Polyamorous Relationships Were Meant To Be 3 Bisexual Men And One Fujoshi Or Like 17 Lesbians Not One

happy misandrist gojo monday

What I Like | Osamu Miya

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✪ Osamu smut 18+ minors PLEASE dni

CW: manipulation a teensy bit , thigh riding (ゝз╹), one friendly clit slap (we're so back), unspoken pining , its kind of tender ok

When your fwb cancels on you, your best friend Osamu kindly offers to help you out with your problem. And in a crazy turn events, you agree.

an: I promised this fic a year ago 💔. That's not to say it took a year to write but that it's just been collecting dust in my docs. I love this one, it's my favorite flavor of friends to lovers and I might have to do a part 2! If you enjoy it, I would love to hear what you think xoxo

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“I’ll do it.” Osamu offered to you nonchalantly. 

You nearly spit out your drink. This was Osamu, your best friend since you both started college, the one who had introduced you to his brother in the first place.

 Atsumu was the guy you hooked up with semi regularly, who ruffled your hair and called you pipsqueak and acted like he hadn’t just rearranged your guts only minutes before. It was unserious in every sense of the word. 

Your friendship with Osamu? Serious. And important to you. Maybe you had stroked out. Maybe he had.

“What are you saying ‘Samu?”

He shrugged like the two of you were discussing the weather, “You seem upset Atsumu flaked and I'm offering to help you take care of it.” 

“Stop saying it like we’re talking about my dog. You’re talking about fucking me!”

Osamu’s calm expression broke into a cheshire grin, “It's a generous offer, you know. You should be grateful.”

“How are you so blase about this?”

“Y/n, you have been telling me how horny you are for the last twenty minutes, you can’t tell me this is phasing you.”

“But still-”

His laugh cut through your strangled words, “Such a big baby.”

Your ears heated up as he said it. He always called you that starting back to your freshman year when he found out you were an only child. He had mumbled that it made a lot of sense, and you had promptly swatted his arm. Just like then, it riled you up now. He knew it would. 

You pushed out of your seat to stand, “Alright. We’re going to my room.”

Osamu’s expression flashed with surprise, but it was gone as soon as it came. Wordlessly, he followed you into your room and closed the door.

The two of you stared at each other for a good minute. 

He tsked, “Y/n, don’t make this awkward.”

“I’m not. Just take off your clothes.” You directed as you pulled your shirt over your head. He moved to do the same.

“You’re making this clinical.” As he pulled his shirt off you saw the wry smile playing at his lips. 

You started unbuttoning your pants, “I’m not. Order is good, rules are good.”

“Any more rules before we start?” His hands were making quick work of his belt. 

Did you really need rules with Osamu? Obviously he’d never do anything to hurt you. But still. There was another potential issue. “No kissing. It's too intimate.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point but he held his tongue. That lasted for only a second though. “I’m literally going to be inside you.”

“Potatoe potato.”

“The big baby that you are.”

You couldn’t waver on this, “Them’s the rules.”

He nodded with understanding and moved to take his boxers off. At the same time, you stepped out of your panties and unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. 

When you looked up, of course Osamu was staring at you. And of course you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He was perfectly sculpted all the way down to his V line. And he was big. It was a little weird to compare him to Atsumu, a little weird that you were going to have had sex with both twins in general. But he seemed bigger than what you were used to.

“You’re gorgeous.” Osamu’s eyes were unabashedly trailing up and down your body. You wanted to brush him off, and tell him he was being stupid. But your cheeks were flushed and you found yourself at a loss for words. 

He has said to not make this awkward. But how could you not? He was your best friend, so attractive that you had to pretend he wasn’t to function normally. And he was looking at you like that. 

Your mouth was open and you willed words to come out. He beat you to it.

“You have condoms? And lube?” Of course you did.

He took a seat on the edge of your bed as you dug through your drawers and fished the bottle of lube out. A condom following shortly after. 

“Here.” You handed him both. You wanted to finally touch him. Your palm landed on his chest and trailed down to hold him there. 

Osamu caught your wrist and mumbled, “Not yet. C’mere.” He beckoned you to climb into his lap and ushered you on top of him-hovering above his thighs-, the heat of his hands searing on your hips. Opening up the bottle, he poured a little out onto his thigh.

Your brows pinched, “What are you-”

“Ride my thigh.” His eyes bored right into yours.

