmth, one that feels lived in. Osamu also notices the small personal touches—the neatly arranged slippers by the door, the delicate vase of flowers on a low table, a stack of freshly folded blankets resting on a chair. It reminds him of home in a way, but quieter, calmer, like time slows down here.

The old lady leads both of you into the kitchen, and Osamu is immediately drawn to the pot simmering on the stove. The scent of nabe is stronger now and his stomach rumbles again, this time louder.

“Sit, sit,” Grandma Yumie insists, motioning to the small table by the window. The view outside is dark, the cold is seeping through the glass, but the heat from inside is stronger. You take a seat, giving Osamu a small smile, your eyes light up when Yumie brings over two steaming cups of tea.

Osamu sits across from you; his eyes start to hurt from the fatigue.

“Would ya like to eat a little bit? I’ll show ya the storage room after.”

“This is so kind of you,” you say, “Thank you for welcoming us.”

Grandma Yumie waves off your gratitude with a warm smile. “Shin-chan spoke very highly of ya both. And it’s no trouble at all. Plus, it’s too cold to send ya away without a proper meal.”

You chuckle lightly, and Osamu notices the way you always seem more at ease in these kinds of settings—around older people, in quieter, simpler environments. You’ve always had that calming effect on him, even when he’s stressed or overwhelmed, like now.

There’s a picture of Shinsuke and his siblings hanging in the kitchen. Yumie tells you the story about that day. Osamu doesn’t listen to her attentively, he simply looks at you.

You fit in this house. Maybe when you’ll get older you could live in a place like this, surrounded by pictures and flowers. You could have a big kitchen and on Sundays Osamu could cook you someth—wait.

Why would you live together?

Osamu almost chokes on his tea when he realises the implication of his thought, Yumie and you turn suddenly to him.

“Are you okay Osamu?” you put your hand on his forearm and the sudden touch makes him back up brutally.

It’s subtle but the man sees your brows furrow a little bit and when your eyes leave his, he immediately regrets his move.

Touch me again, anywhere, but please, touch me, his mind is begging him to say.

But you get up and come back with a glass of water that you hand to him.

You clear your throat and say, “Maybe we should go to the storage room now and eat later.”

“Of course.” Grandma Yumie gets up and the warmth of the house isn’t enough to make up the void your touch has left on his arm.

“Shit.” Osamu curses.

Of course, the gods are against him.

First Kita who can’t do the delivery, then Atsumu letting him down and now his car whose motor seems to be frozen by the frost.

Osamu hates himself for not controlling the fucking weather (it’s snowing, and hard), not controlling the fucking car (he should have listened when his dad taught him mechanics) and above everything else, for putting you and Kita’s grandmother in trouble.

“Let me go and ask our neighbour, maybe ya could use his car.”

“Oba-san.” You say softly, “you should go inside, you’ll catch a cold if you stay in the snow. Osamu and I will take care of it, I can go to his house and ask for help?” Osamu sees your lips shudder, and still, you smile at her.

“Yer such a precious young woman.”

She gives you the instructions (“It’s the first house on the left. Tell him ya come from the Kita’s farm and that yer car doesn’t seem to start. Shinsuke will help him with the harvest this year again.”)

You start running towards the house and Osamu calls your name, “it’s dangerous.” He groans, “I should be the one goin’ there.”

“Don’t worry Osamu-kun, she’s not made of porcelain.” Yumie says gently.

“What if she falls? This is all my problem. I should take care of it. Shit.”

Yumie tilts her head a little bit and looks at him, “there are things that ya can control and some that ya can’t. The kami-sama put obstacles on our road, but it is not for us to destroy or to overcome, it’s for us to walk along them.” She waits a few seconds before continuing, “it’s hard to accept those obstacles on our own. That is why we need each other. Yer friend, she cares a lot about ya, I can tell ya that she cares as much as ya do. Let her walk by your side, treat her as your equal. If ya choose the solitary path, ya’ll never move forward. Whereas she’ll find someone else who wants her by their side. And that person will be very lucky to have her.”

(For a second Osamu believes he is on top of the mountain with his late Grand-Mother.)

Osamu sighs heavily. He waits for her to leave and kicks the wheel in frustration. The force he puts in his leg makes him fall down on his back on the frozen grass.

He doesn’t even complain about the fall, nor he tries to stand up.

He just lies there.

The stars should have been shining bright tonight but instead they’re hidden by clouds.

Osamu just wanted things to be right. He wanted to please his customers, improve his recipes and have a better reputation. What if he loses his restaurant after that?

You’re being too dramatic, just like your brother, you would tell him.

