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#miya atsumu angst
teamatsumu · 5 months
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wrong twin? (miya atsumu x reader)
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summary: you have a massive crush on miya osamu. so the plan is to get closer to him through his twin brother. it’s genius. it’s bound to work. right?
word count: 3008
warnings: fem!reader, fluff, slight angst, swearing, maybe a dash of humor, atsumu being atsumu, him and reader bicker a lot
tags: @keiva1000
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When you handed in your application to join the Inarizaki High School volleyball club as manager, you had a very clear agenda in mind, but nobody needed to know about that. You had a good knowledge of volleyball, you had good organizational skills, and you were responsible. They accepted your application in a heartbeat, and were none the wiser of your true intentions behind joining the team.
It was only when you cornered their blond setter after practice one day that you actually said the words out loud.
“Ya want me to do what?” He raised an eyebrow, shoving his volleyball shoes into his backpack.
“Help me get close to him!” You whispered in a conspiratorial tone, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to you two. Your eyes lingered on Osamu where he was helping Gin clean up. “You’re his twin brother. You’re closest to him. If we hang out more, that would inevitably mean I get to hang out with Osamu more too. And we can become friends. Eventually, I will get him to fall in love with me.”
Atsumu stared at you with a very distinct ‘what the fuck’ look, but you stared right back, determined.
“Yer insane.” He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way to the gym door. You followed behind.
“Please, Atsumu!” You begged, following him out of the gym and down the path leading out of the school.
“No!” He responded, not looking back at you. “Ya wanna get close to him, just go talk to him! Why ya gotta drag me into yer crazy schemes?!”
“I can’t just go talk to him, it would be creepy! I need a way into his circle.”
Atsumu gave you another look. “Oh yeah, what yer saying right now isn’t creepy at all.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
You huffed, scowling at the back of his blond head. Your eyes caught the lights of the corner convenience store, and you felt an idea forming.
“I will buy you an after-practice snack every day for a year.”
Atsumu stopped short, looking back at you. “Yer bein’ serious?”
You gestured to the store up ahead. “We could start right now. I have money on me.”
His answering grin meant you had a deal.
……………………
When you joined the twins for lunch the next day at Atsumu’s desk, Osamu raised an eyebrow.
“It was my idea.” Atsumu explained. “She’s cool so I said we should hang out more.”
Osamu seemed to buy it, shrugging and giving you a welcoming little smile. You felt yourself flush, giddy as you pulled up a chair and sat down next to Atsumu, opposite to his brother.
“Oh sweet, are those pancake rolls?” Osamu asked when you opened your bento. You nodded eagerly.
“I made them myself!” You replied, pushing the box closer to him. “Wanna try?”
You knew Osamu liked food (okay, maybe you had stalked him a little), and even though you sucked at cooking, you had meticulously made your lunch today for this very reason. You couldn’t help your grin when Osamu bit into a roll and moaned at the taste, saying it was delicious. You could feel how hot your face was, even the tips of your ears felt warm. Atsumu rolled his eyes in your periphery but you paid him no mind, striking up a conversation with his brother instead.
“Yer like a different person around him.” Atsumu commented later that evening, when you were sitting on the curb outside the convenience store and he was chowing down on a pork bun you had bought him. The rest of the team had gone ahead, most of them too tired to stop for a snack and just wanting to get to bed as soon as possible.
You sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. He makes me feel things.”
Atsumu chewed for a little bit, watching you stare at the moth circling the streetlight.
“Gross.”
You slapped him hard on the bicep at that, making him let out an ‘ow!’. He pouted at you as he rubbed his arm, while all you did was roll your eyes in return.
……………………………
Lunch became a normal thing with the twins after that. You would wake up at 5am, cook something new that you thought Osamu might appreciate, and you would watch him devour it, praising you for how good it was. One time, Atsumu had gotten curious and tried to reach for a piece of onigiri, making you smack his hand away. He yelped and clutched it.
“What was that for?!”
“You already get a snack out of me every day, Miya. Keep your paws off my lunch.”
Osamu had snickered at that, and your heart had skipped at the sound, effectively forgetting Atsumu even existed as your focus shifted entirely to his brother. Atsumu grumbled but complied, saying something about ‘’s probably not that good anyway’. You paid him no mind.
You got to know Osamu a lot better during your little lunch sessions. He didn’t talk as much as his brother, but he was perceptive, and a great listener. He seemed to balance out Atsumu perfectly, and you could see how close they actually were. You would often giggle at their banter, witnessing the many foul names they would call each other, but knowing they didn’t mean it at the end of the day.
You often went to their house, under the guise of tutoring Atsumu. At first, Atsumu had told you no one would buy it, but you were adamant to try. And you were right. When you told Osamu why you were there, he snorted in response.
“Figures. This dumb fuck needs all the help he can get.”
Atsumu had yelled and tried to swat at his brother, but Osamu expertly dodged him. You had laughed at their antics.
Your study sessions were often spent with you stealing glances at Osamu from the dining table where you and Atsumu were located. He wouldn’t stick around much, preferring to camp out in their shared bedroom, but you still appreciated every glimpse that you got of him when he wandered down to the kitchen for a snack. Atsumu would nudge you with his knee under the table.
“Be a little less obvious, will ya?”
You stuck a middle finger in his face in response. He grabbed your hand and twisted it a bit, just enough to make you yelp and try to push him away.
“Tsumu, you jerk! Let go!”
“Say sorry!”
“Over my dead body!”
Osamu had to break you two apart sometimes, while you glared at each other from either side of him.
At practice, you would stay late when they needed help perfecting their quick attack, throwing balls so Atsumu could set them for Osamu. On the way back, you would buy Atsumu his daily snack and offer to pay for Osamu’s as well, which he always refused.
“Unlike this tool, I’m not shameless enough to let someone else pay fer me.”
“Hey!”
With every passing day, you felt that you were getting closer and closer to Osamu. Where you had barely exchanged words before, you two could hold long conversations now, and you especially loved when you ganged up to shit on Atsumu, who would be overdramatic as hell about the insults and act like he just got shot. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed so much.
Then, Osamu got a girlfriend.
You didn’t learn about it until you saw a girl at the gym on one random Wednesday. You had raised an eyebrow at her, watching as she looked around for something.
“Can I help you?”
She shook her head. “I’m just looking for Osamu. He left some stuff at my place last night.”
Your brain short circuited. Her place? Last night?
Then he ran over to her. Greeted her and thanked her for bringing his stuff. And then he kissed her.
You were mentally tuned out of practice for the rest of the evening.
When Atsumu walked up to you after practice so you could make your usual trip to the convenience store, you had just silently followed him. You had bought him some yakusoba bread, and you sat on the curb, waiting to walk home after he finished eating.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” You finally asked.
Atsumu sighed in return. “Didn’t want ya to get hurt.”
You turned to look at him. His attention was on the bread. “Did you expect me to never find out?”
He shook his head. “I was hopin’ to tell ya after practice. Just couldn’t think of the words.”
For some reason, you felt anger boil up inside you. You stood up abruptly. Atsumu paused his chewing to look up at you.
“I don’t need you to coddle me, Tsumu.” You grit out. “That was not the deal.”
Atsumu didn’t seem fazed by your tone. “Sit down.”
You glared at him. “I’m going home.”
When you turned to leave, you were stopped by his hand reaching up to clutch at the hem of your jacket, pulling you back.
“I know yer hurtin’. Just sit.”
You don’t know why that did it. Tears that had been building up all during practice were set free, rolling down your cheeks. Silently, you sat back down next to him. He didn’t talk as you cried, only shuffling closer until his side was pressed to yours. An unexpected comfort came to you with the contact. You leaned on him, resting your head on your knees, shoulders shaking.
When you had calmed down enough, you wiped your face with your sleeves, sitting up straighter. Atsumu extended his bread to you. You raised an eyebrow.
“When have you ever shared with me before?”
He rolled his eyes. “Ya want it or not?”
The bread seemed to melt in your mouth. Food did make you feel a bit better, but your mind was still on Osamu.
“‘M sorry yer scheme didn’t work out.”
You laughed a bit, taking another bite. “When you call it a scheme, it makes me think it was bound to fail from the start.”
Atsumu shook his head. “Nah. Ya made an effort. I respect that.” He stretched his legs in front of him, leaning back on his hands. “Yer a real catch. Yer smart and yer pretty. Samu’s blind ta not see that.”
You giggled, nudging Atsumu a bit. “Careful, Tsum-tsum. I might think you were falling for me.”
If your emotions weren’t so over the place, and if you hadn’t just tired yourself out from crying so much, you would’ve noticed how the older Miya’s eyes softened.
…………………………
Getting over Osamu wasn’t easy. Especially after having chased after him for so many months. It didn’t help that his little girlfriend seemed to come around more often, sometimes joining the team during practice. At times like those, you tried to stay as far away from her and Osamu, and that often meant you would find comfort in Atsumu, the only person who knew about your crush.
“What does he see in her anyway?” You voiced out loud, watching her laugh at something Osamu had said. You were sitting on a bench outside the gym with Atsumu, watching the two interact on the other side of the path. The rest of the team still weren’t done with their run. As usual, the twins were the first ones to reach the school.
Atsumu ran a towel over his neck, setting his water bottle down next to him. “Ya need ta get over him.”
You rolled your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’ve never loved anything except volleyball.”
“Damn right. Has volleyball ever betrayed me? No. So suck it.”
You dug your elbow into his side, making him yelp and grab your head, pushing you away. His hand was massive and covered over half your face, and you struggled to get him off, digging your nails into his forearm.
“Tsumu, you asshole-”
You didn’t even notice when Osamu stared at the two of you, too absorbed in your little squabble.
So yeah, getting over Osamu wasn’t easy, but having Atsumu around helped a ton. Everytime he would see your eyes linger on Osamu too long, he would make some sort of comment, or change the subject, just trying to get your attention anywhere else. Too many times, he would physically grab you and turn you away from his twin, saying something along the lines of how you should be looking at the ‘better twin’ instead.
“Sorry but which one of you decided to dye their hair the color of piss?”
“It’s blond!”
“You ever heard of toner, dumbass?”
And you would grab his hair, messing it up and tugging at it a bit, giggling when he whined about you ruining his ‘hairstyle’. You also knew that Atsumu would kill anyone else who dared touch his hair, and the fact made your heart skip a bit. It also made you think, and once the gears in your head started turning, there was no going back.