“‘Samu, please I just want you to-”

One of his hands ran up the inside of your thigh before carding his fingers through your folds. You almost jolted at the feel of his cold fingertips. With featherlight pressure, he teased your clit, “Can you please just let me take care of you?”

He started to draw circles and you nodded dumbly as you sank down further, pussy bare against his thigh. Sliding his palms down to your ass, he guided you forward and then back and then forward again. When his mouth found your neck, an uncontrolled sound left your lips. 

You could hear him laugh but you didn’t seem to care as you rutted against him. The slick of the lube had you gliding along his thigh, the friction just right against your clit. 

All the while Osamu was littering your neck with red purple marks, one hand abandoning your hip in favor of rolling your nipples between his thumb and index. He pinched and watched you suck in a breath. Really, he wanted to hear you. He pinched again. 

You whined as you rode him, “‘Samu, please.” 

Smirking he pulled your nipple into his mouth, sucking and circling with his tongue. Osamu’s mouth paired with the delicious friction between your legs had you soaking his thigh. 

“You’re so pretty like this.” He whispered at your ear.

Your hips stuttered at the praise. As good as you were feeling, you felt you could never get close enough to his thigh, even as you ground against it. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders and you moved faster, harder. Not enough. “Osamu, please. I need more.”

He nipped at your neck before pulling back to watch you, “What do you want, Y/n?”

“Touch me, please. Like before.”

With a nod, he brought his fingers against you, “How does this feel, baby?”

Like he commanded it, your heart thundered and your clit pulsed at what he said. You swallowed hard, “So good, ‘Samu.”

He gave your clit a pinch and impishly smiled when you yelped, before kissing your neck in apology and circling one finger gently to soothe the sting, “Do you like it like this? Or like this?”

Instead of gentle, now he deepened the pressure on your clit and sped up with precision. In his lap you jolted, the tension in your body stacking. 

“Tell me, baby.”

You took a breath, “The second one.” He continued and licked up the column of your neck and you knew you were a goner. “I’m gonna cum, I-”

All at once, his fingers were gone from your throbbing core. Oh this was sick.

“Osamu what the hell?”

Both of his hands slid up your stomach to grope your tits, his thumbs rolling your nipples simultaneously, making you shiver, “I’ll let you come but. . .”

“But what?” 

Skimming his hand back down your body, his eyes flickered to your puffy cunt before he moved and cupped it gently. His hand was unmoving, but you could feel yourself throbbing in his palm. 

When he looked up his eyes met yours and though he had called you a big baby your entire friendship, he’d never seen you this needy in your life. Osamu’s face leaned closer to yours, “You have to kiss me.”

100% he had expected you to hesitate, definitely you were going to argue the point. Nothing could have prepared him for the way your small hands grabbed his face and you pulled him closer still, the way you kissed him like you might die. 

He moved his fingers back to where you needed most and he touched you the exact way you liked. As he sped up, you moaned into his mouth and Osamu’s tongue brushed against your bottom lip before you greeted it with your own. 

The dam inside you was so close to spilling over. Osamu’s fingers were unrelenting on your clit, tight little circles that never stopped. Hungrily, his tongue stroked against yours and you felt your body seize up, stars bursting behind your eyes. You were lost to the high of your release and you had to break apart from your kiss to writhe against his shoulder. He didn’t stop, rubbing you all the way through your orgasm with consistent pressure, not stopping even as your pelvis jumped against hand.

All through your cries he continued, finally stopping when you bit down into the crook of his neck. 

You stayed silent in his arms, your body rising and falling against him like you had just run a marathon.

Subtly you lifted your chin to peer up at him and found him watching you. You rolled your eyes, “I think you broke a rule just then.”

He smiled before stealing a chaste kiss from you, “And I think you liked it.”

You couldn’t argue the point, your lips were still tingling. Really the whole thing would have your mind spinning for quite a while. If you thought about it-

“Aghh.” Your back arched when Osamu gave your cunt a light slap. He was grinning down at you.

“I said don’t make it awkward.”

“I’m not.” You frowned against your will.

Osamu huffed out a laugh as his hand trailed down the love bites he left on your neck, “Such a big baby.”

Against your will, you shivered against him, remembering the way he had spoke to you just minutes before. Of course he noticed, he noticed everything about you. He leaned down so his mouth was at the shell of your ear and his thumb was stroking back and forth as he cupped your cheek, almost like he was holding you there so you couldn’t escape. 

