Im Afraid To Strap A Girl Because What If My Dick Game Is Atrocious. How Do I Recover From That Emotionally.

u kiss isagi in the parking lot and now yall have to stay in the car for 20 mins till his dick goes down

your TAGS i cannot afford to fall in love with another miya brother PLEASE i will die

Osamu crowds you against the worn door at the top of Onigiri Miya’s narrow back stairwell, drawing a heated palm up the curve of your side through the thick felted wool of your coat.

“Cut it out,” you giggle as he jostles your hand- key clasped tightly in your fingers- away from the rusty lock.

“Don’t wanna,” he protests, dipping his nose into the hollow of your temple. You can feel his smile against the top of your cheekbone. He still smells smoky and savoury from the teppanyaki place, with the warm flush of two- no- three glasses of red wine rising to his cheeks. He isn’t drunk, but even if he was, it wouldn’t show.

“That was the best goddamned steak I’ve ever had,” he mumbles into your hair, curling one thick forearm around your middle.

Not drunk on wine, anyway.

“Yeah, I’m…” You trail off, concentrating long enough to get the key in the lock, turning and pushing inward. You have to brace your shoulder against the door a little to shove it open, since the frame’s a little warped, and together you stumble into the entryway of the tiny apartment above Osamu’s shop.

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t get any better than that,” you finish, but he’s not interested in finishing this conversation anymore.

Osamu flips you around between his hands, bracing both palms on your hips and dipping his forehead to yours. The soft strands of his dark hair come loose and fluffy away from whatever style he’d mussed it into earlier that evening, sharing the bathroom mirror with you as you slipped on your rings and adjusted your top.

“Hmm,” he sighs, and his shoulders drop with all the bliss in the world. “I love ya.”

“You’ll say anything on a full stomach,” you purr, planting your hands on the soft plane of it. He lets out a low grunt and slips a hand into the folds of your coat, pinching the tenderest part of your waist to make you yelp.

“I love you too-mph.” You’re cut off by the courteous press of his mouth to yours, and after a heartbeat of polite fumbling, you settle into the rhythm of his kiss and let him slowly divest you of your coat.

You tilt your head to one side, gasping quietly for breath and letting him trail wine-flavoured kisses down the bared column of your throat. He’s setting your skin on fire, lifting shimmering sensations to the surface that the wine in your own system only amplifies.

“Mm-bedroom,” you sigh.

“Don’t hafta tell me twice,” he mumbles into your skin.

Once you get there, however, he tugs you into his arms, collapses backwards onto the bed, and doesn’t move. You give him five whole seconds to do something, and when he fails to, you stir in his magnetic hold.

“Baby?” Your voice comes soft and prompting.

“Mmm?” He opens one eye, peering down at you over the curve of his cheek.

“Weren’t we about to…?”

“Oh, god, no, I can’t,” he groans. “I’m so full I could die. Y’don’t want me messin’ around in there tonight, promise.”

“But…” You can hardly protest. The longer you lie there, the heavier dinner’s weight begins to settle in your gut. He’s right. Expecting sex after all-you-can-eat teppanyaki was beginning to feel like expecting snow in Mexico.

“Let’s do it in the morning,” he brushes, and that pulls a giggle from your chest. When you lift your head, the little smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips proves that he’s still having fun.

“I’ll make it up to ya real good. I swear.”

And the next morning, in sun-drenched sheets of white linen, he does.

thinking about best friend!sero who buys a vibrating tongue ring as a ‘joke’. He gets it in the mail when you’re at his house, and you’re both laughing about it because surely something so small couldn’t really feel that good. and then he’s asking to try it on you and you’re struggling to hide the hitch in your breath and the squeezing of your thighs. laughing it off until— oh. he’s not joking. and then suddenly your thighs are clamping down over his head and your fingers are yanking at the roots of his hair. his hips are rutting into the couch and he’s moaning into your heat and—

Hey, do u mind if i ask about a drabble or fic with that last scenario in your page about sero having the best fuck in his life? I need a fic or something about that with smut and fluff <3

Do I mind?? Do I mind having someone encourage me to write self-indulgent fics about my fave characters? Espeically if those fics revovle around my fantasy of hooking up with a college boy at a party? HECK NO I DON'T LETS GO!

word count: ~3700 words

paring: Fratboy!Sero x f!Reader (again self-indulgent, apologies)

warning(s): alcohol consumption, thigh riding, oral (male and female receiving), riding (cowgirl position), dirty talk.... I dunno this is pretty tame. but let me know if I missed anything

It was all Kirishima’s doing.

Sero could admit fully to that. From having him, Bakugou, Kaminari, and the rest of the house throw yet another party. To how Sero would have to be a host, and make sure all of his guests were having a good time, and not destroying the property. To now, having to come join the redhead and the group he was in because of some girl.

That girl being you.

Sero could kind of understand the dilemma. You were with your three friends, and it seemed the rest of the group wanted some action with them. But of course, Kirishima wasn’t going to leave anyone out - so the redhead brought him in to fill out the pairs, to have Sero fall onto this sword for the sake of the rest of them.

But the longer he looked at you, the more confused he got. Sure, you weren’t gorgeous like the rest of them, able to turn heads with a look, but you were very very cute; that smile of yours could light up a dark room. And sure you weren’t dressed in a similar curve hugging dress your friends were, but that off-the-shoulder blouse and short skirt definitely looked good on you. Sero could barely stop looking at your thighs when that flimsy fabric would ride up whenever you bent forward on the kitchen’s island to take a swig of your drink.

You were attractive. Which, again, was the cause of his confusion. Why would his friends beg him to occupy your time for their sake, why was no one else willing? Whatever the reason may be, Sero was more than happy to bear this burden as he slinked over to your side.

“You like hiding out in the kitchen too, huh?”

Sero could help but let out a laugh at your startled gasp, your hand coming up instinctively to cover your mouth to silence any further noise as your wide eyes landed on him. After a beat, your own breathless laughter joined his.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you” Sero apologized, offering his hand to yours “I’m Sero, one of the hosts of this party.”

