lemontsumu

[lemontsumu]

Atsumu whining about Omi’s strict 11-step skincare routine because he’s been cuddle-less on the couch for too long (it’s been 10 minutes)

So Omi placates him with, “Atsu, baby. Stop complaining, I’m doing this so you have a nice place to sit on in the morning.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Omi hears crashing noises from the living room followed by the sound of muffled screams and giddy feet kicking. Smirking, he proceeds to lather his face with night cream.

[lemontsumu]

CEO Kiyoomi barely making it to his first meeting in the morning, which rarely ever happens because he’s known to be keen on punctuality. Except today he arrives literally at the last minute, still on time while tardy by his own standards.

His secretary greets the members of the board then switches off the lights and turns their focus to the wide screen, only for everyone’s attention to be reined back in towards the stoic CEO at the head of table who was glowing brightly in the dark with neon colored doodles all over his otherwise all-black suit.

The meeting is adjourned temporarily so Kiyoomi can have a change of clothes.

And that’s how his whole company finds out their fearsome boss might be prickly on the outside but he’s truly a big softie on the inside.

[lemontsumu]

Bedtime sketches of my muse

[lemontsumu]

EJP and MSBY were due for a practice match the following week, so Suna and Komori plan a little scheme of getting Atsumu drunk (he’s tipsy on the third sip of Suna’s soju + yakult concoction) and gathering some insider info about key players ahead of time.

“You’ve been playing among yoursleves in the team too, haven’t you?” Suna starts.

A hic. “Yes!” Atsumu pumps his fist in the air.

“So when you were playing against your captain, how did you work around his blocks?” Komori asks.

“Cap’n? Meian-shan?” Atsumu drawls, rubbing his thighs together and squirming in his seat.

“Oh my god. You have a crush on your team captain?”

“Well, Tsumu did always have a type.”

Another hic.

“Meian-shan~” Atsumu hugs his legs and sighs dreamily, eyes half lidded and a woozy smile on his lips.

“Yes, yes. Meian-shan,” Suna stifles his laughter and starts recording on his phone.

“Miya-senshuu!”Komori holds an empty bottle like a microphone and pretends to interview him. “As one of the top setters in the league, how would you break through the ‘Iron wall of the Black Jackals’?”

“Break, wha-? No, no!” Atsumu shakes his head in earnest. “I’d climb him!” he fervently declares.

The next day, Atsumu wakes up to endless notifications blasting his phone, a sticky note from Suna and Komori that reads: check your drawer, thank us later <3, and a bunch of missed calls from his teammates.

He blinks a few times and tries to connect the dots for a moment, then he hears three firm knocks on his bedroom door.

“Atsumu, are ya awake?”

There’s only one other person in the dorms who spoke with the familiar diction of their hometown, memories of last night suddenly replaying in Atsumu’s sleep addled brain.

Atsumu slumps his face into his pillow and screams internally. Or loudly, not that that could hurt his dignity any more than his lightweight ass already has.

“Atsumu?” Two more knocks, then there’s a pause. “I’m coming in.”

And of fucking course Suna and Komori left his door unlocked.

Those damn traitors.

Atsumu swears he’ll get his revenge and take their firstborn.

The sound of footsteps approaching overlaps with the buzzing beat in Atsumu’s ears, his heart thrumming between his chest and the mattress.

“I know yer awake. I can see yer feet kicking, ya know?”

Atsumu groans and still refuses to face his early morning visitor. “Have ya seen the video?” he mumbles, voice small.

Meian hums and starts stroking the back of his head, running his fingers through Atsumu’s bed hair then settling on his nape.

“Why don’t ya look at me so we can talk then I can let ya climb on top of me later?”

“How about ya let me climb on top of ya, then we can talk?” Atsumu asks, emboldened by the sensation of Meian’s grip tensing at his words.

“Deal.”

Atsumu kicks his feet under sheets as he makes room for the other.

[lemontsumu]

“You’re joking,” Hoshiumi zooms into the low quality photo taken by a fan that ends up blowing up on social media. “Captain, please tell me you’re joking. Miya fucking Atsumu?”

“Atsumu-san is hot,” Kageyama remarks.

Ushijima nods, agreeing.

Hoshiumi scoffs. “He also happens to be a brat.”

“I heard a similar comment from Kiyoomi-kun,” Ushijima unhelpfully supplies.

Hoshiumi berates himself for reading between the lines.

“Well, I happen to like brats,” the older Hirugami chuckles, crow’s feet crinkling on the corner of his eyes. He looks disgustingly endeared.

Hoshiumi decides he’ll ring Sachirou to complain about it later.

“I thought we were gonna destroy them this year after our defeat last season?!”

“Oh, don’t worry. We will. I will—whether it’s during the match or afterwards is another story,” he swears with a smirk.

