Intimate moments pt. 2 || 18+ || ft. Atsumu, Osamu, Suna, Ginjima || 🦊
Atsumu - hands slipping under your underwear, hand in his hair, playful pinches, laughing while kissing, tongue lapping over the sensitive spots, lips brushing over fingers and wrists.
Osamu - bites along your thighs, forehead kisses, thumb caressing your lips, loving words of praise, pinning you underneath him, lips never leaving your skin.
Suna - pulling you on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, teasing whispers, love bites along the collarbone, moans stifled by his hand, nuzzling into your neck and holding you close.
Ginjima - heated make out sessions, desperately grinding against you, warm hands slipping under your shirt, tickling and giggling, stifled moans.
Synopsis: As the youngest of the Miya triplets your life has never been boring, be it starting a war with your brothers over who won't sit in the middle seat in the car, distracting mom while they get rid of the broken vase, or simply getting groceries.
Genre: general stupidity, platonic relationships, siblings being idiots, comedy, fluff, some angst or even a romantic interest might come along we’ll see
a/n: yes I do find the idea of Atsumu and Osamu having a triplet absolutely hilarious, sue me. Stories will be in no particular chronological order, so take this little scribble dump more as, but not really, an anthology series. updates will come as my time will allow it. If you wanna be tagged lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 😊
Brought to you by a tired younger sister of idiot twin brothers.
Synopsis: Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for kindergarten.
wc: 2.1k
a/n: baby Miyas, the ultimate serotonin providers 🙃 if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!
Mrs Miya has always trusted her gut feeling and in that moment it was telling her the bathroom was down the corridor, last door on the left, and, just as Mr Miya had told her that morning, eating leftover curry for breakfast was a dreadful idea.
Doctor repeats her words and Mrs Miya's neck becomes completely stiff. If it wouldn't she'd perhaps be able to look at her husband whose face turned ashen pale. “Triplets?“
Well, this will take buy one get one for free jokes on a whole new level.
Doctor's words are just buzzing and the soon to be Miya parents nod and smile and nod and hold on each others' hand as if there's no tomorrow. They're silent on the way out.
Mr Miya turns to his wife. “Do they even sell strollers for three kids?”
Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for daycare.
You all wear the same colours because Atsumu would throw a tantrum if your jumper wasn't the same colour as his and you would throw a tantrum when yours was a different colour than Osamu's, who in turn would throw a tantrum because his jumper was now the same colour as Atsumu's.
Mrs Miya had read advices that one should always dress their twins (or, in this case, triplets) differently as it is good for their personality development; which is all well and good and a great advice, except that whoever wrote it forgot to take into account that two and a half out of her three children saw being dressed differently as their siblings as a horrific violation of their toddler rights.
Your parents tell themselves one day you'll grow out of this phase, but till then mom stitches little numbers one, two, and three on the edges of your clothes. She did start stitching your names, but with only two pairs of hands in the house and three little sprouts in constant need of attention there was never enough time to finish them.
“One,“ says Mr Miya and Atsumu raises his hands.
“Ichi!“ he proudly chimes.
“Two,“ Mr Miya grabs you before you'd crawl out of the reach of his arms.
“Ni!“ like his brother Osamu too raises his chubby fists, but only halfway.
“And three!”
“San!“ You hug your dad's neck, perhaps hoping that will get you out of having to wear socks.
And heaven forbid they ever messed up which jumper belonged to whom. It was beyond your parents' wisdom how you could tell the number stitched on the edge was not the same they said when counting your heads, but you could.
“Must be yer superpower,“ jokes Mr Miya while changing your sweater that has the wrong number on the edge. He barely pulls it off when Atsumu's chubby hands already grab it and begin pulling it over his head. He screams when his father offers to help, pouting even if he's completely lost between the left sleeve and the opening for the head.
“Alright buddy,“ muses Mr Miya and turns his attention to Osamu who already pulled his socks off so, naturally, now you've mysteriously lost one of your socks too. Mr Miya sighs. Maybe it's time to let his boss know he's going to be late.
Three is an enormous number, when the three in question are a feverish toddler in your arms and two more running around doctor's office. Perhaps it was time to ask the daycare to put you three into different groups. That will cause an outrage, oh ever since the 'One child, one pillow' incident Mrs Miya is well aware of that. But then again, better that than all of you throwing a tantrum when only one got to leave the daycare early.