Now that the fog of your infatuation with Osamu was lifting a bit, you seemed to notice his twin more. You would watch how Atsumu seemed to almost shield you from anything that reminded you of Osamu. How he had made it a habit after that one evening to always share half his snack with you, no matter how small it was. He would often say out of pocket shit, but rather than annoying you, it seemed to endear you more. It was like these little quips were a part of his charm, and you would giggle along instead of telling him to shut up.
He was awfully touchy too. You suppose he had always been, and you had just never thought about it. But now it seemed like none of his moves went unnoticed by you. He had a habit of gripping your head with one hand and turning your face to his when you weren’t paying attention. It used to annoy the crap out of you but now it made you pause and blink, meeting his caramel colored eyes. He would nudge you and poke you, he would drape an arm over your shoulders and whine about how tired he was. And your cheeks would warm up every time. You were forced to admit it.
You had a thing for Atsumu.
Deep down, you cursed at your luck, almost laughing in incredulity. What a joke this was, having a crush on both twins. But you knew that this was different. You knew this wasn’t just a silly crush.
Atsumu was more. He had always been more.
“Tsumu?”
He hummed in response, indicating he was listening, even if he was busy stuffing a chocolate bar into his mouth. You two were in your usual place, sitting on the curb outside the convenience store, lit up only by the light of the store behind you and the lamp post across the street. You watched his profile, the way his jaw moved when he chewed, his eyes trained before him, his undercut, and his dyed hair falling over his forehead slightly.
He was so painfully attractive. And you had never noticed.
He looked at you finally when you didn’t speak, raising an eyebrow.
“Everythin’ okay?”
You nodded hastily, turning away from him. You heard him pause, wrapping up what was left of his chocolate and placing it next to him before shuffling closer to you.
“Yer lyin’. What is it?”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You can read me so well.”
He shrugged in response, draping his arm over your shoulder. You closed your eyes, mentally accepting how the action now made you feel.
“I did spend the whole year hearin’ ya whine about yer feelings, so yeah. I can read ya pretty well.”
You sighed, turning your head to look at him. At this proximity, you could see the brown swirling in his eyes, and it reminded you of milk chocolate. You were nearly nose to nose with him, and you weren’t nervous at all. With Osamu, you would always be on edge. Your insides would squirm, your heart would race, and oftentimes, you would stumble over your words.
With Atsumu, you felt every muscle in your body relax when he touched you. Despite his chaotic personality and his crude language, Atsumu was so tuned in when it came to you. When you needed it, he was as calm as they come. There was such unprecedented comfort in his presence. When you were around him, it felt like everything would be okay.
“I love you.”
It came out of you involuntarily at that moment. But you weren’t scared to tell him. You should have been, but one look at him this close and all your fears were melting away. When Atsumu gave you a little smile, you couldn’t help but return it.
“I love ya too, sweets.”
His kiss was expected. Soft, slow, perfect. His lips were plush and warm, and he tasted like the chocolate he had just been eating. His arm around your shoulder tightened, and his other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head enough to deepen the kiss. You felt your head buzz, your hands fisting at the front of his shirt and trying to pull him closer, though it was impossible.
You whined in protest when he ended the kiss, making him chuckle slightly. The sound made your lips twitch up a bit, and you ran your eyes all over his face. He hummed in approval.
“There it is.”
You blinked. “What?”
He traced your cheekbone with his thumb. “Ya know how long I’ve wanted ya to look at me like that and not Samu?”
Right. Samu. You had forgotten about him completely the moment Atsumu’s lips touched yours. The thought made you giggle and pull at his jacket collar to tug him close, until his lips were meeting yours again.
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fushisagi · 7 months
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miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease
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୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜
word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader
the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?
warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭
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o. Desire
This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.
People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.
Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.
“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”
“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.
When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.
“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”
 “I’m sorry?”
“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.
Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”
“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”
All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.
Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.
His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—
“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”
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i. Strength
After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.
Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.
He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.
Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.
Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.
(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).
He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.
“Tsumu?”
He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”
You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”
Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”
You stare blankly.
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”
“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”
“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”
“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”
“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”
Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.
“It’s my mover outfit!”
“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”
He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”
You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.
“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”
You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.
You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.
“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.
“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.
“Why not?”
“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”
“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”
“…Alright.”
“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”
“Actually—”
“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”
“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”
“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”
You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”
Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”
You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”
His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”
“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”
Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”
“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”
You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.
He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.
“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.
You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”
Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.
“Are you dense?”
“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”
“I was trying something out!”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”
The door swings open.
“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”
You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”
Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”
“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”
Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”
Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”
Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.
Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.
With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.
His complaining and wailing can wait until later.
After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.
He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.
But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”
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Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.
It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.
You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.
He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”
You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”
“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”
“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”
“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that.”
Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.
Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”
Luck isn’t on his side tonight.
“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.
Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”
The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.
You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.
“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”
“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”
“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.
You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”
“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”
Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.
(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).
“Other than me—?”
“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.
You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.
To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.
Something in his chest twists.
“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”
Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.
(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)
Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.
“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”
Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”
“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”
“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”
“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”
“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”
“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”
“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”
The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.
“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”
He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”
“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”
“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”
Your silence is enough of a response.
Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.
“Give me one reason—”
“The blanket—”
“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”
“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”
“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”
“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”
Another gasp. You roll your eyes.
“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”
“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”
He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”
You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”
“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”
You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”
“What d’you mean huh?”
“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”
“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”
He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”
He blinks. “Why?”
Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”
Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”
Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”
You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”
“None at all.”
You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.
But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.
“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.
“It is?”
“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”
“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.
You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”
“I know,” he interjects.
Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.
And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.
I’ll be there for you.
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“Do you need help?”
Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”
“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”
“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”
“Osamu said you’d say that.”
Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.
“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hm?”
“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”
Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”
“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.
“Doing what?”
“Getting dinner.”
“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”
“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”
Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.
He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.
[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?
[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?
Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.
The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.
Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.
Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.
A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.
“Tsumu?”
“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”
You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.
He smiles, amused. “Really?”
“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”
“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.
“It’s not.”
“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”
“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”
You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.
“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”
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ii. Power
He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.
With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.
On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.
He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.
Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.
Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.
It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.
“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.
(But…)
But.
The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.
“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”
Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”
“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”
“I’m the only setter you know.”
“Which is why you’re my favourite.”
Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”
If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.
But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”
The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.
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“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”
“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”
On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”
Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”
Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.
“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.
“Don’t be dramatic—”
“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”
“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”
Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.
Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.
“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”
Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”
“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”
Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”
Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”
Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”
“I really doubt that.”
“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”
Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”
“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”
You didn’t.
Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”
Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.
Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.
“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”
“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”
You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”
“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”
All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.
Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”
“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”
“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”
“Sorry—”
“They’re going on a date with someone else.”
You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”
“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”
Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”
“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”
“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”
“…That’s not a good thing.”
“It’s an hour more than usual.”
The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”
“Ay, ay, captain.”
“Don’t call me that.”
You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”
“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”
He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”
Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.
He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.
(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).
(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.
He thinks nothing of it).
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Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.
She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.
And he says yes.
At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.
At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.
You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”
“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”
You hesitantly let him in.
At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.
Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.
He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.
He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.
Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.
(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).
It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.
For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.
Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.
At 11:50, he makes his move.
He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.
Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.
You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.
“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.
Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”
He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”
Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.
“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”
You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”
“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”
“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.
“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”
You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”
“This is about the outfit?”
“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”
He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”
You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”
“Then what else?”
You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”
He frowns. “Yes.”
“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”
“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”
“He told me not to worry.”
“Worry about what?”
That snaps you out of it.
You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”
Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”
“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?
“Dancing,” he says.
“Dancing?”
“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”
“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”
“That’s not true at all.”
“You were born with two left feet.”
“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”
“I’m only telling you the truth!”
“I’m a good dancer!”
“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”
“That says nothing about my ability to—”
“Yes, it does.”
“I’ll prove it.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.”
“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.
You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Not in any way, shape, or form.”
“We don’t even have music—”
“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”
Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.
“Any song requests?”
“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.
“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”
“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”
“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.
You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.
When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”
Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”
Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”
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iii. Love
“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”
“Then stay still!”
“Just promise not to poke me.”
“I’ve already promised five times.”
“Then promise again!”
“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”
You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”
“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”
“I told you—”
“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”
“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”
He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”
“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”
“That’s what they want you to think.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”
“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”
“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”
“You’d get us kick out.”
“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”
You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”
“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”
“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”
“You don’t even remember what happened.”
“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”
Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.
This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.
Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”
“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”
“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”
You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”
“Huh?”
“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”
“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”
“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”
“What are you saying, Y/N?”
“What am I to you, Atsumu?”
He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.
“You’re my friend.”
“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”
“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”
“Different how?”
Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.
“I—”
Someone knocks loudly on the door.
“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”
You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.
There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.
(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?
Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)
“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.
Everything in his body tightens.
You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.
When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.
“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.
“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”
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The sun had set a long time ago.
In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.
Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”
You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.
But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.
Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.
Atsumu itches to fix it.
“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”
“My date?”
“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”
“What?”
“At the party.”
You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”
Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”
“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”
Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”
“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”
“Not good, probably.”
“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”
“Did he puke on Akaashi?”
“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”
“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”
Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.
“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.
Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.
He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.
The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.
All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.
But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.
Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”
“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”
“I’m not,” he insists.
You give him a tight smile in response.
Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.
Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.
But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.
It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.
The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“What?”
He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”
You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”
“Huh?”
“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”
(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.
He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).
“I don’t,” he lies.
“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”
He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.
Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.
This was never part of the routine.
“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Y/N—”
“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”
His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.
“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.
You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.
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Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.
Or, more specifically, the absence of you.
You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.
He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.
For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.
But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.
His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.
Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.
Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.
“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”
Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.
Nothing.
Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”
Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”
Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”
“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”
“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”
“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.
Suna gives him a look. “Well…”
“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”
Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”
The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”
Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”
“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”
Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”
“I— wait, what?”
“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”
Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.
Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”
Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.
But they all understand.
“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”
“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.
Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”
He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”
Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”
Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.
Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”
Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.
A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.
Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”
Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.
“This is a psychic.”
Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”
“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”
Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”
He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.
There’s no point being here without you.
Atsumu moves to get out of line.
“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”
“Boku—”
“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”
Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.
When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.
He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.