“No, don’t worry about it, all good!” You smiled, taking his hand and offering your name in return. “One of the hosts huh? I’m taking the other hosts dragged you over here to keep me company?”

“It’s that obvious huh?”

Sero smiled as he took a swig of the beer he was holding, watching you carefully as you moved your shoulders in a shrug; you mirrored his actions with your own drink as you looked in the living room, where your friends were dancing and getting all comfortable with his.

“No, not really.” You reassured “I’m just really used to this sort of thing. Happens at every party we go to. So, I’ve gotten good at spotting the poor friend that drew the short straw.”

“Hey now! I don’t think I’ve drawn the short straw at all!” Sero defended playfully, unable to help himself by looking you over once again, enjoying the way your body practically shivered at his gaze.

“You say that now, but give it an hour. That’s usually how long it takes before I’m abandoned or dumped onto someone else.” You shrugged again, downing the last of your drink.

“Believe me, babe, I am not gonna even think about doing that.” He smirked, leaning onto the counter’s surface, enjoying the challenging smirk on your face as you leaned closer to him.

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Best not to bet against me, I never lose.”

~

Sero was true to his word, you had to give him credit, it had been well over an hour and he was no closer to being done chatting you up then when he started. Making you stay by his side as he toured the party, introducing you to people and making sure your cup was never empty. A true modern gentleman, you joke.

And you certainly had to give him credit for being so forward. After an hour had passed, and forcing you to play a round of beer pong - which you lost, of course - he asked if wanted to go upstairs for a while.

And now here you were, standing in the quite impressively large room given the older home. Checking out his posters and other merch he had laying around as you waited for him to close the door and make his way back.

“I’ve never met anyone that had a hammock in their room” You mumbled as you gently pushed the item to make it swing gently “Those hanging chairs, sure, but not a full blown hammock…”

“Yeah? Well I’ll be sure to let you try it out next time you’re here” Sero chuckled, pulling you into his embrace.

“Next time, huh?” You giggled as his lips touched your shoulder.

“Mm-hmm” Seros lips slowly ascended up to your ear, his warm breath making you shiver at it made contact “But right now I kinda want you in my bed.”

You let out a breathless moan when his teeth latched onto your earlobe, unable to help yourself as you sunk deeper into his strong embrace. Mind too cloudy to focus and he slowly led you to his bed, his messy blankets and sheets seemed rather inviting.

“W-wait!” You stopped him, pulling yourself away and facing him “I-i’m sorry I just… I’ve never done this sort of thing before” “What? Sex?” Sero asked, sitting himself down on the edge of the mattress.

“No! No…” You gave a light chuckle “Weirdly enough I have. I just… never done this sort of thing, you know? A hookup?”

“Ah, I see. Well, I won’t pressure you into anything, I wouldn’t be a good host if my guest isn’t comfortable” Sero brought his hand up to yours, tugging you to stand between his legs “We can take things slow, and if you want to stop at any time we can. I won’t get upset or anything.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!” Sero let out a chuckle at your nervousness, finding your sudden bashfulness cute and endearing “I’m sure! Now, come here…”

Sero pulled you into him even closer, forcing you to sit yourself down on his thigh. With one arm securely around your waist, and the other at the base of your neck, he brought you in for a kiss. It was soft, clearly meant for you to get comfortable and you appreciated that he was willing to go slow.

But if you were honest with yourself, you couldn’t go slow; not after the incredibly long dry spell you have been enduring. So, when he pulled away, clearly ready to ask if you were okay, you seized the opportunity to grab fistful of his shirt and pull him back onto your lips.

The surprised groan he made went straight to your core as he pulled you ever closer to him, chest firmly flushed together as he tried to take back the lead you stole from him. Kissing you dizzy, and breathless to the point of lightheadedness. As much as you didn’t want to pull away from this kiss, wanting him to be the first, you had no choice.

That didn’t stop Sero from pulling your lips back to his after you took a deep breath, not wanting to part from you for long. He was enjoying your soft whines and moans, even more so when his tongue entered your mouth. It was getting sloppy, but you couldn’t care less at the way drool started to gather on your chin

But, air was important. You tugged on his hair so you could officially part from one another. Sero only saw that as an opportunity to suck and nip down the column of your neck. When your hands started to tug at his shirt, his started to wander downwards - playing with the hem of your skirt.

“You know” Sero nipped at your collar bone, earning a small gasp from you “This little thing has been torturing me all night. I have to know what’s underneath”

He groaned when his hands slipped under the fabric, caressing the globes of your ass, to find lace meeting his fingertips.

“You came prepared for this, didn’t you?” Sero asked, only to be met with a shake of your head “No? Well, there's only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

He tugged the hem of your blouse up and away from where it was so neatly tucked, quickly maneuvering your arms up so he could remove the soft fabric from your body to reveal what it was hiding. Giving a low whistle to the black lace so wonderfully adorned your chest.

“Ah, so you did come prepared, hmm?” He teased

“S-shut up!” You murmured, bringing your arms up to shield your chest from his gaze - heated skin making its way from your cheeks down your chest.

You didn’t get far before your arms were pinned by your side “None of that now, pretty girl. Be good for me and keep those right there, okay?”

You nod, bashfully meeting his hard gaze. He gives you a small smile, giving you a soft kiss before his hands let go of your wrists in favour of caressing the lace cups that held your breasts.

His lips attached to your collarbone once more, sucking harshly on the skin as his large hands continued their heavy petting. The mixture of both was making you whine, unable to stop yourself from squirming in his lap as you tried your best to keep your hands docile by your side.

It felt like hours of torture before he finally reached his hands behind you to unclasp the item, pulling it away from your chest slowly and tossing it somewhere in the expanse of his room. Not wasting another moment, he leaned forward and began his assault on your chest.

The mixture of wet kisses, harsh nips and bites - which you were sure were leaving marks - and his fingers tugging on your hardened buds made you throw your head back and moan; grateful for the loud music playing downstairs for drowning it out.