“You like it when I call you baby, huh?” He whispered to you.

Undoubtedly you did. More than you should. 

But you needed to keep things normal. The two of you were best friends and you had to stay that way.

Don’t make it awkward. 

You could do that. 

You smacked his hand away from your face, “You gonna fuck me or are you gonna keep talking?”

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, “There she is.”

Before you could blink, he was tackling you down to the bed.

hmmm modern trigun!au where vash goes to a rave and tries molly for the first time and it makes his plant markings come out

my meds have been making it rly hard to cum... i need ushijima to fix that for me... mdni 18+, x fem!reader

you love your boyfriend. you really do, especially when he’s knuckle-deep inside of your soaked cunt. 

“fuck, toshi!”

your voice comes out in a choked whine. you nuzzle your face into ushijima’s shoulder and let out another embarrassed noise when his fingers hit that spot that makes your womb melt. 

you’ve given up trying to watch the movie that’s playing on the living room tv. the characters argue over something insignificant, background noise to the wet, slick sounds of ushijima’s fingers playing with your pussy. 

“does that feel good?” 

you whimper into the side of his neck, nodding as he pulls his fingers out painfully slow, then presses them in as deep as he can. you gasp. your hot breath against ushijima’s skin makes his own cock throb unabashedly, but he wants to make you cum first. 

he didn’t mind when you told him you’ve been struggling to orgasm. it just means he has more time to touch you, after all, and why would he ever mind that? 

your pussy is hot and sticky around his fingers. it’s been a little over thirty minutes since he started toying with you, easing you into the mood with soft kisses and indiscreet touches. ushijima takes it slow. he thinks that’s the best way – to make you wet and dripping with need that you just have to beg for him. and so, you beg. 

“toshi, please. fuck, wanna cum so bad.”

you clutch onto his sweatshirt and ushijima’s cock twitches. 

“i’ll make you cum, i promise. just relax. i can feel you tensing up.” he turns his head, kissing your cheek and meeting your lips with his own. 

you take another fifteen minutes to finish, one hand frantically rubbing circles into your clit despite ushijima telling you to relax, sweetheart. you can’t help it, not when he kisses your hairline and eases you into your orgasm. 

“are you close?” 

“ah- toshi! mmph, so close, please, please. don’t stop!”

you tighten impossibly around ushijima’s fingers and he presses into your g-spot. 

“fuck! toshi, toshi, toshi!” 

you cum. it washes over you like a wave and the pleasure hits you all at once. your head swims and you mewl, rutting into ushijima’s palm as you soak his hand with your wetness. 

“there you go. that’s my girl.”

you stare up at ushijima with bleary eyes. your pussy flutters around his fingers weakly, bare chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. the movie credits start to roll. 

ushijima’s pupils are blown out. he’s a patient man, but he’s been painfully hard for the better part of an hour, and even he has his limits. he scissors his fingers inside of you and you gasp. 

“ready for another round?” 

four drink rule - suna rintarou/f!reader (1.6k) sfwish, a bit silly, alcohol mention, enemies to something, samu dying a hero's death

atsumu slumps down into the banquette seating lining the wall of the club, exhausted.

there's a mysterious stain on the upholstery next to his thigh; the music is so loud it's rattling his teeth; and it's so hot in the crowded, rowdy space that the thin material of his dress shirt is sticking to him, even with the three top buttons undone.

this was supposed to be a night out with old friends.

this was supposed to be fun.

but now he just wants to go home.

"how many's she on?" his twin appears before atsumu, a drink in each hand. osamu mercifully hands the full one over to him.

atsumu accepts the drink gratefully, not a damn clue what it is, and takes a healthy swig. it burns a little on the way down, and does little to parch his actual thirst, but it's better than nothing. he swallows, panting lightly as he drags the back of his hand over his slick mouth.

"three—"

osamu nods, turning his head to scan the crowd of bodies.

"—what about suna?"

osamu takes a sip of his own drink, a less gluttonous one than his brother had. he turns back to his brother and gives him a pointed look as his adam's apple bobs.

he sighs, and the sound seems to come from deep within him. "three."

"who's watchin' him now?" atsumu asks.

"aran-kun."

atsumu's brow arches at his brother's response. "aran's supposed to be watchin' her."

they share a look. the beat in the song playing over the sound system drops. they're moving towards the thick of the crowd before they know it.

they find aran relatively quickly, near the bar where osamu had left him with suna, but he is horrifyingly alone.