Atsumu fidgets in his seat.
“You’re here for a reading?”
A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”
His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.
You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.
His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.
She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.
What is it that you desire most, boy?
Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”
Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.
Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.
He does not need any more physical strength.
He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.
The psychic pushes. “Power?”
Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.
It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.
But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.
They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.
They will never know him as much as you do.
The psychic leans forward. “Love?”
Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.
You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.
So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.
The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”
“Miya.”
Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”
“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.
Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”
“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”
“Okay, well—”
“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”
Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”
Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.
“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”
Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”
“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”
Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.
The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.
His knocks are insistent.
“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.
“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”
You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”
Atsumu rasps, “And?”
You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”
“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”
“I didn’t.”
“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”
He nods. “I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.
“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”
Your lips part in surprise. “What?”
“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”
“You came all the way here to tell me that?”
He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”
“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”
“It’s not.”
“What exactly is more important than that?”
“Your forgiveness, actually.”
You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”
“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”
You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”
He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”
“I hate you.”
He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.
Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”
Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.
He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.
I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.
I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.
“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”
Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.
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© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.
1K notes · View notes
noosayog · 10 months
Text
Miya Atsumu - university au, enemies(ish) to lovers
contents/warnings: angst, fluff, alludes to cheating, non-con (kissing), lots of yelling and slamming of doors, fem reader, Atsumu refers to reader as princess
total wc: 7.7k COMPLETED
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part 1 - he interrupts your sleep for a silly bet, pervs at your bare legs, and gives you a concussion all in the span of 8 hours. talk about a meet ugly
part 2 - an unwilling friendship, one could say
part 3 - atsumu would be the first one to discover that you've never been kissed and never cuddled with a man. makes sense that he'd want to take all your firsts
part 4 - after missing Atsumu's big game and accidentally being late to his celebratory part, he has a surprise waiting for you. not the pleasant kind.
part 5 - you really try to give him a chance, but should've known that Atsumu's always been like this - careless with this words and brutish with his actions.
part 6 - Atsumu learns that some mistakes can't be taken back and some doors can't be pried open once they're shut.
part 7 - the end of the semester gives you a much needed break from Atsumu. the break gives you the time you need to return to your equilibrium and rebuild the ice-cold facade you used to reserve permanently for Atsumu.
part 8 - with how many people Atsumu claims to have kissed, he's a terrible first kisser. but in all honesty, you've known you wanted him as your first make-out partner since you've let him in your bedroom.
part 9 - it's ironic to you how pathetic Atsumu seems to have been without you and while it's comforting to know that he's equally as affected by this as you, you're not the type who can forgive and forget this easily.
part 10 - as someone who is endlessly proud of his useless persistence, Atsumu is hardly able to cope with the feeling of only being allowed to watch behind bars. that must be why he's dreaming that you sought him out first
part 11 - you sock atsumu in the face and call it even
bonus - you're not used to being taken care of but it's nice to know that from now on, you can start because Atsumu has solemn promises to do so
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natdu · 11 months
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Hi! I don't know if you are still taking requests, but if it's so, can we please get an Atsumu x reader one shot, specifically, a one shot where Atsumu is scared of commitment, and reader just wants to get married, and due to Atsumu's fear of commitment, she wants to break up. Then he regrets later and tries to win back reader, realising that deep in his heart, he cannot live without her.
I'll leave the ending to you^^!
Hiiii I'm still taking them yes!
Anon? Anon? Did ya get on my brain or something? Hooooly moly this plot is so good let me kiss your mind smooch~
Pairing: Timeskip! Atsumu x Fem reader
Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort
Warnings & content: grammar - Atsumu has an avoidant/anxious attachment style lol - overthinker reader- petnames - Reader owns 2 cats - Sometimes it's not about the screams, it's about what your words mean
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He used to get into problems because of his "Big mouth" (Osamu's words, not his)
Being harsh on someone from the team "whatever"
Lying on Aran's or Samu's face (usually little things tho, like pudding)
Or right now, when after his girlfriend of 2 years showed him a video of a wedding dance and he dismissed it as:
"A pretentious celebration, don' understan' whats the fret about it"
"Well we are not dancers but still it is fun, don't you think Tsumu?"
"Ah 'm talkin' 'bout the wedding"
A needle falling could be heard after that butch of information
"Uh what?"
He just looked at you with an almost bored expression
"I'm not cut for that pretty, all that married lifestyle an' stuff 's just..... Boring fer me"
Your mood obviously shifted drastically. Of course, you weren't expecting that the man you love with all your heart and soul would overrule something you showed interest in such a cold way
"So what you are saying is..... You don't wanna marry me?"
He shifted his gaze from his phone to your face, cringing a little at your pretty obvious disgruntled expression
"We don't know what will happen tomorrow doll we jus' better enjoy our time now"
The shock travelling through your body made you shiver.
"'m jus' sayin'... Ya kinda lose some freedom when ya get married. It's complicated"
You opened your mouth but there was no sound going out of it. You really really didn't expect the evening to turn like this
Then there was set an uncomfortable silence
"Angel?"
"I'm sleepy Tsumu, goodnight"
The bed felt colder even when an hour later he joined you to bed. His arm circling your waist not representing the same love you thought about
The next morning he left with a kiss onto your forehead, an "I love you" and a promise to come back for dinner
It was a custom at this point in your relationship, but this time it felt fake
Why was he still with you if there was no prospect of the future?
Was wanting a wedding too much? Did he plan on to leave you at some point of your life?
The dampness in the pillow signaled you to get up and get ready for the day
For some people it would be dumb or insignificant. A wedding only being a legal paper, a contract, a figure, something done out of selfishness to secure an income or stuff like that
But for you, it was almost your dream since you were little. Glimpses of white, with little brown and gold details, maybe your pet as the ring bearer, and your future husband in all his glory smiling or even crying at the sight of you, like a princess out of a fairy tale. Vows evoking eternal love, promises of care and devotion. A signal of how much you loved that person.
Now that image was not going to be filled with Atsumu's figure nor your cats.
The pang on your chest made your eyes fill with tears again. You had never thought Atsumu would have such an strong opinion about marriage, to think that you two were not on the same page pained you to the brim to the point you had to sit down
You wanted to be selfless, you did. But what would possibly be holding him back that much? Wouldn't he even agree to a civil wedding?
"(...) all that married lifestyle an' stuff 's just….. Boring fer me"
It wouldn't be a lot more different to what you had now... Did that mean that he was bored now?
"Ya kinda lose some freedom when ya get married"
Were you that type of girlfriend tho? A controlling one? No, you were sure about that, so what type of freedom was he talking about?
Your thoughts weren't taking you anywhere, but you were sure about something
You didn't have a future with Atsumu
Meanwhile, on the MSBY's gym, a very restless Atsumu was trying his best to not let his personal life affect his work
But how could he not? When you, the girl he loved so much it hurt, asked for marriage
It's not like he despised the celebration itself, but to him it meant a big step he wasn't ready to take. No now, probably never
Why would you want to change what you had until now? The fact that you seemed so hopeful about it pulled the strings on his heart.
If he was honest with himself he kind of knew this conversation was to come soon. You were watching even more romantic shows that involved characters with healty depictions of marriage instead of the usual comic gag
Or sometimes caressing his ring finger
Still, he wasn't ready. So he hoped he could work things out, you always found the way to do it and while he was terrified of the long term feeling, he just knew he loved you and that was enough
Or so he said to himself
"I know you have a loud mouth but you could have word it in another way Miya"
"I panicked Omi ok?!"
Of course Sakusa noticed the change on his team mate and Atsumu felt he had to talk about it to someone. The raven haired man being his best option so he let all the story out
Sakusa sighed and finished packing his stuff
"I'm just saying Miya, usually this type of disagreements don't end fine"
"Are ya trying to cheer me up or make me feel like garbage?"
"Your words, not mine"
Atsumu could only look at his friend with a mix of a frown and a pout
"I'm surely not the one to tell you this but.... What are you so afraid of?" And like that, the curly man went out of his sight
Atsumu was left sitting on a bench fiddling with his fingers, wondering and thinking about it
While his parents marriage ended in divorce it didn't end bad, they actually did a good job Co parenting the twins.
His dad had shared that they simply felt out of love after so many years, so there was this lingering fear of "Maybe things aren't meant to be forever even if they are really good" What if that happened to him too?
He was sured he loved you, the butterflies in his tummy and the lovesick glances he pulled everytime you looked at his direction were proof of it.
But, what if?
He wanted to be happy as long as life could let him be
He sighed once again this time against your shared apartment, a weak smile forming into his lips watching the "welcome" cloud shaped rug you had insisted to buy the last trip to the supermarket
His nerves were eating his heart out but he knew it wouldn't be intelligent to run away to Osamu just like he did whe he was little. He wanted to properly apologise and show you clearly his fears (maybe he should start going to that therapy Bokuto was talking the other day)
"Angel I'm home!"
Total silence
Huh? That was weird? You always had music even if you were working in your laptop
Maybe you were taking a nap, sure
"Doll?"
He almost got a heart attack when he opened the door of your bedroom and found you siting on the edge of the bed
"Jesus Christ baby! Ya were as quite as a mouse oh my God"
While he clutched his shirt over his chest he noticed you hadn't answered to him. Worried he looked at you and man, he swore his heart skipped a beat
You were wearing your prettiest clothes, something you only wore in his or your birthdays. Something reserved to memorable occasions
But your composure lacked that welcoming and prideful aura you would carry in that outfit. Your smile was rigid, your posture almost as if you weren't welcomed.
He cringed internally trying to decode your demeanor
"Baby yer scaring me...."
"I wanna go out today if that's OK with you?"
"Eh?"
Your voice, soft and gentle. But not like you talked to a frightened animal, no. It was the tone you used when you don't want to upset a beast
His heart wrenched in his chest. You had never spoke to him like that
"'Course I want ta, W-whats the occasion?"
He didn't like how thick the air was becoming. How it was like all of his senses were prepared for the worst
"Just because" You laughed softly and kinda dry
He tried looking at your eyes, but your glance moved from one thing of the room to another, evading him
"OK, I'll be ready in a minute, wait fer me"
When he cleaned and dressed himself up you went out. He tried holding your hand several times while walking, but you avoided it
His chest felt constricted and he tried and tried until you finally held his pinky with yours. But the touch was barely there and honestly? It was killing him
You dined at you both favourite restaurant. Not too fancy not too "family inn". And it was your place, a fact that was making him feel even worse
And it wasn't better for you, your apettie was in the floor and you ate for the sake of your stomach, not having the energy to eat anything at all through the day.