Sero groaned when your hips started to move on their own against his thigh, bringing his hands to your hips to help with the movement as he latched to your nipple and bit down; groaning again when another loud moan escaped your throat.

“Yeah, you like that pretty girl?”

You nodded immediately, babbling out yes to him and your ground your hips harder against his thigh, wanting desperately to reach your hands up to tug his hair.

Sero slipped his hand between your bodies, his heavy breathing against your chest, as he lifted your hips slightly. You whined at the brief loss of friction, but that disappointment quickly disappeared when his deft fingers started rubbing your fold through the flimsy, and damp, fabric of your panties.

“God, Sero! More, please!” You begged, hands forming fists at your side as your hips buck into his fingers.

“You’re so wet for me, baby” Sero mumbled, pushing your panties aside and rubbing your clit. “So, so good for me…”

You couldn’t keep yourself upright, not with his relentless fingers and your inability to hold onto him for balance; especially not at his gentle praise. With another groan, you leaned forward onto him fully; head nuzzling itself on his shoulder.

“Too much?” He asked, unable to hold back a smile when he felt you nod “Alright, lay down for me, okay?”

You held back a whine when he removed his fingers and started pushing you towards the sheet; already missing his warmth. But you do as you're told, maneuvering yourself up to where his pillows are spread out and smoothing out his blanket.

It didn’t take him long to jump back on you after you got comfortable. Quickly tugging your skirt and panties down your legs before you realized what was happening. The groan he let out when your cunt was bare, eyeing your glistening folds, made your cheeks heat up once more; whining in embarrassment as you closed your legs.

“No, no, don’t do that babygirl!” He teased, kissing up your body and nipping your neck “Gotta make you cum, don’t I?”

“S’embarrassing…!” You mewled when his hand returned to your folds.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, believe me” He trailed off as his fingers started to prod at your entrance “Got such a pretty pussy”

His immediate nip at your neck stopped any other attempt of your complaining or disagreement; turning those words into a groan when his fingers finally entered you.

And what skilled fingers they were. You never would have guessed when you first looked at him, but you couldn’t deny the way they were playing you so expertly. The sounds from your wet heat only getting louder, and echoing in the empty room more frequently, the faster he went.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you pretty girl?” He asked, thumb circling your neglected clit, enjoying the way you cried out his name “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! S’close!” You moan out, hips started to buck in time with his fingers “Please! Please make me cum!”

“Go on then, make a mess on my fingers. Make a mess for me, do it.”

His words, mixed with everything else he was doing, sent you hurtling towards the edge faster than you ever expected; not that you were complaining. You never had your toes curl or back arch so painfully, but the release was so sweet when it all came crashing down. Your high filling your body with such euphoria that you couldn’t even make a sound as you squirmed and gushed all over his hand.

“That’s it… breathe… good girl” Sero cooed as you slumped back down onto the mattress. “You did so good.”

You hissed when his finger left your twitching hole, hips fidgeting away when he started petting your folds once again. Your hand shooting out to grab his wrist to stop him when it got too much for you.

“Can… can I..” You took a deep breath, “Can I return the favour?”

You didn't give him much of a chance to respond, using the advantage of his wrist in your hand to switch positions. Flipping him onto his back and tugging at his belt before he had a chance to take a breath.

Sero didn’t mind, why would he? A pretty girl like you wanting to go down on him? And so eagerly? Sign him up everyday of the week. He responded to your eagerness with his own, sitting up to quickly remove his shirt and helping you with the article of clothing currently hindering your progress.

You sat back and allowed him to take off his pants, knowing he would do it faster anyway; you were not in the mood to drag any of this out any further. Your teeth biting into your lip as you watched his cock bounce onto his stomach; your hand wrapping around it as soon as his legs were free.

“Ah, fuck!” He hissed when he felt your tongue gently lick the head of his cock, leaning back to get a better view of you between his legs.

Your mouth was magic; one that Sero could not wrap his head around. Because before he knew it, the sensitive head of his cock was hitting the back of your throat over and over again, with your drool spilling onto his balls.

It was sloppy, messy even, but god Sero couldn’t remember when he last got head this good. And the way you were moaning around him, sending all sorts of pleasurable vibrations through him, made him almost embarrassed with how quickly he was about to blow his load down your throat.

“S-stop!” He quietly exclaimed, tugging your hair to pull you off him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, catching your breath and wiping some of the drool off yourself.

“N-nothing! Nothing I just, ya know, not to cum like this.” Sero chuckled, pulling you up and onto his chest “Would rather feel your tight cunt wrapped around me instead.”

“You certainly have a way with words” You sighed out, breathlessly laughing along with him as you started to line him up to your entrance.

“Wait a minute, pretty girl.” His hands pulling your hips away “Gotta put some protection on”

He kisses you briefly, gently pushing you to the side so he can maneuver around his side desk drawer. And though a whine escapes your throat when his heat leaves you again, you are grateful he cares enough to do this in the first place.

“Okay, now you can hop on” Sero teases as he throws away the wrapper, leaving himself onto his headboard.

You playfully roll your eyes at him, not bothering to give what he said a proper response as you place your legs on either side of his hips. Your own grinding against his length to tease him a little and hear him groan.

But you didn’t have the heart to tease him long, the heat in your core becoming unbearable the long you waited. Reaching behind you angled him at your entrance and slowly sank down; the burning stretch made you groan as you tried to take him fully.

Sero mirrored your groan, his hands coming to tightly grip your waist to help guide, and help you, sink further down. His head tossing back with a choked moan when you finally bottomed out, your nails digging into his chest in a delicious manner.

You paused briefly, gyrating your hips slowly to become accustomed to his length; one that was a little bigger than you were expecting - not that you were going to complain. But it was making it a little difficult for you to ride him, having to start slowly.

“God… you’re so big!” You cried out when you dropped your hips down onto him, ducking your head and repeating the motion again.

“Yeah? Feels - fuck - feels good, yeah?” Sero asked, trying to catch his breath as he helped lift you up and down his length.