Kageyama and Ushijima tilt their heads to the side in synchrony, not understanding. “It’s foul play to challenge players off court, captain,” they both concur.

Meanwhile, Hoshiumi wishes his imagination didn’t run wild and start conjuring a lewd image of their team captain obliterating the MSBY setter in the locker rooms just as he’d promised and just as Atsumu deserved.

[lemontsumu]

When the news of Atsumu dating his team captain broke the internet, the media kept finding ways to make team interviews about the new couple, creating a buzz about their shared hometown and inevitable romance, and never without noting their 6-year age difference.

“God forbid I take care of the elderly,” Atsumu tries to lighten the mood while evading the question.

“So you do think he’s too old for you?” The interviewer adds because he can’t take a hint to save his life, making the crowd burst into chitchat and laughter.

Meian merely smiles as he shakes his head, his dark gaze falling upon Atsumu who knows he’ll have to face the consequences of making a half joke later.

True enough, Meian makes sure he works hard and takes good care of everything in the locker rooms after everyone had left that night.

Not that Atsumu minds. Oh, he doesn’t mind at all.

[lemontsumu]

POV: you have an acts of service boyfriend (based on an Insta reel)

[lemontsumu]

I liked todays daily enough that I'm going to keep working on it

[lemontsumu]

Osamu: You have my full permission to beat his a$$

[lemontsumu]

Suna: why is your cousin smiling creepily at his phone?

Komori: Atsumu texted him saying he hasn’t cleaned their bathroom yet…

Suna: I thought Sakusa-kun was a clean freak?

Komori: …because there’s a spider in the tub and he didn’t want to drown the poor lil guy

Suna: *speechless*

Komori: I mean, it’s kinda cute

Suna: you mean, he’s utterly whipped

Komori: oh, definitely that too

Sakusa, with a completely straight face: Motoya, I’ve decided. I’m gonna make him my wife.

[lemontsumu]

Miya twins with an age gap AU where Osamu (16) and Atsumu (5) have been close since Atsumu was in his nappies. Osamu was patient, caring, and protective of his baby brother, indulging his playfulness and clingy demands.

Things change when their father had started to become absent, however, and like any confused, indignant teenager Osamu copes by isolating himself from his family and placating his hurt by spending time woth the wrong group of friends.

His relationship with his mother slowly deteriorates, aggravated by bursts of rage and cold shoulders.

Atsumu, too young and innocent to comprehend the invisible shifts in their household, looks to Osamu for understanding and affection more than ever.

Only this time, Osamu lashes out and shoves him to the ground, staring down at him with a harsh glare as regretful words spill from his mouth before he gets a chance to swallow them back. “Yer annoying, I wish I didn’t have a brother like ya.”

His words pierce Atsumu’s chest with a stinging pain more unbearable than than the hideous bruise that blooms on his arm after.

*

Osamu’s wake up call comes to him when his old childhood friend catches him amidst one of his violent flurries in some ramdom alleyway.

“You think yer so cool now, huh? Well, I’ve never seen ya more lame, Samu. Getting into fights with nameless strangers for amusement? Blaming yer ‘Ma for yer dad’s fuck up? Treating yer brother coldly when he’s getting bullied by the same people ya brag are yer friends?” Aran scoffs, his words hitting Osamu him hard right at his face.

“Wha- I didn’t-“

“Exactly. Ya didn’t know. And that makes it worse,” Aran sputters through gritted teeth, pinning Osamu roughly against the wall. “Yer not the only one hurting, Samu. I won’t claim I understand how ya feel because it’s different for me, and maybe I have it easy since I didn’t even get to meet the asshole that is my father,” he laughs humourlessly, loosening his hold. “Yer allowed to grieve in yer own terms for as long as ya like. I just hope ya don’t wallow too long in self-pity ya fixate on who has left and lose sight who’re right by yer side worried sick about ya, waiting with open arms for you to come home.”

That evening, Osamu mindlessly wanders around the neighborhood a little longer but returns to their house with Aran’s voice echoing in his head. clothes all roughed up and his heart worn out.

Sliding the same shoji doors he’d carelessly rammed in the morning, he crosses the same threshold leading to the same entryway he’d miserably passed in and out of in the last 14 wretched months of his life, finally ready to let out the breath he’d been holding in since the day the man he had put on a pedestal effortlessly walked out of their lives.

“Ta-Tadaima,” he says for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Mama Miya drops the empty rice bowl she was about serve food into and sobs into her hands.

Little Atsumu, who suddenly seems not so little anymore, doesn’t miss a beat and dashes to grab onto his leg, tears pooling in his big, round eyes.

“Okaeri, Samu-nii,” he beams, cheeks wet.