At the end, he knew something was definitely up when you skipped dessert. Your most favourite one only being made in this place. He had to do something and he had to do it now
He proceed to pay the bill against your wide opened eyes and took you out. This time holding your hand entirely with his, taking you back home
It was at the stairs you halted and he let go of your hand, missing its warm
"What's on yer mind doll, please...."
He looked back at you and his breath hitched when he saw your uncommon impassible face with big tears running down your cheeks
But what made it worse, and what made him dizzy was the sentence that went out of your now wobbling lips
"This is the night I'm letting you free 'Tsumu"
"W-what?" his own voice turning shaky and breathy
"I kinda wanted to be selfish and spend a last night with you"
You had to take a deep breath, hiccups making your speech a tad bit difficult to deliver
"I just wanted to be with you a last time"
Last
Last
"I love you Atsumu, but we don't.... We don't have the same goal, we don't have the same mindset" You smiled weakly at him while he just looked at you in shock
You could almost swear there were a bunch of tears forming on his eyes
"And it's ok really but... B-but" You couldn't help the whine that came out, your pain, sadness, and everything else being put on a silver plate for your lover to see
"I just can't do this if I know you won't love me same as I do"
"I LOVE YOU!"
You gasped and flinched at the sudden raise of his voice. But more than anger there was desperation and grief into it
"I love you so so much its insane and I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry"
He was almost full on wailing like a child, just like when they're taken away form their parents on the first school day
Or how he cried when his dad went out of the door
"I'm terrified ya know? Terrified that all of this we've been living is just meant to end and I just-"
He looked up trying to stop the tears, unsuccessfully
"I don't think weddings are dumb or that I would lose something. But I'm so so afraid of what will happen if we settle down"
You were surprised of yourself when you cradled him into your arms. His own circling your waist immediately and holding you as if you were to disappear at any second
"What if you go away someday? What if I go away? What if this is just some cruel destiny's game?!"
His mind was fuzzy, feeling that your departure was seconds away stirred his fight or flight response
If his time with you was meant to end he didn't want it to be now, the overcrushing feeling of losing you now was greater than his fear of compromise
Right now, he was convinced he needed you more than oxygen, more than the sun, more than his own life
"Tsumu"
"But Please stay, don't leave. I don't ever want to have last things with you. At this point I don't even care"
When he looked at your eyes you could sense all of his renowned devotion
"I hurt ya and you suffered because of that. I swear it won't happen again.... Promise..."
After several minutes you both could only try to control your shaky breaths, dry the remaining tears and hold each other
"Marry me...."
"What?"
He pulled away, giving you just enough space to see directly at him
"Marry me....not right now but I..... I can only think of how miserable our life's are without each other and why would I mess up all we've done, all we've lived over a fear I can work on....."
Your eyes watered once again
"I don't wanna impose-"
"Yer not imposing..... I decide I wanna do this"
The strength of his arms were finally giving you the confort they meant to be
"If yer willing to be with this.... Broken piece of man..... Please stay by ma side"
He held your face with delicacy, as if you were the most delicate gem
And for your delight, you now recognised your beloved stare
"I wanna give myself to ya, make ya happy"
"Cuz you're definitely worth the try"
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Not my brain fully functioning to do this instead of my grade paper
Writing angst for Tsumu is soooo satisfying as I said before. This was probably my fav rq until now (prob cuz I'm happy with the result)
Hope you like it! 💙
Natdu
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ceijoh · 2 years
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title: holy ground
summary: in which miya atsumu is completely in love with you and you find that very hard to believe. 
word count: 3.2k+
warnings/contents: angst, fluff, humour 
masterlist
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Miya Atsumu has always been a stubborn man. He was stubborn in his opinions, and feelings, and contrary to the popular belief that he flies through people romantically -that was not the case. 
He’s only ever had two major loves in his life, the first being the girl in the cereal commercial when he was a kid. Atsumu was dead set on marrying her and living on a dairy farm, and plus free cereal for life. It wasn’t until he found out that she wasn’t real -courtesy of Osamu- that he refused to believe in love. 
He’s had crushes and flings, sure, especially in high school, the majority of people do. However, he was too busy trying to win Nationals and be the best setter in Japan that romantic relationships often took the third or fourth spot in his priority list. 
Then he met you. It was raining, Atsumu remembers meeting you. You coming in, rushing into the training centre, while you handed off a bento box to his personal trainer. Watching from  the ground he was sitting on, watching as you turned, almost slipping on the floor because of your wet shoes, and Atsumu rushing over to help you before anyone could. 
Looking down at your wide eyes, your mouth parted in shock and the sheepish smile that soon took over, until he said, “Oi, watch where yer goin’, could have damaged the floor wit’ that face.” 
At the scowl on your face, and a clever comeback on your lips, he decided right then and there that you were the only person that was going to be in his heart. You were the only person that he wanted to love, and he wanted to prove it to you. 
What Atsumu didn’t know was that loving you was quite a challenge. He was expecting you to put up a little fight, but ultimately after a couple of weeks, you would fall into his arms and you would start your happy ever after. Because that’s how the greatest love stories go, right? 
It wasn’t easy for Atsumu, it turns out you were more closed off to the idea of love than he thought. Having been burnt from past lovers, and not really having your parents as good relationship models obscured what your idea of love was. 
You told him that you weren’t ready for a relationship, not after your last ex. The pain and games he put you through wasn’t worth the bits and pieces of affection that he gave you. You needed to take time to work on yourself, to find out who you really were before starting a relationship. 
Plus, you weren’t over your ex, as much of an asshole as he was, he still had a place in your heart, and while Atsumu was starting to slowly creep in, you refused to start something with him while your heart wasn’t fully committed to one person. As much as you have started to fall for Atsumu, you just couldn’t do that to him. 
Atsumu knew all of this. He knew he had his shortcomings. He knew that he was impatient when it came to things, but with you? He would wait a million years if he had to. 
He remembers the conversation he had with you when he first declared that he loved you, and you said that he was being stupid. Which he probably was, because it was months into being friends with you.
 “I’m in love with you,” Atsumu blurted out as you sat down next to him. You slowly passed the bag of takoyaki to him. 
“Well, I know that I did you a favour by bringing the best takoyaki Osaka can offer but I didn’t realise it will bring such a strong reaction,” you jested as you willed your heartbeat to slow down. 
“I’m being serious,” you knew that he was. From the moment he finished his sentence, you would have placed all your money that this moment was the most serious moment in Atsumu’s life. 
“‘Tsum, we’ve talked about this,” you turned to face the ground, unable to look at the distraught or angry look on his face. “I can’t. Not yet.” 
“I never said that I wanted us to be in a relationship,” Atsumu smiled at you fondly, not that you could see it. Placing the bag by his side, Atsumu slowly reached out for your hand that was now fiddling with the bottom of your top. “I just wanted ya to know,” he shrugged, as if the atomic bomb he just dropped was a mere raindrop. “I don’t mind waiting, if it’s for you.” 
“What happens if I ask you to wait forever?” 
“I’m a patient man.” 
“You’re one of the most impatient people I know.” 
“I can learn.” 
--
“I think, I think that I may want to start a relationship with him,” at the knowing glance of Tsukishima, you rolled your eyes. 
“Wow, you’ve finally come to the conclusion that everyone has,” at the bluntness of his tone, you roughly shoved him. Looking at his watch, “It only took you long enough.” 
At the passing comment, you frowned. “Do you think I took too long?” 
Hearing the sincerity in your tone, Tsukishima’s smirk dropped a little, and briefly looked at Kuroo who just shrugged at him telling him silently ‘you fix it’. 
Tsukishima scoffed and rolled his eyes, “That man is wholly in love with you that it’s so fucking disgusting, anyone and everyone can see it. You could be fifty and he would still love you the same amount, possibly more.” 
--
Letting yourself through the door, you called out Atsumu’s name. Hyping yourself up mentally, you felt pretty good. You felt confident, and this was something that you’ve wanted to do for a long time. You looked at your hands which were slightly shaking and you closed them tightly, swallowing the heartbeat in your mouth. 
Walking over to his couch, you briefly looked at the beautiful view that Atsumu’s apartment overlooked. It was absolutely breathtaking. Calling his name out again, you watched as he popped out from his bedroom, a bright smile on his face. 
Feeling your heart relax at the sight of him, you smiled largely. Before you could say anything, you heard another pair of footsteps, turning around to face the person, you couldn’t help but feel your heart drop to your stomach. 
You’ve seen this before, you’ve felt this emotion before. Before, you would have cried and screamed and stormed out of his flat before he or she could say anything. But now? You felt frozen, numb and detached. It felt like you were watching the scene unfold in front of your eyes but you were not yourself. 
“Oh Atsumu-san, thank you for lending me your shirt,” a woman you’ve never seen before walks out of Atsumu’s kitchen, looking at the clothing that was now on her body. 
Finally noticing that Atsumu wasn’t wearing a shirt either, your brain connected the clues. Eyes roaming over his body, you couldn’t detect any love marks, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have them. 
Turning to you, Atsumu paled. No, fuck no. This was not happening. Pinching himself, he realised that this was in fact happening. “(Y/N), it’s not what you think.” 
“OH!” You yelped out, forcing yourself to calm down by clenching your first, you internally berated yourself. This was not the time to cry. “Oh, I’m so, sorry,” you rushed out your apologies, bowing profusely, already mentally and emotionally checking out of the place. You both gave them a tight lipped smile, “I’m just leaving, I’ll leave you two.” 
Rushing out the door, desperately trying to wipe away the tears before any of them saw, you ran to the elevator. Punching the key to make it go faster, you could hear Atsumu’s footsteps rushing out to catch up to you. 
Praying to every deity you could think of, you were finally blessed when you heard the familiar ding. Pushing the lobby, and forcing the doors to close, you kept your eyes down as you saw Atsumu rounding the corner before the door closed. 
Gasping and leaning on the wall, you let out a painful sob. You knew this was going to happen, eventually this was going to happen. It always did, so why did this kill you more than anything? If this was love, you didn’t want it. 