"where is he?"

"where is she?”

the twins speak at the same time, tones equally accusatorial. 

aran rolls his eyes lightly, shaking his head. "relax, they got into one of their spats and she stormed off a while ago, and he said he was gonna go see if he could steal a cig off someone outside while i got another drink."

both of the twins nod, slightly relieved.

osamu’s eyes sweep the surrounding area for a moment.

"aran-kun... where's your drink?" 

aran looks over at the bar where he must have left his glass, but finds nothing there but a ring of condensation where his drink once sat.

he looks back to the twins to meet two identically wide pairs of eyes.

"god damn it.”

atsumu runs his hands through his peroxide blonde hair, gripping the strands roughly in frustration. “aran! the Four Drink Rule is in place fer a reason! it’s sacred!”

"yeah, yeah I know," aran sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes closed.

atsumu stomps his foot—actually stomps it, like an overgrown child—and laments ”this never woulda happened if kita-san were here!"

“kita-san’d never be caught dead in a club, but at least they behave themselves when he’s around," his twin reminds him, more composed than his genetic counterpart. the more level-headed of the two evaluates his options momentarily. “tsumu, you go check outside and see if you can find that dickhead. i’ll look for her. aran why dontcha take a lap and see if you can find ‘em in any… dark corners.”

aran’s nose crinkles in disgust.

“why do i get the worst job?” he gripes.

“yer the one that lost track of ‘em,” osamu says sternly, and aran can’t refute his logic even if he hates it.

they part ways, and osamu approaches the bar—waiting for the bartender to turn her attention towards him as his fingertips tap the sticky surface of the bartop impatiently.

finally the woman approaches.

“sorry to ask ya this,” osamu sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “did a girl come through here recently? real feisty, probably ordered a lemon sour with no ice, about—“

he intimates your approximate height to the bartender.

“—yea high?”

the bartender actually laughs a little bit at how defeated osamu seems, nodding her head.

"yeah, I served her a lemon sour with no ice a couple minutes ago. maybe 10? only remember her because she told me i wasn't allowed to tell some big guy with bleached hair. she made me pinky promise and everything.”

osamu knocks his fist between his eyes. yeah, that was definitely you.

“everything okay?” the bartender asks warily, watching osamu cycle through all five stages of grief in the expressions on his face.

“oh yeah, we’re fine. thanks fer yer help though, miss, and ‘m sorry about the trouble.”

atsumu, aran, and osamu all meet up again where they’d left each other—a few minutes older and substantially more grim.

“couldn’t find ‘em.”

“he wasn’t outside.”

“she got a fourth drink.”

they all relay their findings one after the other, the bad news compounding.

osamu looks at atsumu. atsumu looks at aran. aran looks at osamu. then the order repeats itself in reverse.

“i’m not doin’ it,” atsumu is the first to speak up, staunch and adamant. “i’m tired of baby sittin’ those two brats every time we go out. if they wanna down four drinks and end up suckin' each other’s faces off and bumpin' uglies in a nasty ol’ bathroom that’s their problem!” 

“but we’re the ones that have to deal with the fallout, ‘tsumu!” his brother argues. “suna’s gonna complain about her not replying to the stupid memes he sends like a lovesick idiot for the next two weeks, minimum. and she’s gonna blame us for not stopping her!”

“i agree with atsumu, we’ve been doing this for years. if they can’t admit they like each other that’s between them and god.” aran shrugs, equally exasperated with the foolishness. he’s been dealing with this for too damn long.

osamu tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling, watching the way the club lights flicker across the black tiles overhead.

“if you guys help me figure out where they are, i’ll be the one to break ‘em apart.”

“deal.”

“fine.”

it doesn’t take them long really, once ginjima informs the three of them that he spotted you and suna slipping into an out of order washroom near coat check not fifteen minutes prior. suna’s hand had been, according to akagi’s chipper contribution, so far up your shirt it looked like ‘that scene in alien when the alien pops clear outta their chests!’

osamu stares at the out of order sign on the bathroom door for longer than he cares to admit; mustering his resolve, saying a prayer, lamenting the day of his own birth, etc. 

he casts a look down to the other end of the dimly lit hall (predominantly used by staff) to where atsumu, aran, and a few other of their friends are watching him like spectators standing on the dock to send ill fated soldiers off to war. atsumu waves him on encouragingly.

osamu sighs.

he pushes the door open.