“So, so good!” You nodded your head, your hips picking up speed with the extra help he was providing.

After a few more strokes you were leaning back, hands resting on his legs, to allow you a faster pace and to hit that spot deep within you, the one that made you tighten around him so exquisitely.

The way your walls were clamping down on him, the way your pussy was gushing and soaking his length, the sounds of skin meeting skin, and you pretty mewls and whimpers were making Sero come undone embarrassingly fast; faster than he ever though possible.

But he was a gentleman, and didn’t want to cum before you did. Quickly he attached his thumb to your clit the moment he felt his release start to wash over him overwhelmingly.

“Come on pretty girl, I know you’re close. Come one, cum for me please.” He practically begged, eyes shutting tight as he tried to hold off. “Come on, do it for me please!”

You never had a man beg for you like that before, and that - as well as the frantic rubbing on your clit - made your whole body shiver as your release came over you. Sero pulled you back down and onto him, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he followed suit; your pussy milking him for all he was worth.

It took the pair of you a few beats before your breathing, and thinking, became less labored. With Sero coming back to earth first as he pushed you gently onto the mattress once again, peppering your face with small kisses as he did so.

“Be right back, okay? Just gonna go clean us up”

He left your side to go to his ensuite bathroom; on that you didn’t notice he had before; your brain coming to the conclusion at how handy it must be. Those thoughts only amplified when you heard water running. And after a minute or two, he came back with a damp washcloth in his hand and wearing a new pair of boxers.

Sero helped clean you up, making sure to be extra gentle; especially after you hissed when the cold damp cloth met with your sore cunt. He passed you his shirt to cover yourself with as went to throw the towel into his laundry; allowing you the chance to put on your now soiled panties as well.

“So… so do I leave now? Or something?” You ask when he came back, clearly nervous and unsure of what to do as you pick at a loose fiber on your shirt.

“I mean, if that’s what you want to do.” Sero chuckled, moving to your side and flattening your now messy hair “But I’m pretty tired, and I’m sure you are too, and you look pretty comfortable so I wouldn’t mind if you stayed the night.”

“Y-you sure?” You ask again, wanting confirmation that he isn’t just being polite but actually wanting you to stay.

“Yes, I’m sure. Come here.”

Sero started to lay down, shifting his pillows around to make himself more comfortable, holding his blanket out for you so you could join him. You do, without hesitation, which made him chuckle into your hair before placing a kiss to your crown.

“Sweet dreams, okay.”

“Mmm, you too.”

You fall asleep quickly, something that Sero thought was adorable. He tried to follow suit, he was exhausted after the wild ride you gave him; but he just couldn’t shut his brain off. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, and how you gave him the best night he could ever have imagined. The best fuck in his life. And it almost didn’t happen. If he hadn't talked to you, he would have missed out on all of this and spent his time chasing some other girl who wouldn’t nearly be as memorable.

All this from a girl he didn’t even notice at first.

But man was he glad he did. Glad he didn’t miss out on any of it. And he was certainly not gonna pass up another opportunity to see you again. His mind went from racing to thought of what might have been to thoughts of asking for your number and taking you out for breakfast the next morning.

Oh, and to thank Kirishima when he gets the chance.

shout out to @kenzumekodma for beta reading this for me 💛💛

Hey if you’re ever not busy can you do a Suna fic where he just got his wisdom teeth removed😭I’ve seen it done on so many haikyuu characters but Suna and I think it’s so cute. You also write him the best😓

THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS AND THE ADORABLE PROMPT 😭💖💖💖

—-

The nurse told you that they’d used a strong anesthetic because of how impacted his teeth were, but when it took them quite a few times to finally wake him up, you knew you were in for a ride.

Rintaro always hated the dentist. Always. He blames it on childhood trauma (he didn’t have any. He never brushed his teeth and that was his problem) but up until last night, months after his dentist told him he’d need an extraction as soon as possible, he’d been trying to get out of it.

Deep down, seeing him so relaxed in the chair was a relief. The teeth were out, now he has to heal. Easy enough.

You smile as you make your way over to his slowly waking body, taking his hand gently in yours to be the first thing when he woke up. Kissing the knuckles finally had him stirring, and he blinked those bleary green eyes open at you, you practically saw the hearts forming in them.

“Morning, sunshine,” you coo, moving your free hand over to card the messy locks of hair from his face. “How do you feel?”

He tries to speak, but it comes out as a croaky ‘guhhh’ and from a few feet away, the nurse chuckles.

“He’ll have some nasty cotton mouth- literally- for the next few days, but communication should be normal as he starts to wake up,” she says, snapping the gloves off her hands. Then, she passes you the care directions, “no rush. If you need anything, just press the buzzer.” At this point, Rintaro has taken the liberty of grabbing all the gauze he can to put in his mouth. You assume it’s to absorb all the spittle.

“No, no honey,” you chuckle, gently grabbing his hands and pulling the damp cloth out easily. “Be careful. We can change your gauze when we get home.”

“I ‘ont wonna shange my gods,” he mumbles, resting his hands on yours. “‘Ike my gods.”

“Gauze, baby,” you titter. You lean over to plant some kissed onto his forehead, hoping your affections will ease him back more. “The nurse said you might be woozy when you stand, so let’s take it slow okay?”

“Yesh, bosh,” he slurs out. He blinks his foggy eyes before letting them wander around the room, over the sharp objects and wooden cupboards, all before wandering back to you. They widen before a brow quirks in confusion, "who're you 'gain?"

"Me?" You snicker. "I'm the one who's gonna keep you alive for the next few days. Your parents are away, so you're stuck with me." You turn your head slightly, "though that may be the other way around."

"Keep me 'live?" Now, he gives you a small, messy smirk. "'re too schexy to keep me 'live."

"Are you hitting on me?"

He doesn't answer you. Instead, he lets out a small string of laughter, head rolling around his neck in haze. You snort before opting to move him up and out of the room, "come on Romeo. Before you pass out on me."

"nuh-uh," he argues. You, however, choose to ignore him.