--
“(Y/L/N)-san,” the familiar voice of the waiter greeted. Looking at the clock and realising that it’s only been a couple of hours since he last saw you, “You’re back.” 
Shrugging and smiling at him, he led you to your favourite booth. Sitting down and telling him your order, with a few extra sides, you collapsed forward. Realising that this was the booth that you and Atsumu always sit in brought a new fresh set of tears. Your heart clenching, you tried to drink some water to try anything to distract you. 
You sat there in silence, not even bothering to look at your phone. You knew that Atsumu was calling you and texting you by the frequent vibrations. Maybe tomorrow when you’ve had a somewhat decent night's rest and food will make your head feel more balanced. 
“No Miya-san, today?” The waiter asked as he placed down the first couple of dishes. 
Looking up at him, you smiled politely, “He was preoccupied doing other things.” 
--
“I thought we made a promise that we’d never go here by ourselves?” 
Clenching your jaw, you refused to look at the man standing by the booth. And you promised to wait, jerk. 
You watched as Atsumu leaned back into the booth, grabbing his own chopsticks and picking up the dumpling you were about to eat. 
“Miya Atsumu,” you warned, giving him a glare. All he did was grin back at you and plop the dumpling in his mouth. Unaware that it was a soup dumpling, which earned you a front row seat to the MSBY star setter burning his mouth and panicking as the hot soup went all over his clothes. 
Glaring half-heartedly at your laughter, you handed him some napkins. “Serves you right for trying to eat my food.” 
“But ya love me,” gone was your smile and easiness. 
Once cooled down, Atsumu began to eat bits and pieces of your food. “Ya know, yer one of the smartest people I know,” he looked up at you after eating a piece of beef. “So why are yer so dumb right now?” 
Offended you scowled at him, “What the actual fuck, ‘Tsum?” 
Leaning back into his seat, playing with the placemat, “Why do ye think that I’d sleep with someone else when I told you that I love you?” 
Glancing away from his stare, you looked at the restaurant around you. It was dead quiet, and you could hear the quiet rain from outside. Shrugging, you took a sip of your drink. “I mean, it’s been so long I thought that maybe you would have been done waiting. I wouldn’t fault you for sleeping or wanting to sleep with someone else.” 
It hurt to say those words to Atsumu because you hoped that he didn’t. While it was selfish of you to indirectly ask him to wait, you just wanted someone to wait for you, like all you've been doing all your life. 
Atsumu rolled his eyes and leaned forward, flicking your hand once -which earned another scowl, he looked at you. A part of you wanted to look away but something inside of you told you that you needed to look at him. 
“I told yer, and I’ll gladly tell you again, that I’ll wait for you,” he stated simply like you just asked him the weather. 
“But why?” 
Shrugging, “Because I love you. Yer it for me, no one else. If I have to wait another year, or ten years, I’ll do so.” 
“But why?” 
“Do ya want a list?” he arched his brow and when you didn’t respond, he shrugged, and paid complete attention to you. “First, you make me laugh. With yer stupid dad jokes that ya tell all the time, the weird tiktoks that you send me at 2 in the morning, or yer goofy lil’ habits,” struggling to keep eye contact with him, you looked down on the table. “Yer never fail to make me smile, especially on the rough days after losin’ a match, yer always there to bring a smile to ma face.” 
Tapping twice on the table, you watched as his fingers moved over to yours and started tapping on it, one, two, three, pause, one, two, three, pause. 
“Second, you support me. Ya’ve always had ma back even when I was the shittiest person to be around, do ya remember how many times I’ve snapped at ya when I was tryin’ out for a spot on the National team? After every snap, after every argument, or when I’ve left ya on read -not on purpose, by the way, you’ve always been there waitin’ for me. 
“Yer always the first person that I tell when I accomplish somethin’, (Y/N), because I know that when you say yer proud of me, I know ye mean it, yer not just sayin’ it.” Now leaning forward, he fully grasped your hand, he silently knocked your foot with his, a subtle gesture to make you look at him. 
“But yer also the first person I tell when I fail somethin’. I never liked talkin’ bout me failin’ anythin’, because,” shrugging Atsumu dropped his sentence. “The point is, I know yer still gonna see me as ‘Tsum because it doesn’t matter in yer eyes if I win or lose a match, because ye love me for me.” 
Putting up three fingers, “Third, your opinion -apart from Ma’s and ‘Samu’s but they don’t count- is really the only one I care ‘bout. Every time I do somethin’, I think ‘what would (Y/N) think of this?” 
“Fourth, ya make me feel complete. It’s like this thing inside of me, ya know? That I didn’t realise I wanted or needed until I met ya. Everytime I’m around ya it makes me happier, now don’t get me wrong, yer one of the most frustrating people I know but that makes me want to be around more.” 
Taking a deep breath, he finally held up all his fingers, and smiled softly at you. “Fifth, when I picture myself in the future, retired and just livin’ the life with Samu, ‘Kaashi and their kids, the person I see myself with, is you. Yer the only person I’ve ever imagined that with, I’ve tried and imagined it with other people to see, but it felt wrong, it felt like I was trying to fit ya know those wooden shape things into the wrong hole. I have plenty more, if ya want but those are the deeper ones that I know, if ya want the smaller stuff, I can do that too,” Atsumu spoke to you as if he just hadn’t redefined what being in love meant. 
You knew that deep in your heart, and thanks to both of your friends that Atsumu was in love with you. But this? This was everything and more. This was the movies you watched, the songs that you listened to, the stories you heard, the things your heart has longed for and more. Atsumu was more.   
Paying attention to Atsumu, you watched as he began pulling out his phone, “I made a list, do ya want to see?” He quickly tapped on his phone and his notes appeared, your eyes quickly scanned the list, a long list if the sidebar had anything to say, as Atsumu started listing off the smaller things, “Ye make those weird noises when you don’t think anyone is looking, ya talk to yourself a lot, ya cry at all of those animal videos.” 
Locking his phone before you barely got to the halfway point, Atsumu placed his phone on the table and took a deep breath, “But the reality of it is, I don’t care how long it takes for you to say ‘okay ‘Tsum, I’m ready’ because I’m always going to be here waitin’ for ya, maybe we’ll be type of couple where it takes a long time for us to get together, and yeah, there’ll be hiccups,” a small serene smile appeared on Atsumu’s face. He looked at you, like the many times he has before. It was the same fond look, the kind where it makes you feel warm and fuzzy. “But then, it’ll be perfect. You an’ me.”
Plopping the final dumpling in his mouth, he grinned at you while pointing his chopsticks, “Plus, when I sit down our kids’, it’ll be a hell of a story, don’t ya think?” 
Not being able to say anything, you picked up the extra set of chopsticks on the table and pushed the dumplings in the middle. Atsumu’s heart lightened as he saw your peace offering. Maybe one day he’ll tell you that this was the hardest moment in his life. 
--
“Come on,” he bent forward and you looked sceptically at him. When you didn’t hop on his back, he rolled his eyes. “We have to walk for like ten minutes to get to yer place, and yer wearing those shoes ya don’t like because it makes your feet hurt,” turning back around, “now hop on.” 
--
It was a Thursday night, yours and Atsumu’s Thursday nights. You were sitting on the kitchen counter as you watched him prepare the dinner he was excited to make. He was talking you through it; Osamu had one of the cooking shows in the background while Atsumu was over, and the dish caught his eye.  Watching him right now was something you knew you could do for the rest of your life. 
It’s funny really, for you, you thought it would be this giant explosion that hey! You’re in love! Or there would be this grand epiphany. But that never happened. Maybe it was slow at first, a slow burn that when the ember finally sparked into a forest fire you didn’t realise. Or maybe, it was always there. It was there when you first met Atsumu all those years ago, him helping you and then insulting you.
“Hey, ‘Tsum,” you watched him turn around. You thought that your heart would be beating so hard that it would be flying out of your chest, but this was the most calm you’ve ever been around him. Tilting your head, you smiled at him and he knew. 
“I just wanted to tell you that I love you,” you spoke softly. There was everything in those words that you just spoke, and from all the times you thought it would be the hardest thing to say, it was somehow the easiest and truest thing you’ve ever spoken. 
Grinning, you saw his eyes tear up before coughing to hide it. “Yeah?” Walking over to you slowly, fearing that it was one of the many dreams that he’s had before. Finally reaching you, he hesitantly reached out, hands shaking. 
“Yeah,” pulling him into your arms and breathing in the familiar scent you’ve now come to realise was home, you whispered the words that made Atsumu feel whole, “I’m so in love with you Miya Atsumu.” 
Miya Atsumu is a stubborn man, and you were thankful for that. 
‘...but i don't wanna dance, if i’m not dancing with you.’ 
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let me know what you think! :) 
-e
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godkeis · 2 years
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𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟐.
characters: m. atsumu and s. kiyoomi
genre: hurt/comfort
word count: 1.1k
content warnings: arguments, toxicity, cursing
summary: how would haikyuu boys react when you walk out during an argument part two.
part i. | part iii.
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MIYA ATSUMU
Atsumu and his habit of joking during serious times are slowly getting into your nerves. You told him hundreds of times already that you don't like being interupted when you are talking about something very important, especially when it comes to your feelings. But this time, Atsumu decide to cut you off again to tell you another joke that he picked up along your words.
"I'm so funny, right?" he asked, half smirking.
Your heart sank because you've been trying to pour your heart out yet, it seems like he didn't care at all.
"Seriously, Atsumu?"
"Whoa, what happened to Tsumu?"
You didn't respond to his question but instead, you grabbed your things and went out leaving Atsumu dumbfounded.
Hours passed, Atsumu was getting bored so he decided to dial your number to check up on you.
"What?" you answered coldly.
"Y/N where ya at?"
His tone seems like he wasn't bothered at all that you walked out and he didn't realize what went wrong yet.
"Don't call me, Atsumu. I don't want to talk to you."
"C'mon babe, Yer not dropping the call, are ya? Come home now. I miss you."
That one last straw bursted your tears out as you felt no care from your boyfriend at all.
"Damn you, Miya Atsumu. Is that what you're going to return to me after I pour my heart out on you? Seriously?
Atsumu panicked when he heared your cracking voice on the other line. Standing up, he speedily grabbed his Inarizaki High jacket and head out.