But the thing his, he really wanted to show the world he could make it. Show ‘Tsumu he made the right choice, show his Ma’ and Pa’ they can be proud of their son even if he’s not a world-known athlete, show you he’s someone you can rely on (not like your dickhead ex).

But it’s over now.

“Get your ass off here.”

Your voice resonates into his ears like an order, you sound mad. You never sound mad.

He sits to take a look at your face. It’s hard to see in the dark, but you look as mad as you sound.

“We will have to leave tomorrow morning.” You tell him and the reality hits him in the guts, “It’s too dangerous to take the road now because more snow is coming. The motor needs to warm up so there’s no other choice but to wait. If your car is still like that tomorrow, then the neighbour will let us have his car. It’s a good thing everyone respects Kita here.”

You’re right, again, but that doesn’t help ease the boy’s frustration.

“What?” You ask even though it comes out more like an accusation than a question.

“I’m pissed off.” Osamu feels his ears warm up as he realises how childish he sounds.

“Well, that won’t change anything. Now come inside.”

“I want to stay here a little bit.”

You sigh in annoyance, “And you’ll get sick, and you’ll have to close the restaurant and this time, the only person to blame will be you.”

Osamu thought he would always be the one to look after you. Sometimes you seem so fragile, he wants to build a fort around you and constantly stand guard. He wants to hide you from all the people and horrors that this world has created.

What a fool.

You don’t need him.

Because you already look after yourself. And you do a pretty good job at it.

You’re so much stronger than he thinks.

So, he gets up and runs to catch up with you. You walk a little bit in silence and finally you say playfully, “stop frowning so much or you’ll get wrinkles.”

He rolls his eyes and can’t help but grin.

“What’s on your mind?” You decide to ask him anyway, even though the answer is pretty clear.

Or at least you thought it was.

“This was a shitty day. But I’m happy we shared that shit together.”

Then, “thank you,” he whispers before opening the door.

Osamu doesn’t want to hold back anymore so he smiles, genuinely, wholeheartedly. Perhaps, this way, he can convey what words can’t.

The features on your face soften and you don’t look mad anymore (even though he didn’t know why you were mad in the first place). It’s enough to make his heart at peace.

After helping Grandma Yumie wash the dishes and make the bed, you get ready to shower.

When Osamu comes out of the bathroom, you look surprised (which is weird because you’ve literally spent the day together, so why are you acting like you were not expecting him here?)

He runs his hand through his wet hair awkwardly and mumbles, “I-I took a bath, you can use the water. I hope it’s not too hot though.”

“That’s nice of you.” You clear your throat. His eyes fall on your neck as if instinct had drawn them here. You wear a purple kakeyu that once belonged to Kita’s sister. Purple looks good on you, Osamu thinks (but any colour would look good on you really).

The top of the cloth is loosening a little bit so if his eyes travel a little bit further down, he might see things he’ll regret (well, it’s not the sight he would regret but it’s the fact that he didn’t ask for your permission to do so. But if he were honest, he really wished he could see more. But that’s not the time nor the place.)

He suddenly starts searching for something to distract him, a frame, a stain on the wall, a chandelier. Anything could make it.

“Oba-san just told me Kita's sister has recovered. She had a baby girl, she's very healthy.” You break the silence.

“Well, that's a relief.”

“It is... hm-Have a good night.”

“Yeah, ya too.”

“My bedroom is in front of yours so if you don’t feel good or I don’t know… Well.. just knock.”

“I’ll knock. Sure. Thanks.”

He starts walking to his room and suddenly he is glad his back his facing you now because his face has turned red. Scarlet, even.

(And so is yours, but he’ll never know that.)

Grandma Yumie, who wanted to give you some tea before sleep, decides it’s no use anymore.

Maybe it’s better to leave those two alone, she whispers to herself.

author notes: when my boyfriend read that chapter he told me the beginning was very chaotic and i thought that i should change it but he said it was the point and that it was a good way of showing how frustrated osamu feels haha, idk what you think of that?

anyway that was very random, i hope you liked it :)

Elie

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @teyvatsunsets, @obibiwan

[hatsukeii]

i think i’m gonna pick up a 🎸 with a few 🎵 decorations including a ‘rivals to lovers’ guitar pick and a ‘cooking class au’ strap. and lately i’ve heard that osamu is my biggest fan ;)

got it! the band you’ve joined is…

hell’s kitchen / timeskip!osamu miya x reader

genre(s): fluff, slight crack, rivals to possible? lovers, culinary class au! food!

warning(s): nothing!! im worried that osamu might be ooc here or it's not rivalry enough but i hope it works out!>!!>!