It's hard to pay attention when there's a pile of 185 centimeter man on your right shoulder, saying goodbye to every hygienist, dentist, secretary, patron, and flower on the sidewalk on the way to the car. There's a slurp from the spittle in his mouth that rings in your ear and makes you want to gag, but you chose to count some of your blessings.

He's at least mobile- unlike the horror stories you've heard about Osamu falling asleep in the seat while Atsumu wailed about the bandaid on his arm.

Finally, you and your oaf are able to make it to the car, his eyes closed in an attempt to sleep, and you jostle him awake slightly.

"I need you to work with me just a bit longer, okay?"

"When'd we get ousside?" He slurs.

"Not long after you said goodbye to the flowers," you say, rolling your eyes. "Watch your head, babe."

He ducks under your guiding palm, but you're not fast enough before he bumps the crown of his head against the door frame, mumbling a soft "ow" before moving on. It takes everything in your power to not laugh at his poor expense.

"It's because you've got such a big melon head, booger," you tease, and he smiles softly.

"'Ike mewons."

"I know baby."

You buckle him in before closing the door. You give yourself a stretch before heading to the driver's side.

You hadn't had him out of your sight for 25 seconds before you open the door and see him with your chapstick, completely rolled up and making a move towards his mouth.

He's either eating it, or trying to apply it.

Neither sounds like a good idea.

“Rintaro!” You scold, reaching for the chapstick. “You can’t eat that! You’ll get sick!”

“You’re th'ick,” he grumbles, but he does release his hold on your chapstick. His head thunks back against the headrest, letting you buckle while he says one more round of goodbyes to the flowers.

"Gonna nap," he murmurs, and you chose not to fight him on it. "Don't pick mah nothe."

"Why the hell would I do that?" You ask, laughing as you start the car.

He doesn't answer you. He's too busy letting his jaw slack open and let out the wheeziest of snores. You put your hand on his thigh and squeeze lovingly, allowing the hum of the engine and warmth from the sun lull him to sleep.

He's out, he's comfortable, and you can't wait to tell him about how, even drugged out of his mind, he still tried to put the moves on you.

You'll have to leave out the head smacking, though. Let him blame himself for that bruising.

This is money cat. He only appears every 1,383,986,917,198,001 posts. If you repost this in 30 seconds he will bring u good wealth and fortune.

𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐎

ft: multiple characters

synopsis: haikyuu boys doing thigh clenching things and making me want to smooch their face with my dior lip glow lip gloss.

content warnings: suggestive so like 17+ i am begging. some of this can also be considered bare minimum for men irl but those standards don’t apply to these kings here.

notes from the author: i keep telling y’all i’m gonna write something original but that’s not gonna happen right at this moment i’m sawri so enjoy this timeless masterpiece 🙏🏽. reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated as always. but anyways i revamped this and made it better and less age appropriate lol.

— Such a tease oh my fkn god. Likes to say such condescending shit like “mhm really” or “oh yeah?” in that voice (y’all know the one!) and he does it in the most inopportune times. Likes to whisper it in your ear and

MATSUKAWA ISSEI, miya atsumu, SUNA RINTAROU, morisuke yaku, TSUKISHIMA KEI, yūji terushima, futakuchi kenji, kenma kozume

— When he’s hot from like workouts or practice or something he’ll put his shirt between his teeth and rub at his abs. Sweat dripping from his face and dripping onto his chest YES PLEASE. He will smirk if you catches you staring at him like sir you good how can I not stare?!

ARAN OJIRO, oikawa tooru, ATSUMU MIYA, iwaizumi hajime, daichi samamura, tanaka ryūnsoke, KUROO TETSURO, BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

— Always smell good. There has never been a time where you’ve been around him and he hasn’t smelled absolutely amazing. Makes you want to keep your face in his chest forever. 

AKAASHI KEIJI, KITA SHINSUKE, aran ojiro, matsukawa issei, SUGAWARA KŌSHI, ushijima wakatoshi, aone takenobu, osamu miya, yamaguchi tadashi, SAKUSA KIYOOMI

— Wearing his sweatpants really low around the house, the GRAY ones and they’re low enough to where you can see the start of his v-line but high enough to tease you. Like there’s no business he should be walking like a little whore respect yourself!!!

OIKAWA TOORU, tsukishima kei, ATSUMU MIYA, osamu miya, asahi azumane, tendou satori, AKINORI KONOHA

— When you’re talking to him he’ll stare at your lips and then he’ll lick his while smiling, before looking away. Knows exactly what he is doing when he does that and he loves to get you flustered because he’s an asshole.

kuroo tetsuro, MATSUKAWA ISSEI, YŪJI TERUSHIMA, tanaka ryūnsoke, semi eita, takahiro hanamaki, ATSUMU MIYA

— Keeping eye contact with you at all times to make sure you know that he’s listening to you. Will never take his eyes off of you. Sometimes his eyes will drift elsewhere because his mind starts to think about other things but nonetheless a respectful king! So he’ll always direct his attention back to you.

AKAASHI KEIJI, yamaguchi tadashi, semi eita, USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI, suna rintarou, aran ojiro, DAICHI SAWAMURA

— Accessorizing and wearing some type of accessory like a chain or some rings with every single outfit, makes them look very well put together. The RINGS on their fingers omg I’m palpitating.

tanaka ryūnsoke, MATSUKAWA ISSEI, SUNA RINTAROU, kyōtani kentarou, aran ojiro, SEMI EITA, kageyama tobio

— Tapping his hands against the steering wheel while driving, will also reverse with his palm. Also for a little razzle dazzle he NEVER takes his hand off your thigh while he’s driving. He keeps it there and thinks he’s slick when his hand travels but he’s not so.

KUROO TETSURO, tsukishima kei, suna rintarou, SAKUSA KIYOOMI, kenjirō shirabu, goshiki tsutomu, NISHINOYA YŪ, hinata shoyo

— Likes to tilt your chin up and give you a peck when you’re mad at him. Or he’ll come up behind you and give you little kisses on your neck and stuff and will probably be like “lemme make it up to you baby?” and it’s just like ILL NEVER GET MAD AT YOU AGAIN SEXY!!!