"Shh, shh baby, babe. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 
"What exactly are you apologizing for, Atsumu? Do you even know what you were apologizing for? You really hurt my feelings. Don't talk to me. I don't want to hear your voice."
With that, you dropped the call and Atsumu attempted to ring your number again but you rejected it.
"Shit." Atsumu felt like his world was ending because you were right, he didn't even know what he's apologizing for.
Replaying the scenario inside his head, that's when he realized that you were indeed, talking about something important but he chose to blurt out his random joke at an inappropriate time.
Atsumu knows that you're the only person who can tolerate his out of this world jokes and now that you've walked out and ignoring him because of that, he knew he fucked up real bad.
Good thing is that your shared GPS in on and he instantly located where you are—in the school library. Hurriedly, Atsumu will head towards you to apologize once more.
"The hell are you doing here?" you glared at him with your puffy eyes. As much as Atsumu wants to compliment how beautiful you are even though you're crying, he knows that it's not the right time for that.
"I'm so sorry, Y/N for cutting your off while you were opening up something to me. I shouldn't have done that. I'm willing to make it up to you, Will you let me listen and understand your problem once more?"
Atsumu will spend the whole day by your side, listening and understanding your complaints with life. He'll be quiet for most of the time but is very attentive to what you are saying. Expect hand rubs and forehead kisses as you pour your heart once more. Of course, he'll apologize once again because he still feel guilty for what he did.
"I didn't get the chance to say this earlier but you're really gorgeous, even when you're crying."
SAKUSA KIYOOMI
If there's one thing that you will label as a red flag to your boyfriend, Kiyoomi, it's about him and his lack of communication when he's frustrated. Growing up distant to people, Kiyoomi never realized that he attached his toxic trait to his relationship. At first, everything was fine, not until things started getting out of control especially during arguments. And yes, Kiyoomi's silent treatment and distancing isn't benefiting either of you.
"Kiyoomi, talk to me. You know we can resolve this by communicating, right?" you pleaded to the man sitting across you yet your words fell on deaf ears as Kiyoomi's eyes remained glued to the sports channel.
"Kiyoomi." you once more called him. Standing up, you marched towards the television and unplugged the device.
Turning around to your boyfriend, you were about to open your mouth to speak again when you saw a horrified expression from Kiyoomi's face. It was something that you never saw before. Ever.
Anger. Disgust. Annoyance. Hatred. Which one is it? You couldn't figure it out.
Everything was written on his face, just because you turned off the television so that you could communicate with him.
You felt like being electrocuted on the spot as you saw your boyfriend glare on you.
"I'm…sorry."
That's all it took you to remove your stoned feet on the ground to walk out of the apartment because you don't want to see Kiyoomi's expression.
Your heart cannot handle the fact that you just wanted him to focus, communicate, and resolve the argument together.
But today, it scared you that Kiyoomi might hate you forever because of that.
Before you could step out of the door, Kiyoomi's right arm slammed the door shut that made you jump in shock.
"Where…are you going?" he asked in a low voice.
"Out…for fresh…air." you felt like you were gasping for air as you took the words out of your throat. You didn't realize it but you were actually crying as you spoke.
Kiyoomi's arm slowly made its way towards your body and pushed you against his muscled chest, left hand following to caress your hair as you buried your face and tug on the hem tightly. You were sobbing and shaking in fear.
Kiyoomi's eyes started blurring out when he realized that you were crying because of him. It wasn't intentional for him to glare at you, it just became an unconscious reaction for him. And now, Kiyoomi's blaming himself so much internally for making you cry and scarring you.
"Y/N, darling. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." he whispered in your ear, shushing your sobs. "I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry that I scare you.
Kiyoomi's voice is full of regrets and his touches are fragile. This is the first time that he let someone this intimate with him and he's willing to fix everything because he doesn't want to lose you.
Later on once you're calmed down, Kiyoomi will ask about your side regarding the argument. He will listen and understand you carefully and sincerely. He will also apologize a lot of times and will offer to make some dinner to make it up to you.
The following days, Kiyoomi will try his best to open up his heart more to you and fulfill the distance he made you experience because of his toxic trait.
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© godkeis. do not repost on any platform.
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seroh · 2 months
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curiosity killed the cat
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atsumu, f.reader. angst.
words: 2K
tags: cheating, explicit mentions of sex, brief mention of an alcoholic dad.
notes: this one is a repost from my other blog. i edited a few things, but didn't change much. we're still in the cheaters era, but this time atsumu is the shitty boyfriend.
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Ever since you were a child, just old enough that you understood the world around you but not enough to know what to do about it, you had been terrified of being cheated on. The idea of entrusting your heart and soul to someone, doing everything to keep theirs safe, only for them to add yours to a collection you didn't know they had was something that kept you up at night, trembling in deep-rooted anguish.
You blamed your father, as many did when something went wrong in their lives. The man who was meant to protect you, love you and care for you. The man that made you realize, at your short 11 years, that love was nothing but fickle. You still remembered the exact moment when you had this revelation. The date or day of the week you couldn't recall, but it was evening, which meant that your father was drunk out of his mind and yelling around the house about whatever little thing had set him off that day. Like it tended to happen, his yelling was eventually directed towards your mother, wild and unsubstantiated accusations slicing and stabbing her like daggers.
And you remembered thinking, hidden behind a wall and listening to every word, six simple words that shook your view on love: It takes one to know one. A replica of something you had heard your teacher say that very same day, although in a different circumstance. The words came to mind unprompted, and suddenly everything made sense. Why else would he accuse your mother, who was devoted to your home and family, of cheating if it wasn't out of fear of her doing the same things he did? She rarely left the suffocating walls of your house, and when she did it was only ever with her children in tow.
What is a young girl to do with such a revelation?
From that moment and for the rest of your life, it was a weight you carried everywhere you went, to know your father was willing to do that to the mother of his children, to you and your siblings. How could you trust other men wouldn't be the same if the first man of your life had betrayed that trust before it got the chance to be built? If not even having a family could stand in the way of his adultery, why would other men be loyal to one woman? You'd rather die than be like your mother, trapped for years in a relationship with someone who didn't know what being faithful was, till death do you part. Or until the truth hit you, crushed you, with the force of a boulder when you least expected it.
You'd heard horror stories, cautionary tales, about people in years, decades long relationships that seemed perfect in every way. Relationships where they respected each other's privacy with great care, where they were so trusting they would've never thought to breach that trust. Until one day one of them had a moment of weakness, and decided to check what could be so private that needed to be kept hidden from them. They all went in half expecting to find nothing, telling themselves they were being paranoid, only to realize their oh so loving partner had been having an affair for years, sometimes for the entirety of their relationship.
You refused to end up like that.
Instead, you let guilt eat you up every time you had the chance to get your hands on your boyfriend's phone without him realizing it. Each and every time you would hurriedly go through every app, every photo, every call and text you could find. You would sigh relieved when you proved to yourself you had nothing to fear. Then, you would erase the trace and leave the device back in its place.
It was a necessary evil, you believed. Sure, invading his privacy was far from okay, but you had convinced yourself that, at the end of the day, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that you left the phone feeling reassured and at ease. What mattered was that he had nothing to hide. It was a way of telling yourself, "see, there's nothing going on. You're just overthinking." A way to calm your fears. And as long as he didn't find out, and you didn't find anything, everything would be fine. You kept telling yourself that, in the grand scheme of things, if you actually found something incriminating, hiding an affair beat snooping through a phone in the race of bad things. And with that you squashed the guilt of not trusting Atsumu until it was nothing but a whisper.
At some point, going through his phone became a habit, more done out of boredom than actual suspicion or insecurity. So when you stepped out of the shower and out of the bathroom, and Atsumu was still singing under the warm water—he always took extremely long showers—your first instinct was to grab his phone. You got comfortable, made sure the towel on your hair wouldn't fall, and unlocked his phone with your fingerprint.
Almost with apathy, you looked through his photos app, from the images sent to him and by him, to the hidden folder and trash. You snapped a photo of yourself and set it as his background in case he caught you with his phone in your hand, and moved to the next app. There was nothing in his messages, nothing in his calls, nothing on his Instagram app, or anywhere else. As usual, he wasn't hiding anything. You smiled to yourself and let yourself sigh as you got more comfortable in bed.
Before you could lock the phone, your finger hovered over the Google app and a wave of unease crashed into you. You’d never really thought of checking his Google tabs. Without a second to spare, you clicked on it. All air left your lungs as an instagram account, one you didn't recognize, greeted you. Your eyes took in everything all at once: the profile picture, so unmistakably him; the name and last name, so obviously false; the description that displayed his location, age and relationship status—”single.”
As if in a trance, you uncovered every bit of information you could get. The women he followed, the ones he messaged sometimes, the ones he constantly talked to, his reactions to their posts and stories. Absolutely everything. You needed to know it all, craved to find it all. If it was there, you would find it… and there was so much to find. So many women he gave his attention to. Most only went that far, flirty conversations and maybe some pictures exchanged. There were a few, however, that were the last nails in your coffin.
That weekend-long work retreat he told you about? It was actually a trip to Kyoto with another woman. Working overtime every now and then? Actually fucking a plethora of women. In cheap hotels, in their apartments, in god damn parties and events with his colleagues, the ones that knew you and treated you so kindly. His best buddy's birthday party that you weren't allowed to attend because it was men only? Two women. He hooked up with two women there, and then proceeded to talk to them about how hot it had been, how he couldn't wait to put his hands on them again, how each one was the best he ever had. It seemed they didn't know about each other either.
The absolute worst discovery came in the form of his coworker, a manager assistant. Ever so sweet at team events, always so eager to make you feel included. Always so eager to sneak behind your back to suck your boyfriend’s dick and get fucked in your bed. That is, apparently, when they even made it behind closed doors instead of just going at it on his back seat.
You found out you had almost caught them once. In their latest conversation, they made fun of how oblivious you were to the mess in the room, so obviously telling of what had been going on prior to your arrival. You remembered now that Atsumu’s clothes had been thrown around carelessly throughout the room, his shirt waiting outside the bedroom door. His body had felt sticky with sweat when you hugged him, a faint smell of lavender lingering on his skin, on your bedsheets. You hadn’t even noticed anything weird. She had been hiding under your bed as you sat and told your boyfriend about your day before undressing on your way to the bathroom. And while you showered he finished fucking her on the floor before leading her outside, cum leaking on her panties and clothes untidy.