“One, two, three,“ she counts your heads under her breath, then hurries over to where you just picked up a very interesting small stone that probably fell from the soles of someone's shoes, “San! I mean y/n, sweetie, that's a stone. See, it's rough and cold.“ You whine when she takes the treasure from you but still listen closely to her words that spark Atsumu's interest too, and he trots closer to see what is happening. Thankfully feverish Osamu has fallen asleep in her arms. Really, the last thing she needs is his firm conviction the stone is just greyish candy. Mrs Miya still lets Atsumu take the stone in his hands. “No,“ she grabs his hand when he lifts it towards his mouth that is already curving into a grimace. “Hey, hey, no need to cry over it sweetie. Yer gonna wake up yer brother and he needs sleep right now.“
“Is he sick?” your tiny voice chimes in. Mrs Miya nods. “Because he ate melon seeds,“ you nod with all the wisdom of a 3 year old. “He's growin' melons in his tum-tum,“ you tell Atsumu whose wide eyes blink twice before he bursts into tears.
“One, two, three,“ Mrs Miya counts your heads while you play around the house. If you hide from her sight sooner or later screaming and crying alerts her something happened. A moment later Mr Miya returns to the living room with a very much red faced and screaming Atsumu in his arms.
“What happened?“ she asks, crouching down to console you, also crying because there's no way you'd let your brother scream his lungs out by himself.
“Ah the usual,“ he places the scissors on the counter, “wouldn't let him shred his shirt. Osamu, no!“ He quickly grabs his other son who also starts crying, shocked that his own father would take the lost sock from him before he got the chance to find out how it tastes.
Ah, just another Sunday.
The good thing about three children running around is they're never lonely. There are always games to play, fights to win, faces to colour. Most of the days all of you exhaust yours (sometimes apparently infinite) supplies of energy by the time evening falls. Mr Miya puts you to bed (one bed, because trying to make you sleep in separate cribs is apparently a disgusting violation of Toddler convention) before he collapses beside his wife.
“Asleep?“ she asks.
Mr Miya hums. “For now.“
The moment they turn the lights off slide door across the hallway open. Light steps cross the dangerous waters of the dark hallway, enter the bedroom and climb over Mr Miya to the safe haven between the parents.
“Bad dreams?“ asks Mrs Miya. In response Osamu sniffles and snuggles closer. Not a minute passes when two more pairs of legs pass through the darkness of the hallway and climb to be beside their brother. You shriek when Atsumu pushes his cold feet on your back, but dad's stern word makes you stop. A few moments later you're all asleep.
“One, two, three,“ sleepily mumbles Mrs Miya, patting each of your heads.
“Four,“ says Mr Miya and his wife giggles.
Three is the number of band-aid packages your parents buy per month. Ever since you've grown for about a chopstick taller, well you only grew for about three thirds of a chopstick because nature thought it would be funny if you got outgrown by your brothers at the tender age of 5, it turned out the tall tree in the park could in fact be climbed, if you climbed on someone's shoulders and then pull them on the lowest branch. Sadly the branches aren't big fans of being climbed on but no amount of scratches and falls could stop you from trying.
“A champignon never stops tryin'!“ proclaims Atsumu after the failed attempt that left bark in his hair and Osamu laughing on the branch.
“What's a champignon?“ you ask.
“It's the person who's the best! It's what I'll be one day!“
Osamu snorts, firmly grabbing on the thin branch he's sitting on. “Champignon's a mushroom.“
“No it ain't!“
A mushroom, you make a little note in your memory, because no matter how much Atsumu protests you're more inclined to believe Osamu when it comes to mushrooms.
Your heads turn when you hear mom calling and waving, waiting for Osamu to climb down before running over to her.
“I win!“ announces Atsumu despite Osamu reaching her first.
“Why, because yer a champignon?“
“Are we all here?“ loudly asks Mr Miya before his boys could jump into each other's hair, “identify yerselves!“
“One!“ calls Atsumu.
“Two!“ calls Osamu, louder.
“Three!“ you call and jump, because being louder than them was never an option.
Four heads turn to Mrs Miya. “Mom,“ she raises her hand.
“Excellent!“ proclaims Mr Miya as three small voices cheer. “Then we can get goin'!“
“Where to?“ you ask.
Mr Miya picks up a stick and starts drawing lines in the sand covering the path. “It's a secret but maybe ya can guess, we'll go down this path-“
“A treasure hunt!”
“Almost. At the fountain we'll turn left, and what lies down the fountain path?“
“Pigeons?“ you try guessing.
Osamu bumps his fist on the open palm. “Ice cream stand!“
Mr Miya nods.
“Last one there's a loser!“ shouts Atsumu who starts running before even finishing the sentence. Osamu immediately follows, both ignoring your shouts to wait up.
Three is a funny number. It only works when the two and one have the third , because otherwise it's just one and two. Like a clover that got munched on by a picky rabbit that tried a leaf and then decided it doesn't fit its taste.