This was his tipping point; Osamu drops to his knees and crumbles in his brother’s arms. He weeps and weeps and weeps as small hands cuddle him tenderly like he can break at any moment. Perhaps he will. Perhaps he already has.

Mama Miya joins them, also crying.

Atsumu soothes them both with head pats, giggling.

At long last, Osamu remembers how to breathe.

[lemontsumu]

The twins are brilliant at math.

They’ve taken Kumon classes during summer and winter breaks from their elementary days and completed Level O by high school.

Atsumu takes an elective course on vectors before signing with MSBY.

Osamu doesn’t, but learns business and accounting on the side while in culinary school instead.

[lemontsumu]

“So, to what do we owe the visit? Another fumbled mutant serve? A flunked retort during a team interview where nobody laughed?” Oikawa comes out of the bedroom wearing a fluffy headband and a full face mask, a tub of clay at hand to apply some on Osamu who’s sitting waiting on the couch.

“Oh, ya know- Just the classic ol’ sulking about his big fat crush on their trainer again,” Osamu closes his eyes and leans back to let Oikawa into his space, Oikawa slotting perfectly in his lap as he lathers Osamu’s skin with the tingly paste.

“Eh? Atsu-chan, we talked about this! Weren’t you already decided on shooting your shot?”

“I was. And I have, an embarrassingly amount of times. And yer best friend still can’t take a hint to save his life,” Atsumu sighs, forlorn.

“That’s why I’ve been telling ya! Just grab him straight by the collar and confess your love instead of sending mixed signals and acting like a simp.”

“But he is a simp,” Osamu helpfully supplies.

“Shut yer trap! And cut it out with the fake accent.”

“My Kansai-ben is great, mind you. Right, babe?” he turns to Osamu for a smooch, lips puckered exaggeratedly so only their mouths touch.

“Yeah, ya are,” Osamu smiles lazily, a stupid grin tugging at his lips. Atsumu thinks he looks dumb, trulymadlydeeply smitten by the brown haired darling drawing circles on his clothed chest. “Whipped,”he rolls his eyes and slumps his face onto the counter, still glaring at his tamed brother and his conqueror.

“How’d ya been trying to catch his attention, anyway?”

Atsumu’s frown deepens, recalling his failed attempts at wooing their AT—

Volunteering himself for free practice so he can toss for the retired spiker and give him sets exactly as he likes, revelling in sheer delight every time Iwaizumi’s face lights up when the ball strikes his palm perfectly.

Wearing sinfully short booty shorts in cobalt blue to the gym on leg days so he can flaunt his assets. Whether it’s his ass or his thighs, he affords his sole targeted audience to choose.

Letting out unholy sounds in the recovery room when Iwaizumi pushes him down to stretch his tight hamstrings.

Oh god, perhaps Oikawa was right- He wasn’t suited for the subtle art of seduction, or anything subtle for that matter.

“Iwa-chan is too dense for his own good. I thought I’ve raised him well, but you should really cut to the chase and ask him to wreck you already!“

“Babe, calm down. Maybe they should start with dinner.”

“Fine, food first, sexy time second.”

“Enough with the teasing!” Atsumu whines, blushing like a peach. “It’s not like that! I just wanna cuddle him, have his strong arms wrap around me and wear his cologne and… why are ya both laughing!”

Osamu and Oikawa share devious looks, hiding Atsumu’s phone that’s been connected on a call the whole time.

“Nothing, nothing! Sorry, you were saying?” Oikawa coaxes him to continue with his rambling.

Atsumu lets out a petulant ‘hmph’ but obliges, encumbered with his own hopeless pining.

(And if Iwaizumi was secretly eavesdropping on the other end of the line with a pleased smirk on his face, Atsumu won’t find out about their secret scheme or the fact that Iwaizumi had been feigning oblivion all along until Iwaizumi pins him against the wall and steals a kiss from him — or two, or three, but who’s counting — just a little later.)

[lemontsumu]

Atsumu drunkenly flirting with Akaashi at the izakaya, following him with heart eyes all night and buttering him up with sultry drawls. “Wanna have fun with me after this, pretty boy? I’ll take care of ya, show ya a good time,” he coaxes him sweetly.

Akaashi pushes up his glasses and leans in until their lips are dangerously close, relishing the way it makes Atsumu’s breath hitch and his cheeks flush.

When he starts to pull away, Atsumu desperately chases his mouth, hypnotized by his dark ocean eyes, only for Akaashi to withdraw at the final second and whisper lowly into his ear: “Don’t push yourself too hard, sweetheart,” he swipes a thumb over Atsumu’s wet lips and lets his gaze fall on his pink tongue. “Look at you… already a drooling mess, I’ve barely even touched you.”

Atsumu squirms in his seat, trying to protest.