You stared at the screen, unsure of what to do, how to proceed. You had never, not once, thought you'd find something in his phone. Never. 
The sound of the shower cutting off took you out of your trance, and you hurried to close the tab, delete the apps history and connect the phone to his charger. By the time Atsumu walked in the room all dressed and ready for bed, you were combing and drying your hair.
It was hard to smile back at him. His grin no longer excited  the dormant butterflies in your stomach, now it stomped them and tore off their wings, cruel in its every move. How many women had he smiled to like that? It was hard to accept the kiss on your cheek. You trembled under his touch in what he mistook for delight, but was nothing but pure heartbreak. Had he kissed other women that way?
It was even harder to keep the tears at bay, to pretend you weren't falling down a spiral. Part of you thought you were doing a great job at hiding it. The other part thought Atsumu just didn't care. You didn't know which idea was worse.
"Babe, you done?" He mumbled from the bed as he scrolled through his phone. His eyes didn't even look up.
It took you a moment to unplug the hairdryer, too busy looking at the new smile splitting his lips. He was typing. What was he typing? Was he texting someone? Who was it? Were they flirting? Was he asking them the same things he asked you when he was pretending to want to know you better?
You opened your mouth to speak, a question tugging at your tongue. Instead you said a simple "yes." You turned off the light and dragged your feet to the table. Immediately, Atsumu deleted the tab he was on and locked his phone. He opened the blanket for you to jump in and welcomed you with warm arms and a kiss to the forehead. Tears threatened to leave your eyes.
The way your bodies curved into each other felt almost magical. As if that's how your bodies were meant to be, molded up against each other, basking in the shared warmth. His arms around you, legs tangled. Your head on his chest, his heartbeat against your ear. It was where you belonged.
It was also where all of those other women belonged. You weren't special or any different, just more of an idiot.
You found yourself smelling the sheets, looking for her scent and finding nothing but his biting cologne. It occurred to you that might be the reason why he always chose fragrances so strong, to drown out the perfume of his lovers.
With all the strength left in you, you stopped yourself from falling apart and buried yourself deeper in his arms. One last time, just one. You would allow yourself to enjoy your loving relationship for the last time. Once the sun rose and the skies cleared, you would pack your things and leave to never look back, but for the time being you would bask in his arms, delight yourself in the fact that you were in your shared apartment, your shared —and soiled— bed, wearing his clothes.
Tomorrow you could afford to lose it all, tonight you needed Atsumu to hold you tight just one last time.
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SEROH 2024
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gojoath · 4 months
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˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ THE STUFF WE DID, MIYA ATSUMU
SERIES MASTERLIST, END
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summary. 60 years old. fem reader. timeskip atsumu. a few flashbacks. character death. grief. angst. for all of your love and all of its ashes.
word count. 1.4k
note. thank you for reading if you’ve made it this far :) i hope you enjoy the final drabble! i cried like a baby writing this one especially so i hope you guys are able to feel even just a little bit! i hope you enjoyed the series. thank you everyone for all the lovely comments & tags ❤︎ dividers by @/cafekitsune.
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the years have been kind to miya atsumu, in a way that feels like hes flown through time. he’s still able to take the same walk through the same trail, he’ll still eat osamu’s leftover onigiri he drops off for him and fatty tuna is still his favourite.
hes lived a good life, but maybe he’s got love to thank for that. at 60 he’s moved on from the bleach entirely and let it grow out, dark roots decorated with salt and pepper hairs that his kids still tease him for, but he’ll laugh when he argues that they make him more handsome than ever.
he’s in the same house he still remembers dancing with you in, the kids are gone now and he thinks their likeness to you has grown with them. atsumu can still see the way you’d spin on your heels and tell him this is it, this is the one, ‘tsum! the same christmas decorations he almost knocked over all those years in a row are still in the attic and his handy-man work is still evident in the creaks of the floor and the less than perfect paintwork.
he’s blurred your memories into the wallpaper.
he’s used to hearing it’ll get easier with time, it’s been repeated enough that it will become the text on his epitaph, echoed from the sorry look in peoples eyes when they notice the emptiness in his. there’s something bleak and barren about a world that is missing you.
but what if atsumu doesn’t want it to get easier? the grief he’s feeling was the proof you were alive, afterall, that you loved him and he loved you.
the heartache that crusts his eyes shut when the alarm clock tells him to pull himself out of your embrace as he calls out a drowsy “i hear ya, ‘m good.” is a souvenir now, and he’ll still pretend the crumpled sheets to his side are because of you.
atsumu opens the curtains each morning and the amber hues of the sky look different now, he thinks. maybe it’s because you were the soft touches of light that indicated a beautiful sunrise, yet now the sun burns on not knowing what its lost.
he still remembers the grip he held on your old sweatshirt as he begged the world to bring you back to him. “one last time, come on! not yet, a promised ‘er more...fuck” a ragged exhale cut through with his sob and his throat burned with the strain as he curled into the floor. his face buried in the lingering scent of your perfume that still clung at the seams.
“please, please god— ya can’t leave me here without her.” because sometimes grief is so loud, it could bring down the sky.
he still sleeps with that sweater like a blanket every night.
atsumu still stands on the train despite the priority seats that call for him, maybe it’s because he can still feel the warmth of your arms from when they’d wrap around his waist as you stood beside him. you always chose to keep yourself steady that way because you’d complain the metal bars were too cold to hold, and he was always warm.
he can still smell your shampoo from where you buried your face into his chest. his fingers still reach to wrap around your shadow,
and sometimes grief is so still, nobody knows how deep it lies.
atsumu will still slide off his shoes and announce his presence to an empty home as it echoes, he likes to think you're still listening. he can still hear your footsteps running down the stairs to greet him at the front door with a kiss, but now he’ll take a seat in front of the photo of you on the table that he hasn’t let gather dust since you stopped being there to clean it.
he can still remember the day the photo was taken, almost 30 years ago at his daughters first pro volleyball game. it was cold that day, but you’re caught somewhere between a smile and a laugh as you call back at him, daddy’s walking too slow! and he can see the small silhouette of your daughter in the corner. your hand is reaching for his and he thinks you’re as beautiful as you’ve always been. although it was never just about the way you looked but the way you were, he’d have still fallen in love with you even with his eyes closed. you’re draped in a jersey with his name and he remembers how your skin felt when he snapped the picture and intertwined his hand with your own to squeeze.
he’s not walked that street since.
but atsumu smiles fondly as he looks at you, the half onigiri in his palms is still warm as his hands squeeze again. there’s been a few changes to the recipe since you last had it. he wishes you could try it now. “‘m doin’ good. started runnin’ again, samu’s been visitin’ too” his voice scratches slightly in his throat as it echos,
he still remembers the night his brother found him crying on the kitchen floor for you,
“how do a bare it, samu? how ‘m i supposed to?”
“the best ya can, ‘tsumu.” osamu grit as he squeezed his brothers weight into him, his lungs trembling with his own exhale while his twins fists twist at his uniform,
“it ain’t fair, couldnt it’a been me?”
“she wouldn’t want that for ya.” he knows that,
“can ya stay? don’t leave me.” atsumu never mentioned the dampness he felt on his own sweater as his twin held him closer that night. he never thanked samu for trying so hard to keep himself together as he spoke to him.
siblings were stupid like that, the person that he could hurt the best was the one he wanted to keep the safest, his brother. who was always going to be 16 and setting a volleyball to him, who he knew how to hurt so terribly but he’d rather stay up till 3am to prep him food for the week just so he knew he was still eating.
“‘m still here, ‘tsumu. i won’t ever leave ya.” they grew side by side afterall, their roots will always be tangled— atsumu was glad for that.
“the kids are good.” another bite of his onigiri and he thinks it tastes better everytime he chews,
the lump in his chest on christmas day’s now are the receipt he has for being yours, he experienced your love. it belonged to him, and now the love he only ever intended to return to you has nowhere to go except in the aching space in his chest; he can’t breathe until mid afternoon. but the love was worth it, he thinks as he opens up another poorly wrapped gift from your kids, they get that from him… but the love that pools in their gaze as he holds up the blanket they had made for him— stitched full of your life in photos that makes his own vision blur with tears, is all you.
“we’re doin’ good.” atsumu thinks maybe if he says it loud enough it’ll be true, even if it’s just to fill the silence. this house was never meant for just one and it’s moments like this where the yearning lingers—
he lets the silence rest before he exhales this time,
“god, i miss ya so much.” he begins to blink more with his words as he reaches out to touch the frame tenderly, tracing your face through a pane of glass. if he closes his eyes he swears he can still feel the warmth of your skin as you lean into his palm, and suddenly his whole body aches. your smile still feels like it grows flowers in the saddest parts of him,
your voice has turned into videos, atsumu’s memorised the time stamps to replay so he never forgets what you sound like. he misses the way it would soften when you used to call him out of sleep. the tears don’t wait until later to come today, they’re warm when they trail down his cheeks.
“i think of ya every day, angel. i’ll always love ya, ya know that, right?”
what is stronger than the human heart that shatters over and over, but still lives.
he’ll weep as he breathes out your name, hoping you’ll answer back despite the way he knows you won’t. but atsumu’s come to terms with the fact that the only way for him to live is to embrace grief, for grief only exists where love lived first, where it remains.
it may end someday, but the love never will.
he hopes he was able to make a beautiful life for you.
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© gojoath. do not copy, repost, modify or translate my works. please refrain from copying my layouts / themes.
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admiringlove · 2 years
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[18:11] . . .
"you don't gotta do this, ya know?" atsumu snarls as you clean his wound. you scoff, rolling your eyes at him as you continue rubbing alcohol over his bloody forehead, cleaning up the half-dried rouge stains.
"osamu wouldn't just hit you for no reason, what did you do?" you ask. the boy in front of you only pouts like a kicked puppy. his eyes already display everything like a movie screen.
osamu told him. you roll your eyes as you kneel down in front of the blond, locking your eyes with his. he looks guilty and regretful, "i started it."
"because he told you, didn't he?" you raise an eyebrow, amused at his reaction. his eyes widen and his already red cheeks flush, "you knew?!"