Volleyball sort of became the rabbit munching on the clover. One day teachers simply decided you're not allowed to play on the same team as your brothers anymore. And no amount of crying, screaming and sulking could convince the rabbit to give the leaf back.
“Maybe we can sneak ya in,“ suggests Atsumu one night, “all ya hafta do is wear our clothes. No one will know!“
So you try that and funnily enough, people do notice when one and two together make a three, and what surprises children even more is that parents also notice when they return late from school because they had to stay in detention. And as if cleaning the school hallways for a month wasn't enough, now they have to clean the house too.
It is however enough to discourage you from trying to sneak into practice again, so you stick with only coming to games and waiting for their practice to end so you can walk home together. From time to time some of their teammates stop to say hello or to complain to you about their shenanigans, but that's knowledge you hold to yourself, since you never knew when blackmail material might come in handy.
It's only when Osamu teases they get to go to a volleyball workshop and you don't that you get envious.
“It sounds stupid anyway,“ you try pretending you couldn't care less.
“It would be perfect for ya then,“ Osamu shots back and sprints away as you dive after him.
Maybe you are just a teensy bit envious, still as long as you get to play with them when they are home it's not that bad. After returning from their workshops you don't even let them take their shoes off before dragging them to the volleyball net dad set up in the garden. You stand where you always stand, by the net so you can throw balls for them to hit over.
Atsumu pushes you away. “No, this is my position now. I wanna be a setter.“
You don' mind, and throw the ball towards Atsumu who sends it back into a bit of an awkward place and you end up not even hitting it.
Osamu bursts into laughter. “Ya suck.“ He jumps to avoid the kick aimed at his knee. “We play with good players now so yer gonna hafta practice more. There was this tall player with a cool name! Right, Tsumu?“
“Tsumu?“ you repeat.
“Tsumu and Samu. It's our names but they sound way cooler now!“ proudly declares Atsumu.
Your eyes widen in admiration. “I want that too! What should I call myself?“
“Yer always copyin' us,“ complains Osamu but he gets ignored as the first name Atsumu suggests earns him a ball to the face.
“Oh I know!“ You bump your fist on your open palm. “I'll be San!“
Atsumu thinks it over with the same expression Osamu has when trying to decide which udon toppings to order. “San,... Y/n... San,... It sounds so cool! Whaddaja think Samu?“
Osamu shrugs. “San, let me show ya how to spike the ball properly.“
Synopsis: Nothing simpler than grocery shopping. Right?
wc: 1.2k
a part of The third Miya series
a/n: Miyas are pure chaos and I’m here for it. If you wanna be tagged in the coming scribbles lemme know and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
One thing was sure; every single time you were sent to get groceries Osamu got lost somewhere between entering the store and the first shelf. Years of being used to it and you still worry, knowing better than anyone he always follows his nose rather than his eyes; though ever since the mango incident you'd rather no one knew you are related.
And after all, he is like a cat, aloof and distant until food came into picture and he winds his way between your legs till he either gets what he wants or you end up flat on your face. And he still gets what he wants.
Atsumu on the other hand, is a parrot. A colourful, obnoxiously loud parrot who always wants whatever is in your hands, not caring what you knock over trying to keep your small treasures from his grabby little claws. Or, hands.
The current treasure in question being the shopping list. It's been a long time since you stood a chance against Atsumu when it came to pure pulling strength and the unfortunate victim to experience it is, well are, the two pieces of paper in yours and his hand. “Great,“ you say, “if we forget to buy anythin' I'm blamin' ya.“
“This wouldn't have happened if ya just gave me the damn paper in the first place,“ huffs Atsumu.
You stuff the torn piece of paper in your pocket. “Where's Samu?“
“What am I? His babysitter?“
“No, that honour would be mine,“ you dead pan to his snarky question. Throwing a quick glance up and down the aisle you fail to notice your other brother between the customers. Well, whatever. He'll show up sooner or later. So you return your attention to tooth paste. Dad likes the blue one. Only there are at least four different blue ones.
“Just take the cheapest.“
“That one's digustin’.“
“If we buy the cheaper stuff we'll have more money left over to buy snacks!“
“Ooo,“ your eyes widen as you do the quick math, “Tsumu yer so smart!“ You grab two of the cheapest tubes. “Maybe we can even get Samu-nii to make us some onigiri...“ The mere thought of them makes your mouth water.