SUNA RINTAROU, MATSUKAWA ISSEI, atsumu miya, takahiro hanamaki, kuroo tetsurō

leave the light on - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 10 in the bff!osamu series tags: childhood friends to lovers, tw instant coffee mention, miscommunication, confessions, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Onigiri Miya closes early on Sunday nights.

It’s not for lack of business—the shop would certainly take in enough revenue to justify staying open regular hours an extra day per week, especially on a weekend. But in the early days of Onigiri Miya, when it was just a one-man show, Osamu needed at least one night that he could count on having off. The workweek business—office workers and students going through their routine hustle and bustle—kept him going, enough so that Sunday nights weren’t a make or break for him, and he was able to start shuttering in the early afternoon once per week.

He remembers those early days. Sweet talking vendors to bring down the cost of produce and haggling with the grubby, bleary eyed men at fish market stalls at the crack of dawn for a deal on the catch of the day. Promising suppliers that he’d be able to get them their money in a couple of weeks if they’d just give him some more time. Standing on the road, because Onigiri Miya was just a street stall back then, trying to coax people in and try his food. To convince them to take a chance on him. He remembers burns on his hands and cuts on his fingers and an ache in his bones that ran so marrow-deep he forgot what it felt like to not be so sore. Sunday nights were the only night he had to relax. The only night he had to sit down, to take off his hat, and to have a beer—or, even more frequently, pass out on his couch in his uniform at 8pm and sleep right through to his alarm the next morning.

Closing early on Sundays had been your idea, way back when— suggested to him gently while he rested with his head in your lap in your tiny student apartment after another 16 hour workday. He still remembers the worry in your eyes as you brushed his hair back from his tired face.

Nowadays things aren’t so hectic. Osamu’s got a good team of people around him to help Onigiri Miya run smoothly—a team who he trusts and values. It doesn’t all fall onto his shoulders in the same way that it used to: he doesn’t have to be there for every open and every close, his bills are paid, he’s not fighting to lure people in off the street just in the hope that he can scrape by for another week.

Now when he closes early on Sunday, it’s more for the sake of his staff than anything else. Occasionally Osamu will take the night off, too; he’ll go home and catch up on housework, run an errand or two, or even grab dinner—usually with you, though evidently not so much lately. But most Sundays he stays behind after his last employee heads out for the night; locking up behind them, switching off the sign in the window to tell the world the shop is closed, and then holing himself up in his office to do some admin. He’ll grab a plate of whatever’s leftover from the day’s service and a cold can of beer from the fridge, put on a rerun of Atsumu’s game from the night before, and get to work shuffling through the paperwork that he’s left to pile up over the past seven days.

Osamu hates paperwork.

It’s not that it’s particularly challenging work—the really hard stuff is left to his bookkeeper after all. It’s just tedious, a mindless task in many ways, and he always finds his thoughts drifting as he sorts through invoices and inventory registers: catching himself being inattentive halfway through a spreadsheet, and having to force himself to go back to the beginning just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything in his carelessness. 

You used to help him with this kind of work, or at least keep him company while he got through it—sitting on the lumpy couch crammed into one corner of his little office and pretending like you weren’t asleep each time Osamu caught you with your eyes closed. More often than not, he’d throw his jacket over you to keep you warm while you napped and then rush through the last of his work so that he could wake you up and get you home. But just having you there on those late nights was enough for him; your presence was the thing that helped.

Coffee is his only saving grace, these days.

Samu shuffles out to the front of the shop on one such Sunday evening, taking off his baseball cap and ruffling the hair underneath tiredly. He’d finally gotten a trim, and he’s glad that things feel a bit more normal again as he rakes his fingers through it—his mother had been right when she remarked that it was getting too long the week before. He tosses his hat down on the front counter of Onigiri Miya, rounding the end to grab a sachet of instant coffee from behind the bar where he keeps his emergency stash.

The overhead lights in the shop are off, but there’s enough brightness filtering out from the still-lit kitchen that he doesn’t need to struggle to see as he prepares himself some hot water to add to the mug in front of him. He tips the granulated contents of his instant coffee sachet into the bottom after ripping it open with his teeth, tapping the empty plastic packaging against the edge of the cup to make sure it all comes out. The kettle behind him hums quietly as it heats to boiling, and Osamu sighs, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

He stares out at the restaurant—his restaurant, as hard as he still finds it to believe some days—his gaze sweeping over the tables with their corresponding chairs resting atop them. One of the staff had mopped the floors at the end of the night, which left them still slightly wet and glistening. There’s light filtering in through the front windows from the streetlights and the other shops that line the Osaka street outside, and their glow catches in the water that hasn’t yet dried from the tile.

Osamu’s eyes suddenly snap up to the glass that lines the front of the restaurant.

There’s a silhouetted figure—so familiar he could trace it even with his eyes closed, from memory alone—standing on the other side of the door.

Osamu blinks, thinking that the paperwork must have finally gotten the best of him, or maybe that the beer he’d had earlier is inexplicably hitting him too hard. But no matter how many times he squeezes his eyes shut, the familiar shape stays where it is on the other side of the glass each time he opens them again.

His heartbeat thumps, loud and wet, in his ears.

Like the shot of a gun, the man stumbles gracelessly into action: loping around the end of the bar and slipping slightly on the wet tile as he heads towards the door. He fiddles with the lock as he struggles to unlatch it, accidentally trying to force it the wrong way in his haste before eventually getting it right. When he finally throws open the door, a gust of cool night air flooding into the restaurant along with it, he takes in a deep, gasping breath.

“Hey.”

His voice is shaky when he greets you—mostly air and very little shape to the word.

You stare at him from a few paces away, your arms crossed firmly over your chest and a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth. Osamu thinks you look pretty when you’re mad. He always has. But it’s worse now because he knows all too well that he shouldn’t—because he knows you’re mad at him. 