“haa, please, rintar-MMPH!”

osamu fights back a gag as the door swings closed and the bathroom falls deathly silent.

he hears the drip of water from a leaking tap, the distant thrum of bass from the music outside.

“you two are gross, y’know that?”

osamu can see suna’s shoes under the door of the bathroom stall nearest to him. your shoes slowly appear on the ground just in front of suna’s, dropping down into view from above.

“i’m not leavin’ without the two of ya, so put yer junk away and get the hell out here,” osamu demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

“my junk’s not even out yet,” suna mutters sullenly from behind the door, and he hears a smack a moment later.

there’s a bit of shuffling that osamu doesn’t want to picture and the stall lock clicks open. 

well, at least you two had the decency to lock one door. 

the stall door opens a crack, only to slam closed again a moment later.

“hey!” osamu hears you complain.

“you know we don’t actually have to go out there, right? he’s not our boss.”

“get your grubby hands off of me,” you hiss, and there’s another audible scuffle. finally the door to the stall is wrenched open, and you step out.

your hair is a mess. your skirt is creased. your makeup is running. osamu doesn’t dwell too long on the way you’re walking like you’re weak-kneed in the interest of preserving his own sanity.

“god i can’t stand you,” you hiss over your shoulder towards the stall where suna is also emerging, looking equally dishevelled—though notably more smug than you do.

“i’ve got a seat i can offer if you’re looking for one,” suna says, a smirk tugging the corner of his swollen, rosy lips up. there's lipstick streaking across his mouth, jaw, and neck.

“i’m never doing this again,” you say adamantly, grabbing your purse off of the bathroom counter beside osamu, where you’d evidently hastily cast it aside, avoiding his judgemental gaze as you do so.

osamu wants to echo your statement. 

you tug the strap of your bag up over your arm and stomp towards the door of the bathroom with your lipstick still smeared down your chin. osamu turns to look at his friend, his expression flat and unimpressed, but suna’s preoccupied watching you go, eyes glued to the doorway until the door swings shut behind you—the ignored OUT OF ORDER sign fluttering sadly. 

it’s quiet again once you’re gone, and suna turns to look at osamu with a dopey, self-satisfied smile. he sighs happily.

“she says that every time.”

Imagine making out with him and he's holding you in place when he starts grinding against you, all the while scraping his teeth on your neck. You can feel his hardening length grow and you can only wrap your legs around him.

And the kissing 

GOD THE KISSING  Whenever you try to moan, he silences you immediately. His hot tongue makes your body turn to jelly. You let him violate your mouth cause it feels so good. His saliva is the closest thing to tasting nectar and you're addicted to it. You shiver as he slips his hands under your bra and fondles your soft breasts. You feel wet between your legs as he pinches and rolls your nipples with his thumbs, taking in your moans and whimpers. He knows where to touch you every time and how helpless you are underneath him.

When he pulls back, your body's flushed, your panting loudly, and eyes clouded with lust. You're the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen and so lucky to have you. He looks down and sees your lower region throbbing from the make out section. He moves to your ear and asks in a low, carnal voice 'Want me to help you with that babe?'

Your mind is all mush, but with what strength you have left, you spread your legs, showing your moist entrance. Your face pleading and hands resting on your inner thighs. He takes this as a 'yes' and you shudder when he licks his lips.

By the time he was done, you were in heaven. Your body relaxed after so much pleasure was bestowed upon you. His seed’s leaking out of you, with bite marks all over your body. The only memory you have is him laying his head on your chest, his strong, gentle arms wrapping themselves around you.

Bokuto, Kuroo, Dabi, Avocato, Atsumu, Tendou, Suna, Oikawa, Tanaka, Sakusa, Sugawara, Hinata + (your fav)

Im gonna be so real can yall actually talk about ways we can support trans women in the UK instead of giving all the attention to fucking JKR. I already know that Harry Poter sucks, I wanna know how to actually HELP people. Something something you have to love the oppressed more than you hate the oppressor

Oh no I'm thinking of giving cowboy Kirishima all the babies he wants so we have "little helpers" on our ranch

in which suna and you babysit osamu’s daughter for an entire day

CLICK HERE FOR PART.2!