“Samu-nii?“ he frowns. “Ya never call me that.“
“Ya lost that privilege when ya framed me for eatin' his puddin'. We should get some hair dye too. Yer roots are starting to show.“ No way are you going to let your brother walk around with roots showing. Oh no. Not under your watch.“Maybe some purple shampoo but I don't see it anywhere...“
“What for?“
“So we can get ya a real nice platinum colour.“
“Nah, I like the one I have.“
You straighten up and give him a look of disbelief. “It's yellow.“
“Gold! It's gold! 'Cause I'm a champion!“
Right. “Whatever you need to tell yerself little brother.“
While he hisses back insults, because he's the oldest and how dare you disrespect him in the 7-Eleven of all places, you try to remember what the next thing on the shopping list was. Shampoo, right, check, dad's favourite shaving cream is already in the cart, as is deodorant you've gotten in a fight over with Atsumu just a minute ago (“I want this one!“
“Tsumu this one stinks like a teenage boy who hasn't showered in a week.“
“I AM A TEENAGE BOY!”). You should take one for Osamu too. Their morning squabbles weren't how you liked starting your day, not that a single deodorant would stop that but one can dream, right? Speaking of which, slowly it would be time to start looking for your always hungry triplet. Still ignoring Atsumu you head towards the food section.
Here's the thing about parrots. Just like cats they want attention when you have something more important to do. A cat will nudge you, lay over your books or keyboard or whatever you might be doing at the moment, maybe dug its claws in your leg or just straight up refuse to leave no matter how many times you push it away. A parrot on the other hand, will perch itself on your shoulder and scream till you give it what it wants.
That's what Atsumu is doing at the moment. Well, not the screaming part, though his blabbering is just as annoying. He's leaning on your shoulder, flicking your ear while you compare the prices of bonito flakes. “Stop that.“
“I'm gonna get chips.“
“Wait for-“
He's already walking away, pushing the cart and whistling, so you roll your eyes and return your attention back to the packages. Which one did mom say tasted weird again?
Here's another thing about parrots. As innocent as they may look to some, they do love creating this thing called chaos. And here's the thing about chaos. Unlike some other things it's worse in small dosages, because in small dosages it's funny. For example, a parrot filling your shoe with sunflower seeds.
Or a golden haired boy filling the shopping cart with bags of chips. There's barely enough space for those three packages in your arms.
“Mom's gonna go ballistic if we buy so much chips,“ you say looking at Atsumu trying to stuff one more bag in the cart.
“We'll just pay separately.“
Oh right. You could do that. And this time not fail to forget taking the receipt out of the bag before dad finds it. While Atsumu tries to decide which package of crab chips to take next (as if he could cram one more in the cart) you sneak in some small packets of super sour candy. For later. You never knew when Samu will itch and go through your secret stash.
As if he smelled you're collecting ingredients for a trap his gray hair appears on the other side of the aisle. “What's with all that?“ he asks when he sees half the cart is filled with snacks.
“Supplies.“
Osamu puts his hands in pockets. “Put them back.“
You blink. Twice. Then glance over at Atsumu who looks just as shocked as you. He narrows his eyes and pinches Osamu's cheek. “Ya feelin' alright Samu? Got fever?“ Osamu swats his hand away. “Who are ya and what have ya done with our brother?“
And his hands are empty too... The only time Osamu didn't come back carrying a bunch of food was when you were shopping at a shoe store.
“If we don't buy snacks we can get sushi,“ he says with an expression that clearly asks how you two idiots couldn't work that out on your own.
“Oooo,“ both your and Atsumu's eyes widen in awe. You could get sushi. You both look at all the tasty, tasty snacks in the cart. Sushi... Or maybe ramen. A new restaurant did open up the street just last month. But then you'll have no goodies for later... But it's sushi.
“Alright, I'll get these back!“ Atsumu grabs the bags and stacks them back on the shelf.
“Hey! I haven't agreed yet!“ you protest.
Osamu pats your shoulder. “Two to one.“
You roll your eyes. It wasn't the rule of 'two over one' overruling whatever your answer was going to be, it was more you hate being the losing one. Even when you get a reward. Even when the reward is tasty food.
Silver || Omimi x fem!reader || smut, 18+ || wc: 1.1k || soft dom!Omimi, no plot in sight, very very light choking, praise || 🦊
Omimi runs his hands down the bare skin of your back, lovingly smiling at how you shiver at his touch. He pulls your kneeling form closer, pressing kisses from your shoulder to your neck, stopping to nibble at the skin just below your ear. You buckle your hips back to grind against the bulge in his briefs, and he manages to stiffen a moan till you roll your hips. You giggle at the hitched sound that escapes him.
“What's so funny love?“ he rasps in your ear making your grip on the sheets tighter.