You seem to have something to say, he can tell as much from the almost spiteful glint in your eyes, but you stay tightlipped as you simply stare at him.

“D’ya… wanna come in?” Osamu asks, still holding the door open. He nods his head back into the shop. “Still got some stuff prepped, I could make ya—“

“You’re a jerk.”

Osamu blinks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he agrees plainly after a moment, thinking it’s only fair of you to say given then circumstances. 

His concurrence only seems to upset you more.

“Like, you’re a real asshole, y’know that?” You’re nearly spitting you’re so angry, your features twisted up in contempt. Your arms uncross and drop down to your sides, and Osamu watches as your hands ball into fists. He’s the one who taught you how to throw a punch, years and years ago now, and he’s wondering if he’s about to experience a practical demonstration of his teaching abilities firsthand.

“I don’t necessarily disagree.” He nods, agreeing with you once more, though this time his response is slower, more hesitant—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he’s not sure that it’s what you want to hear.

“Ugh!” Your following exclamation is loud, and palpably frustrated, all but confirming his suspicions. “You…!”

Your tone is climbing with every passing second, and Osamu looks furtively up and down the road around the two of you. It’s late in the evening but there are still a few people out, and he sees heads turning in your direction at the commotion.

“Hey,” he says, his own voice dropping in volume but still pleading all the same. “My name’s on the door and we’re gettin’ some weird looks. I wanna hear everythin’ you have to say, but could you please just say it to me inside?”

You look at him blankly, your lips puckering into a petulant, unhappy pout. You seem like you want to say no, to keep causing a scene, and for a second Osamu really thinks you’re about to round in on him again. Instead you trudge forward, stomping past him over the threshold of Onigiri Miya.

Osamu hesitates for a moment after you pass, half in shock and half in relief, and then he lets the door swing closed and locks it behind him for good measure—he’s not sure he wants any unsuspecting people coming in search of onigiri and stumbling upon a brawl.

It’s dim in the restaurant when he turns to face you, but he can still see your fury burning in the dark.

Neither of you say anything.

“You can keep goin’ if you want,” Osamu is eventually the first to speak, and he means what he says. This is the least of the punishment he deserves, after all. And hearing you yell at him is markedly better than the silence.

“Martyrdom doesn’t suit you at all,” you mutter sullenly.

Osamu sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just wantcha to say whatcha came here to say.”

You begin to pace as you work through your thoughts, slowly walking back and forth in front of the counter, picking at your cuticles. You’d put a fair amount of distance between the two of you, and he’s sure it was intentional. Osamu keeps himself confined to the entryway near the door, while you walk a path back and forth along the length of the service counter. His eyes follow every step you take, like a captivated child watching fish at the aquarium.

“I had a terrible dream last night,—” you finally force the words out, your feet stilling against the shiny tile as your pacing comes to a sudden halt.

Osamu decides to just do the right thing and shut the hell up for once, giving you the floor.

“—I was going to buy 30 kilos of rice from Kita-san’s farm—”

That’s a lot of rice, Osamu wants to note, but his lips part to let the words through and then he decides better of it.

“—and I was there, at the farm, and then Kita-san started telling me that you got married and had a baby. A baby, Samu! Kita-san standing there telling me all these terrible things with that big bag of rice in my hands, and I couldn’t even get mad at him because he’s Kita! So I just had to listen to him go on and on and on about the venue and the flowers and the baby name that you picked out. And the more he’d tell me the worse it was, and the bag of rice just kept getting heavier.” Your teeth bite down so hard into your lip as you suck in a breath that Osamu's amazed he doesn’t see blood. “I was hearing all of these things—terrible things—and all I could think was that I should have been there to see all of that for myself. I shouldn’t have been hearing about it from someone else. And I realized that you were living a whole life apart from me, a life that I didn’t know about or get to be a part of, and it just kept getting worse and worse and I woke up and I felt like I was going to scream.”

You’re out of breath by the time you finish your rambling thought, your chest heaving and your eyes wild and your mouth faintly wet. You look to him, and Osamu doesn’t see that same indignation in your eyes anymore, only hurt. He watches as the expression hardens again, whets itself like a blade—sharpened not in anger, but rather in resolve. In resignation.

“That day. I looked for you first.”

Osamu feels lost now. Are you still talking about that dream?

You understand without him saying it, and explain yourself further. “In high school. The day that I kissed Suna.”

Osamu’s stomach drops, all of the blood rushing to his head so quickly that the shop begins to spin a little around him. He can hear his pulse in his ears. He can feel it in his throat. He can’t help the twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, writhing and ugly though it may be, at the mere mention of his friend’s name. He doesn’t have the right to feel the way he feels, but it happens all the same.

“I looked for you,” you keep going, like you’ve broken a seal and have to let it all out. Osamu doesn’t dare try to stop you. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He watches on like it’s a conversation that’s happening not with him but rather to him. “You were eating lunch with Tsumu in your classroom. I realized he would have had a fit if he knew that I was asking you and not him. I thought about asking him but…”

Osamu can’t feel his fingers from how tightly his hands are balled into fists at his side. His lungs burn in his chest—the breath he’s holding having long since lost the oxygen his body needs, though he can’t seem to draw in another.

“If it wasn’t you, I didn’t care who it was. So I asked Suna.”

The young man processes your words slowly. Incompletely. Like only every third word seems to register.

“Ya wanted me to be yer first kiss?” It’s not the question he ought to ask you but it’s the one his brain chooses to spit out.

Your reply is frustrated, but with an unmistakably melancholic rasp running through it. “Yeah. I did.”

Somewhere distantly, Osamu recognizes a sharp, stinging pain. An ache as part of him realizes that it could have been him. All along. All this time. Him. But the pain is muted, because part of him—most of him—still doesn’t quite understand.

“I think that was the first time I realized it.” 

Osamu watches your face, maps the achingly familiar lines and dips and curves of your features as he tries to read meaning in the space between your words. But he still finds nothing.