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is at…a culinary class?!

setlist:

🎵girlfriend, hemlocke springs

🎵comedy, gen hoshino

🎵get him back!,olivia rodrigo

How many things can someone possibly put in a rice ball? To slurp, or not to slurp? Better yet, is slapping somebody with a whole head of pickled cabbage a viable course of action?

It's humiliating, almost, paired with Osamu Miya in every culinary class. Not because of his lack of skill- he's good, too good even. But he smacks his tongue audibly against the roof of his mouth every time he digs into your cooking, slurps until showers of broth come spitting from the bowl, wipes his hands on his apron, slathering emulsifications of aioli and hollandaise onto rough canvas fabric, then grabs your waist to walk behind you. Every quirk of his is incomplete without his signature, shit-eating smirk. Every class has you considering swinging whatever tool you have in hand into his face.

Unfortunately, that day is not today. Onigiri only requires hands, and seeing that Osamu has formed six seemingly perfect balls of seaweed wrapped rice, he is clearly much better at using them than you are. Handiwork training is what today's chef called this atrocity. To move beyond being a cook to a chef, you must learn the first tool of cooking- your hands, he said. From the corner of your eye, you catch Osamu's amused glances towards the two funky looking shapes on your plate, and the panicked pulses of your palms against a handful of slippery, seasoned rice. He picks up one of the six onigiri of his own, the rounded tip of the triangle disappearing into his mouth as he chews, agonisingly slowly, smacking his tongue the way he knows you hate. A grumble elicits from your throat, your hands squeezing tighter against the sticky grains in your grasp, only for more chunks to fall apart.

"Let me help."

"No."

"Whatever you say."

He walks over now, biting a second corner off his onigiri as his hips lean against your side of the counter. His lips smack together obnoxiously, teeth squelching and grinding at rice and salmon. You irk your brows when the rice in your grasp seems to stop sticking to each other. It takes one look at your now opaque bowl of water for you to realise that you've washed all the starch off in your attempts to release the grains from your palms. Osamu figured it out when you dipped your hand into the bowl for the seventh time.

"Mix it into the rest of the rice that you have. That helps."

You hate that he's right, because when you do what he's told you to, the rest of the rice comes around the wet grains and sticks to them like they're supposed to. He pops the rest of his onigiri into his mouth, swiping his hands together before rubbing them over the sides of his rice-decorated apron. You try again, scooping up a lukewarm ball of rice. Flattening it against your palm, you search for the bowl of salmon, eyes landing on an empty bowl adorned with sad, pink flakes of salt-grilled fish. Osamu's already sliding the rest of his salmon over the counter.

"Need extra?" His mouth is still stuffed, a single piece of rice sticks to the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks."

You dump a spoonful of salmon into the centre of your rice pattie, before sticking your free hand into the water and folding your palms into each other. The rice sticks to your fingers when you pull away, and you groan, pushing harder. At that, grains begin to crack away from the ball, bits of salmon beginning to stick out from the bottom. Osamu swallows half of the contents in his mouth, his cheek jutting out like a hamster hoarding sunflower seeds. He watches your inexperienced hands, clawing at and tossing the rice to shape it, and he reaches over to rinse his hands over the sink.

"Just let me help you out."

Grains of jasmine rice stick to his wet palms that come around your hands, squeezing and pushing at a ball of rice that falls apart at each movement. The fuzz of his rolled up sweater sleeves rubs against your forearms as his fingers work their way onto yours. Starchy water trickles down the back of your hand when he forces them to loosen around the mess of grilled salmon and rice, and you sigh in defeat, letting him move you as he pleases.

"Look, I'm not sure why you dislike me so much."

"I don't."

He chuckles, pushing your hands into the rice now. You study the pressure he applies to the ball of rice, learn the shape of his fingers around yours, memorise the cup of his palms around the back of your own.

"Yes, you do. You always look at me like-"

You snap your head around to meet his eyes, and he's so close that for the first time, you have to angle your head to look up at him. He's not smirking anymore, moreso observing. You aren't sure what there is to observe on your face, but it's welcome nevertheless.

"Like what?"

He purses his lips, huffing out a dejected sigh.

"Like that."

He lets go of your hands, stepping backwards, and you hold the perfectly moulded onigiri up to eye level. The rice is glossy in a sheen of vinegar and water, yet pertains its fluffiness in the tack of starch against your fingers. The handiwork of a true chef.

"You're so good at this class that I can't even get annoyed at you openly. It's infuriating."

"What did I ever do to you?"