But Akaashi tightens his grip on his waist and keeps him in place. “No, stay.”

Atsumu whines but sits still as he’s told.

Akaashi smirks, pleased. “Good girl.”

Atsumu can’t help the needy moan that escapes his throat.

[lemontsumu]

// JNT shenanigans, magic realism

Atsumu tends to self-isolate when he’s despondent or deeply distressed. Perhaps it’s precisely because of the fact that had he’s developed his… jinx.

Some foreign player hears about the infamous reputation of the Miya twins in high school and half jokes about Osamu quitting volleyball because he can’t stand his twin, an old classic jab Atsumu has heard too many times before, really, so Atsumu shrugs it off as usual with a forced laugh and an insincere retort.

They go along their merry way and guzzle up drinks with team they had annihilated on court for a practice earlier, the low blow long forgotten by everyone but the person slighted albeit the amount of alcohol consumed until dawn.

The next morning, a loud shrill awakens the entire floor, eleven volleyball players gather towards the commotion.

“Miya, please- it’s like 10am. At least let me sleep until noon,” Yaku grunts through the rhythmic throbbing of his head.

Behind him, Iwaizumi yawns lazily and joins the group.

“Yakkun, Zumi-kun! Taihen!” Bokuto bounces up and down.

“Bokuto, calm down,” Kiyoomi sighs tiredly. “What happened?”

Hinata and Bokuto share puzzled looks. “Uh-“

The crying comes to an abrupt stop and they turn towards the bedroom from where the noise originated, and it takes a few seconds for their sleep-addled brains to register the scene in front of them: a toddler hiccuping between wet sobs as his tiny head pokes out of the fuzzy peach sweater Atsumu had slept in the night prior, honey brown eyes glazed with tears while he clutches the sheets around his small body.

The 29-year old setter nowhere to be found in the room.

His phone starts ringing and startles the unknown child, so one of his teammates scrambles to pick up and placate the child.

“Tsumu, are ya okay? I-I had… a strange feeling. Are ya still at camp?” The voice on the other end of the line was frantically heaving, the familiar drawl of a Kansai-ben making it easy to guess to whom it belonged.

“Uh… Miya Osamu?” Wakatoshi was the chosen one urged to answer.

“What are ya- Wait, who is this? Where the hell is my brother?”

“Atsumu-kun is… not here at the moment but-“

Then the wailing resumes on their end of the line.

“Is that-“

“Uhm, Osamu-san, this is Hinata. Atsumu-san isn’t in his room right now and there’s a child that… well-“

“Oh, no. Is the kid a snotty boy with dyed blonde hair like Tsumu’s?”

Mouths fall agape as the implication of Osamu’s suggestion resounds on speaker.

“Now that you mention it, yes…”

There’s a pregnant pause on the other end of the line followed by a muffled rustling and plodding footsteps echoing through a hallway.

“Text me the address of yer hotel. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

The guys, now fully awake, blink at each other and responds with silent nods as if Osamu can see their heads bobbing.

“And whatever happens, don’t let him out of yer sight,” he says sternly, both a threat and a plea.

[Click.]

When the line disconnects, their gazes shift to the whimpering child whose interest they seem to have piqued.

“Atsumu?” Iwaizumi is the one who steps forward and makes a first approach, one arm keeping the rest of them behind him as if to protect the boy from big buff men. “Are you Atsumu?”

Little Tsumu sticks his finger in his mouth and gives him an affirming nod.

Oh.

Oh, boy.

“Ahhh, Tsumu-Tsumu is so cute!” Bokuto coos.

“Not now, Bokuto!” Yaku chides him.

“What should we do? He’s probably hungry!” Hinata panics.

“Calm down, you’ll startle him,” Kiyoomi remains unmoving as if to balance the jumpiness from the other.

“So, what’s the plan, coach?” They all look to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi sighs, all set to give out his orders.

Looks like they’re in for a shift in careers indefinitely—however long it takes to revert their precious setter.

[lemontsumu]

MSBY3 find out Omi can’t swim

Hinata: You’re so tall but can’t swim?

Omi: What does height have anything to do with-

Atsumu: Yer prickly like a sea urchin but you can’t swim?

Omi: I will prick you, Miya…

Bokuto: Your hair looks like a coral and you can’t swim?

Omi: …

Omi: *takes out his phone to call the Adlers handler*

Hina, Atsu, Bo: Nooo Omi-Omi, come back!

[lemontsumu]

ShibaTsumu with short legs likes to hop around Omi’s apartment. Motoya said it’s just a phase for pups, at least that’s how it was for ShibaSamu. But ShibaTsumu never grew out of it, always bouncing up and down as he ran towards Omi.

Now Omi wonders if he got himself a pet bunny.