“I liked you, Samu. More than I should have. Differently than I liked Tsumu, or Suna, or any other guy.” You laugh, but it’s a hollow, watery sound. “I realized it and it was awful.”

You’re waiting for him to say something, but Osamu is at a loss for words. No, that’s not quite it either. It’s not that he has nothing to say, but that he has everything he wants to say to you. To ask you. But he doesn’t know where to start, or how to sort through them, or even how to will his lips, teeth, and tongue to shape any of them.

“You… Y’know ya don’t have to say this,” his voice is tight, like a rope drawn to secure a knot not unlike the one in his throat, when he finally manages to speak. “Ya don’t have to pretend or convince yourself that you… felt the same as me. I care about ya too much to ever ask that.”

You laugh—a single, sharp, distinctly mirthless ha!—as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “There you go again not letting me have any say, Samu!” You punctuate your exclamation with a frustrated little sound. “Stop deciding things all on your own and just listen to me.”

That shuts him up again.

“I thought I was over it,”—you begin to pace once more, your steps slow and measured—“I really did. I told myself it would never happen and moved on because I never ever wanted to fuck things up between us. Between any of us.

“You told me that you’ve loved me your whole life, but you don’t know if or when something changed. I do. I had a singular moment that I could point to where I realized that if I did or said the wrong thing after that, I could fuck up something that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Even if you felt the same way I did, there’s no guarantee that something like that would work out. But if we tried and it didn’t work, we wouldn’t be able to just go back to how things were. So I told myself that no matter what I wouldn’t. No matter how hard it was or how awful it felt. I could get over it if it meant I never had to lose you. And it was fine. For years it was fine. We were fine. Everything was fine. And then I lost you anyway.”

You suddenly stop pacing and crouch down, your arms winding themselves around your knees as if to comfort yourself. 

“That night, when you…” You swallow, and risk a glance up at him. “I don’t think I’m over it.”

Osamu feels like he might die. Maybe he did already. Maybe this is his life passing before his eyes, because it’s always been you anyway.

“But it’s scary, Samu,” your voice is so small, so vulnerable, when you speak to him again. You’re trembling as you hold yourself. “Aren’t you scared?”

Osamu is suddenly reminded of that fall day in the woods, so many years ago now. Reminded of two kids who didn’t know what they were doing. Who didn’t know anything. But who knew each other.

Slowly, Osamu crouches too—his joints cracking in protestation as he drops his body down to your level. Your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah,” he says, after a moment. Soft but sure. “‘Course I am.”

You let out a soggy, incredulous laugh, but it somehow doesn’t feel out of place. He watches as you reach up and scrub at your eyes.

“I love you,” Osamu says, because it’s true. Because there’s no other words he can possibly think to say in this situation. Because it’s the only thing that he has in his mind.

You look over at him, sniffling a little, wiping at your running nose with the back of your hand in a way that Osamu absolutely should not find as endearing as he does. “How can you just say it like that? Like it’s so easy?”

Osamu wants to laugh too, like you did earlier, but he worries that the sound might come off as almost hysterical thanks to the misplaced hope he can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. “Sayin’ it’s the hard part, that’s why it took me so long. But I’ve spent forever lovin’ ya. S’always been the easiest bit.”

You choke back a sob, your head hanging defeatedly as your body slackens. You’re a ghost of the angry little thing that was outside of his door only a few minutes earlier, but more yourself now than Osamu has seen you in weeks.

“What about you?” he poses the question so quietly he might worry you didn’t hear him if not for how silent the dark shop is around you both.

“What do you mean?” You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. You’re stalling, trying to buy yourself time that’s run out now.

“Do you love me?” he asks, praying to anyone who’s listening that he’s been a good enough man up until this point to deserve the answer that he wants to hear more than anything else in the world.

“Of course I do,” you say evasively, refusing to meet his gaze. But it’s not the same. It’s not enough.

“But are you in love with me?” Osamu finally dares to ask.

There’s a stretch of the most painful, profound silence that either of you have ever experienced. It goes on for an eternity, though the clock hands in the corner say differently.

You still refuse to look at him, your gaze fixed instead to a point on the wall on the other side of the restaurant. Osamu watches how the light from the windows catches in the tears that cling to your bottom lashes.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, barely a whisper. You speak the confession like it’s the most terrifying thing imaginable. Like it's wretched.

And it is maybe, but Osamu’s never felt happier to hear anything in all his life—he feels a rush of something so visceral and elated flowing through him, he thinks he might pass out.

“Can I touch ya?” he asks hesitantly, his voice thick and unlike its normal tone. He hardly recognizes it as his own.

You peek over at him for the first time, and Osamu revels in the feeling of having your eyes on him. Delights in watching you watch him and knowing that behind the gaze is the same feeling as the one he holds inside of himself. You consider it for a moment, and he doesn’t dare rush you, but eventually—mercifully—you nod. 

Osamu inches forward slowly and wraps you in his arms. Your body relaxes into his hold instantly, and he pulls you into his lap on the tiled floor. He holds you so tightly that he’s scared he might break you, but he still can’t find it in himself to be more delicate. You cling to him anyway.

It’s the first time he’s touched you in months, but every inch of you is still known to him. Still familiar in every way that matters. You smell the same. You feel the same. You’re soft and warm just like always. Osamu buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your fingers eventually lift to play with the hair at his nape. He holds you, and holds you, and holds you more—sating a thirst that’s been building for longer than the time the two of you have been apart.

And you let him.

You hold him too, in the same way.

“If I kiss ya, you gonna cry again?” Osamu asks you quietly after a while, his lips brushing against your throat as he murmurs the words.

You snort, your fingers twisting into the material of his t-shirt at his shoulders. Osamu peels himself away from you and looks up, and finds that your faces are so close. Too close, in any other circumstance.

His palm lifts, cupping your cheek in his hand, running his thumb against the smooth skin underneath.

“Shut up, Samu,” you say, a little smile twisting up the corner of your mouth.

And Osamu happily obliges by pressing his lips to yours.

drank 3/4 a bottle of champagne at christmas brunch and i have something to say about suna