-> this is the consequence of being moots with the queen of baby fevers @tsukkisfatsimp

-> genre : fluffy af, but the ending is even fluffier :0 | word count : 2.4k (yeah….)

-> timeskip!suna x f!reader (ft. osamu and a tiny bit of atsumu)

it’s 8am when osamu’s familiar knock on your front door pulls you out of your thoughts and makes you put your coffee cup down. breakfast isn’t ready yet, but you sure are.

you’re rather quick to open the door, behind which osamu seems to be much more struggling with the two bags swung over his shoulder than with his daughter happily sitting on his left arm.

« i’ll pick her up around 8 if that’s ok with ya » he tells you as you outstretch your arms to relieve him from her featherlight weight. « lemme guess, suna’s still asleep ? » he asks, putting the bags down in your hall with a sigh of relief.

you nod evasively, already too busy poking the soft chubby cheeks of his undoubtedly well-fed daughter, who’s eyeing you with curious eyes.

« does he know that- »

« he doesn’t know anything » you whisper with a smirk at the thought that he still has no idea of what your day is going to look like.

« well, she’s been callin’ for him all mornin’ so he better brace himself - she might be clingy »

i sure hope she will, you think to yourself as osamu gives you some last-minute instructions, before leaving a kiss on his daughter’s forehead and walking back to his car - not without one last wave and blown kiss.

« alright sweetie, now that daddy’s gone… let’s go wake your uncle up » you smile mischievously at her and she immediately mimics your expression with a toothless grin.

Keep reading

“make sure ya get the back of my neck.”

“sure.”

“get the sides, too.”

“okay.”

“and make sure ya don’t miss a single spot!”

this time, you don’t have as much patience. you grip a handful of osamu’s wet hair, ignoring the exaggerated exclamations of pain as you do.

“i. said. oh.. kay!!” each word is accompanied with a jerk of his head. osamu’s reaching for your forearms now, smacking them as if he’s tapping out of a boxing match.

he glares at you, pout on. you grin back. you win.

and as if to make it a point, you begin to massage his scalp with a gentle scrape of your fingernails. swirling his hair, making sure you get into the follicles, and forcing a subtle pressure onto the base of his skull, you press a kiss right at the edge of his brow as a gift for finally behaving.

osamu hums at that. he closes his eyes to relax and as the moments pass, he slowly liquifies beneath you. the bend of his back curves into your belly as he breathes deep, unperturbed by the scent of ammonia.

“feels nice.”

“is that right, old man?”

osamu’s back to glaring. a giggled kiss back to his brow does nothing to abate it.

“too soon?”

he answers by pinching your thigh. you smack a gloved hand across his shoulder and he only snickers loudly, leaning all his weight onto you that you almost topple over. just as quickly as it left, silence settles into the bathroom once again.

“too old,” osamu eventually says. his confession is quiet, one that opens a space for thought, a little reprieve to reminisce. the fluorescent bulbs in your bathroom suddenly dull into a warm glow.

he says old as if it were a bad thing. like cracks on a sidewalk or black cats. old as if it were something to avoid.

it’s how this all started anyways. after a long day at onigiri miya, osamu’s feet found their way back home to you. he smells of sweat and sweet vinegar and hard work and yours. routine makes his way to you, slide his hands across your ribs and pecks you twice along the lips. then he goes to the bathroom, turns the shower on, and sheds his clothes beginning with his cap.

osamu was fiddling with his belt buckle with one hand and shuffling his hair with the other when he found it.

a gray hair. gray. and not the artificial kind.

one hour, one impromptu trip to the konbini, and one plucked gray hair burned spitefully at the stove, you're back in the bathroom again.

he wants to dye his hair gray. the artificial kind. the color he had back in high school, to a younger version of the one in front of you. and as much as you liked inarizaki osamu, any version of osamu actually, you especially like this one here.

"i think you're pretty sexy in gray." you mention without looking at him. osamu's trying to find meaning, the true meaning to the words you say. he watches your reflection as you busy yourself by discarding your used gloves.

old means growth. his hair will fade just like the original onigiri miya shirt that stretches across his wide chest but your love for him never will. time loves him just as much as you, kisses lines at the corners of his eyes, strokes rough edges along his palms, and you are gifted with a front seat to it.

"ya think tsumu's got gray hairs?" he finally asks.

"i'll do you one better," you smile wryly and lower yourself to whisper in his ear. "i think his hair is thinning."