You laugh sarcastically, waving the newly formed onigiri in Osamu’s face, before taking a bite. He laughs, mouth forming a taunting oh when you smack your lips against each other the way that he does, the flakiness of salmon spreading char and salt across your tastebuds. Then, you place the onigiri aside, rubbing your hands up and down your pristine apron, before grabbing his waist to move him to the side so you can walk past, making sure bits of rice and fish stick to his apron. He chuckles, clapping tantalisingly slowly at your imitation of his habits. You give him a fake bow, and he drops his hands to his hips, shrugging.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Petty rivalry and kitchen hygiene."

"Mind you, I am very hygienic. My shop hasn't been shut down for a reason."

You watch Osamu's hands dig into the remaining portion of your rice, his tongue sticking out as he moulds and shapes it into another perfectly rounded triangle. You scoff at his defensiveness, arms crossed in front of you. He wraps a rectangle of seaweed across the centre of the rice ball, and holds it up to your face. It is swiped from his fingers by your own, and you stuff half of it into your mouth, chewing without a sound and swallowing the mouthful.

"You do not have a shop."

"Where'd you think I learned how to do all this?" His hands shoot out to wave at his perfect collection of hand-made onigiri, and you sigh, rolling your head to the side.

"Okay, sure. You have a shop. It's a surprise you can be this annoying and keep it running."

"Loosen up, I just wipe my hands on my apron and eat loud. It's not like I'm spitting in my food. Besides, being that uptight ends up with your onigiri coming out more like...that." His head nods towards the funky ones on your plate, bits of fish sticking from the crevices between individual grains of rice. You shrug in acceptance, taking another bite from his onigiri. Osamu clicks his tongue, grabbing your wrist to bring the rice ball to his mouth instead, consuming the final corner of the triangle in its entirety. He swallows it with a hum, his fingers still around your wrist. He's not letting go. Now, you're interested.

"Should I pay you a visit? Need to see for myself that you're running it to safety standards."

"Are you flirting with me? Because you should keep going."

You roll your eyes when you see him wink at you from above your hand, but an toothy grin creeps its way onto your face, and Osamu smiles at his tactics.

"Whatever you say, Miya." His last name finally makes it out of your mouth for the first time since the two of you have been put together for this course, and he drops your wrist.

"You know, I could teach you how to make those onigiris properly if you show up to Onigiri Miya. You'd be almost as good as me by the end of it."

You flick a grain of rice at him, and it sticks to his apron unceremoniously. He's even named the shop after his family name. How cute. Despicable.

"Don't try your luck, chef."

"Chef? High praise."

The supervising chef sounds a bell, harsh waves of high pitched ringing echoing throughout the room. And as Osamu scrubs at bowls and lathers soapy water onto plates, he watches you tap at your phone with clean hands. Your sink is already empty, the two bowls and one plate that you used in total sitting on the drying rack already. Your onigiris sit in a takeout container, lined up neatly in two rows. His own are still on their plate, and he reminds himself to grab a takeout box for himself. You look up to Osamu, and he looks back at his wet hands and soapy dishes.

"Found you online. I'll be checking your place out soon." You remark at him, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a grin.

"You sure you're not there to check me out instead?" You snicker at his blatant flirtations, and pretend that he's completely incorrect.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves now, Miya."

You shove your phone back into your pocket, swipe an onigiri off his plate, and wave at him as you turn your back to leave.

Osamu watches your silhouette push open the door as he slots his dishes into the drying rack. He hopes that you'll become his favourite regular at Onigiri Miya.

author's note:

i just KNOW im gonna have so much fun writing for this event ngl i hope i get more so i can see what people come up with but I HOPE U LIKE THIS!!! rivalry is more like friendly banter here and lovers is more like he's into you and you're slowly getting into the grroove of it but hopefully you enjoyed it regardless my bbs<333 i'd frequent onigiri miya ngl i love onigiri sm also hell's kitchen needs to be the name of a band icl

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @staraxiaa @wyrcan @4ngelfries @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @fiannee @kuroppiii @akaakeis @hiraethwa @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

[aiyshaa]

PRE TIMESKIP atsumu miya lil cuddle headcanons.

divider by @kimidoyah

warnings - none <3

a/n: these are only fluff headcanons !

Atsumu would cuddle you so tight feels like a cloud.

When cuddling during a jump scare he's the one usually gets scared and end up in your arms and get teased about it later that afternoon.

You cuddle all night in the covers in his bed after watching monster high movies <3.

(I SWEAR TO GOD ATSUMU WATCHES MONSTER HIGH IN SECRECT WHEN NO ONE IS AROUND OR AT HOME HE LOOKS LIKE HE WOULD BE A MONSTER HIGH FAN.)

When having to go school in the morning he wants to sleep in with you and cuddle more.

After forcing him out of bed, on the bus he cuddles you more on ride to school and get teased on by Osamu.