#ive been thinking about osamu so unhealthily someone jail me

[noritoshiikamo]

cw touched starved osamu (sort of), female receiving, mention of overstimulating, intercourse and osamus boner

your face would almost always flushed every time the question was brought up. it almost bound to happen even if you’re just a girlfriend to his less famous twin brother. you are not that big as well, except you are the country’s primary setter. but the question would not stop comming.

“why miya osamu, not atsumu?”

you could think of all the reason in the world. he’s a better cook, kept the house clean and the fridge full, he’s a wing spiker and good one as well, even after years of quitting. that’s always a win to you, you always have someone to set to on the winter break– he made your moves perfect down to the tee. he’s a mommy boy, never need to be told what to do or how to do; he just knew you like the back of his hand.

hand, your cheeks warmed up.

his hand– you don’t know where to start.

he has a thing or a need; he loves the littlest of your skin to be touching him. holding hands while he drives, brushing against the littlest skin showing off your waist while you sleepily try to make the coffee machine in the morning work, brushing strays off your cheeks as you took him out to the team’s event. he looks cold, shy but with you, once the smirk grew on his face, you could never wipe it away.

you’re always at his mercy when his lips landed against the skin where your shoulder and your neck met, sending jolts down your spine. he likes to trick you; intertwining your hands together only to pin it up so he had the whole access to your body. his eyes roaming undressing you with his bored grey eyes before his hands does. he plays dirty, lips against your neck sucking hard you swore it would break. warning you to always keep your eyes on him as he eats you out, or he will make sure that all eyes are on you when you go to training neck full of his bruises.

“you can do it,” he hummed again your clit, feigning support.

you would rather die that hold his gaze as he ravished you like his last meal. hoarse tongue along the lips before sucking on your bud. trained you to take four at least until all you can do is dug your heels deep in the bed with tears down your cheeks. he loves the pleas, the way his name only comes out as osa, choking on your own moans and spit. he didn’t get why you always fight against him. he just wants to make you cum. your stamina is nothing against his own, he will flick his tongue against your clit for hours if god let him be. until you were so exhausted that when he pushed his cock inside you there was just a weak soft sigh of pleasure out of your lips.

he loves all the pretty sounds you made. you were never loud, always so polite with the pleases and yeses. you never had to do anything but be his pretty pillow princess, writhing underneath him as he sheathed himself so deep it bruised your cervix. when nothing comes but some gargling, choking noise, he’ll take pity, speeding up until all was left in the room was the sound of his skin slapping against yours and your whimpers. he’s so polite he will make sure you’ll come first before him, multiple of time.

“he’s prettier, i guess,” you forced a smile, hopping that the camera wouldn’t intensified how flushed your cheeks were. you felt wet, not by just the thoughts but you could feel the cum he had carefully mentioned to keep it all in starting to seep out. he would be watching, happily tending to his small shop with this interview in the background and an ego as big as his brother. would it be that bad, you wondered, thinking of how nice would tonight be when you return home. a smile on his face as osamu tended to his cup of tea with a growing erection hidden behind the counter ready to fill you up again. there’s my good little girl, even as a thought, he could make you shivered.

oh, you can’t just wait to go home.

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