He gently turns your head to kiss you, softly, your lips barely brushing. You're still grinding against him and it's making his head spin. With one hand he grabs your hips to keep you from going too fast, with the other he hugs you tighter, playing with your nipple as he leaves sloppy kisses along your neck. He could come from the sensation of your hips rocking against his and the sound of your whimpers alone.
“Yer so needy love,“ he says as he reaches between your legs to drag slowly between your folds and rub circles around your clit. So wet already, and the moan you let out, fuck, he has to clench his jaw to stiffen his own.
“Ren,“ you weakly whine.
He keeps a hand on your hip, partly to keep you steady and partly because he doesn't want to lose touch with you while he pulls his briefs down. He squirts some lube on his dick because he wants to be inside you as quick as possible, even if you say you like the burn when he slowly stretches you. Besides, the way you glance over your shoulder and bite your lip in anticipation as you watch him spread it is a sight too precious to miss.
He beckons for you to come closer and you obediently get on all fours so he can line himself up with your entrance and slowly push inside. The moan he lets out is embarrassing, but fuck how else is he supposed to let you know you're everything he ever wanted?
A few slow, shallow trusts are enough to make you shudder. As he bottoms out a string of curses falls from your lips. He leans over you, taking your fists and gently uncurling them. “Better?“
“Yes, fuck, yes,“ you mumble. You're already clenching impossibly tight around him. You turn your head to catch his lips into one of those kisses Omimi loves the most, hungry and eager.
He snaps his hips forward, slow at first, enjoying the way you whimper as he drags along your walls, then faster and faster because your moans are making his breath hitch, and ya feel so damn perfect, so warm, and ya take him so well, he whispers in your ear, yer his good girl and yer always so good for him, and ya like how he rubs yer clit, don't ya? Of course ya do, and yer gonna come for him won't ya, ya know how much he loves it when ya come on his cock and ya always make him feel so good, his pretty girl, so fuckin' good, fuck, fuck, till his words become incoherent mumbling and he's snapping his hips so fast he has to grab yours to hold himself steady. He can't think straight, the feeling of you clenching around him is overwhelming, your skin, your moans, with one more snap of his hips and a groan he spills inside you.
It takes him a moment to catch his breath, though you're eager to keep going and already grinding on his still hard cock. He lets you. Then he leans down to kiss your shoulder. “Do ya want more?“ he whispers, his hand wrapping around your neck. He doesn't squeeze, just caresses the skin with his thumb so you won't get any ideas about who's in charge. “I asked ya somethin' love,“ he repeats, unsatisfied with your nodding.
“Fuck Ren you know I do, just put your fucking-“
You don't get to finish the sentence as Omimi pulls out and away from you, flips you over and pins your hands above your head. “Now, that's no way to talk, is it?“
His lips brush over your forehead as he caresses your cheek and slides his hand back around your neck. The way your pupils dilate and the way you swallow hard make him twitch. He wants to be back inside you but he has to teach you a lesson first.
He peppers kisses along your collarbone and chest till he settles on circling your nipple with his tongue. You're whimpering, so he readjusts just enough to press his thigh between your legs. He lets you grind against it, yeah yer his good girl, ya can get off a little. Just a little though.
He pins you down with the entire weight of his body and you eagerly wrap your legs around his waist. He kisses you like it's the last time he gets to do it. Everything about you enchants him, your lips moving so perfectly against his, your scent, the pleading look in your eyes.
His hand reaches down between your legs to caress your clit. He can't help but smile at how you immediately snap your hips against his hand and moan in his mouth, a few more rubs and you'll cum so he realigns himself with your throbbing entrance and pushes in in one fluid thrust. Fuck, how do you feel better and better every time? You look so pretty, your eyes tightly shut, your arms shaking. Oh he recognises the face you're making. You want him to move so bad but you're too stubborn to ask. He lets go of your hands to cup your face and kiss you again, pretending to not be affected by how you're clenching around him and desperately trying to roll your hips in an effort to relieve some of the ache he knows is building inside you.
“Baby all ya have to do is ask nicely,“ he whispers in between kisses. You pleadingly whimper his name. “Not like that, I want to hear ya say it. Hey, look at me. Fuck, yer gorgeous.“
You run your hand through his hair and finally, finally you give in: “Please make me cum. Please Ren, I need you-“
He thrusts fast, sloppily, rubbing your clit again. Shit, you're clenching so hard he'll come too, with a few more thrusts in the right spot and there it is, that stunning expression when you tip over the edge with his name on your lips.
You run your hands down the nape of his neck and his trembling arms while you both catch your breath. You cup his face and lean up to kiss him. "Love you so much," you mumble against his lips.