"hasn't been long since he told me he's quitting volleyball," you mumble, rubbing some grime off of atsumu's face, "you shouldn't have hit him."
"the fuck else was i s'posed to do?" he grumbles remorsefully, "that piece-a-shit told me he's leaving me. how else was i supposed to react?"
"by not punching him across the freaking face," you facepalm, "look, 'tsum. it's not like 'samu is leaving you forever. he just, doesn't wanna do volleyball as much as you do. you gotta respect his decisions too, you know?"
"if i told you that i'm leavin' you for someone else, how would you feel?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed and expression hurt. you chuckled, cupping his face. he looks away from you.
"hey," you pause, "look at me, 'tsum."
and he obliges. you give him a peck on his lips, "that is a different situation. osamu isn't leaving you to partner up with someone else, he just wants to do something different with his life. not everyone loves volleyball as much as you do, sweetheart."
"is it wrong that i'm still kinda mad at him?" he asks, voice meek and small. you shake your head as you look up at him from your position, "absolutely not. you have the right to be mad, 'tsum. just, don't push him away. he's probably the only person who loves you more than me."
this makes atsumu laugh, "c'mere."
he pulls you into him, and you stay there for a bit—hugging his body in this weird position from the floor as he sits on your desk chair. he moves himself to the floor, sitting on his knees as he pulls you into his chest.
"i love ya," he says, "thank you for talkin' sense into me."
"hey," you smile, "at least you admit that you needed some sense."
"okay, i take that back. i don't love ya," he laughs, kissing the top of your head. you laugh too. the air around the two of you feels warm now, and you sort of want to stay in it forever. you look up to meet his gaze, and watch him looking down at you. you furrow your brows, "what's wrong?"
"nothing's wrong," he pauses, "ya talked sense into me but.. uh, how am i supposed ta talk ta 'samu again? i fought like hell with him. he went to sunarin's and i came here. i just- i dunno. could you help me out here?" his eyes look sincere. your expression softens as you sit criss-cross in front of him. you ponder for a minute, "how about you play videogames?"
atsumu raises one eyebrow as if it's the stupidest idea he's ever heard. you snort—you actually snort, before laughing like a maniac. and then when your laughs finally stifle down, "dummy. not whatever you're thinking. go home, start playing something on your console and when you see 'samu, throw him a joystick. don't say anything."
"and ya think this dumb idea will work because..?" your boyfriend only continues quizzically staring down at you as you playfully slap his shoulder, "didn't i just talk sense into your dumb brain? what makes you think i'm not giving you solutions to all of your life problems?"
"if this doesn't work, angel," he still continues to use the nickname, "i'm never takin' yer advice again."
"if it works," you place a soft kiss on his jaw, "you better thank me for the rest of your ungrateful life."
"trust me. i will fuckin' worship ya," he says as he gets up from his spot, "i'll go now, and i'll do what you said. if this works, you and i are gonna be doing some not so pg-13 things."
"'tsum," you deadpan, "are you seriously promising me sex for fixing your relationship with your brother?"
"yes," he grins toothily as if it's the most normal thing in the world. you shake your head as you laugh, and then you grab a pillow from your bed before throwing it at your boy's head, "go, you freak. and call me if it works."
"i will!" he calls out, running down the stairs of your house, "i love ya!
you giggle as you watch him run towards his house from your window, shaking your head. he's the stupidest boy you know, but he's also the love of your life.
and when your phone starts ringing at two in the morning, you eagerly pick it up off your desk and place it to your ear. your heart is heavy with anticipation, "how'd it go?"
atsumu squeals. he fucking squeals like a child and then whispers, "it worked. i love ya so fuckin' much. you were right, and i'm sorry for doubtin' ya. i’m so glad it worked, oh my god. and if ya tell anyone about how happy i am right now, i will cut you in yer sleep."
"told you i was gonna be right," you chuckle into the speaker, "and 'tsum?"
he hums. you snicker before mumbling, "i'm not letting our first time happen because i patched you and 'samu up."
he's the one to snort this time, "yeah, no. yer right."
"i'm always right," you smirk, "and you, dummy, owe me for the rest of your life."
"that i do," he says softly, "that, i definitely do."
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© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.
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shoulmate · 1 year
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“Miya! Where is your head right now?!”
The setter doesn’t look up from the floor despite Meian’s sharp tone. He knows Foster’s moments away from asking a similar question as the team re-hydrates between sets but he ignores them. They’re leading so nothing else matters.
Right?
Then why does he feel so shitty.
“Tsum-Tsum?”
Atsumu doesn’t know if he missed Foster’s questions or if they’ve skipped over reprimand and gone right to concern. He can feel them exchanging glances though his towel’s covering his face.
He doesn’t want to see anyone right now. He wishes they’d just leave him alone and let him get himself back into his own headspace but he can’t bring himself to even say that. The energy, the words...they’re not there.
He has to save every bit of energy he can for his performance on the court. Right now it’s taking everything out of him to block the memory his mind is forcing him to relive.
~
“Miya? Oatmilk Latte?”
Atsumu’s used to his name drawing a reaction but the voice that echoes the barista is one that he hasn’t heard in a long time. And, despite all this time, it’s a voice he’d still recognize anywhere.
A voice that still makes his heart flip.
He turns around already knowing he’s going to see you but unprepared to see how time has changed you and even more unprepared to see that those changes have only made you more stunning.
You look as stunned as he feels. He tentatively approaches your little table and your eyes, your lips make the same little twitches they always have as your brain stumbles over itself trying to say too many things at once and he hates the little wave of heat it sends through his chest.
“Hey.” He can’t bring himself to flash his usual smirk or charming smile; he gives an awkward wave before stuffing his free hand into his pocket.
“Hi.” Your eyes flick to the coffee he’s holding. “This is the last place I ever expected to see you.”
He laughs halfheartedly. “Yeah...” He looks at the cup, too, remembering all the shit he used to give you about caffeine addiction and appreciates how light, how un-bitter your tone is.
You’re looking at him expectantly but he’s forgotten how to have a conversation. “You look good,” you offer without sweeping a glance over his figure. 
“Thanks,” he mumbles and rubs the back of his neck--for fuck’s sake is he blushing right now?! “I’m still playing, you know--”
“For MSBY, yeah,” you say like it’s obvious and he searches your expression. He feels like he’s missing something and you know it but you don’t offer any explanation.
There’s so many things he wants to know, wants to ask...how you are, how you’re doing, what you’re doing now, how your family is, where you’re living, do you still stay up too late, did your dog recover from cancer...but they jam in his brain. 
So many things he wants to say.
“’m-I’m...sorry,” he mutters. And your brow lifts in surprise.
“For what?”
He shrugs, struggling to meet your eye until you snort.
“For still playing volleyball?” you ask incredulously. When he nods, giving you a confused look, you roll your eyes. “Miya, I never cared that you played volleyball. Or that it was so important to you.” You sigh and shrug. “I just wanted to know that I was important to you, too.”
And in truth?
You were.
You were more important to Atsumu than he ever realized.
It wasn’t until the end of your relationship, an emotional and messy end, that he finally understood but he didn’t know what to do, what to say when he finally figured it out.
Just like right now. He doesn’t know what to do or what to say and you’re not looking at him like you had that night. You don’t want him to say anything. He can feel that your wounds have healed, that you’ve moved on whereas his chest feels like a forest fire.
Someone calls your name and you look past him, face lighting up as you reply “Tobio, you’re early.”
“Yeah,” Kageyama answers walking right to you giving Atsumu a whiff of fresh air and sweat looking like he’s just come from a run. He plants a kiss on your lips. It’s swift but the way he doesn’t register anyone or anything else until he kisses you makes it seem more meaningful. “Oh. Hey Miya.”
~
He has to save every bit of energy he can for his performance on the court because they’re going to win this game even if it kills him.
And with the knowledge that you’re on the other side of the court sporting the white and gold Adlers manager’s jacket
it just might.
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tteokdoroki · 2 years
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✉️; HOW LONG IS LONG ENOUGH? - A.MIYA
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💌; synopsis - the one in which atsumu miya takes too long love you like you deserve.
↳ length: 1.3K
↳ warnings: angst, no happy endings, break-ups, fake dating as a pr stunt, shitty bf!atsumu.
↳ notes: yes i just had some angst i needed to get out of my system and tsumu was the target!! word vomit, not beta’d, i hope you enjoy <3 m.list ♡
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“how long, atsumu?” your voice trembles in the way that makes him sick, tired in the way that makes his heart ache for you. atsumu pushed you with this and now you’re at your wits end, there’s a hole in your heart and he’s the one that caused it. “how long do i have to sit here and pretend that it doesn’t hurt to love you like this?” this argument isn’t new to either of you, almost routine at this point but it doesn’t mean it’s any easier to deal with, that it’s smooth sailing and will end in a quick truce—  the both of you hate putting yourselves through this every time.
it goes a little something like this.
the jackals play an important match that you have to sit at home to see, cheering your boyfriend on from miles away. they win, and you get to watch him crack a sweaty smile on camera without being there to congratulate him, and then he leaves the stadium— arms wrapped around someone other than you, someone with a picture perfect smile to please the paparazzi and an attitude applauded by MSBY fans across the globe. she’s someone you’re not, someone completely unspecial to you, who doesn’t know how to love like you do, but she’s perfect for your atsumu in the eyes of his management team. a fake girlfriend in place of the wonderfully ordinary you.
“it’s fer the team.” the blonde mumbles simply. he’s too tired to run through this with you again, or perhaps it's that atsumu is too shameful to admit that this little arrangement to further his career has gone too far. he has no idea why you’d stuck around for so long, by now you should have had a ring, a dog and house with a white Pickett fence instead of the bachelor pad only the best volleyball bucks can buy.
the volleyball player had promised you that fake dating this girl wouldn’t have lasted for long— he’d begged you with teary brown eyes to stay with him. it would only be for a short while, so he could make enough money from the team to pay for a place where he could treat you like a princess. it would only be temporary, then he would use his starter salary to get you that ring you’d talked about when making out in the back of class all throughout highschool or when your pinkies were linked walking home from his late night practices. he’d tell you how many kids he’d want with you, what their names would be and who they’d look like in hushed whispers when you stayed over and osamu was half asleep in the bunk beneath your boyfriend’s.  
atsumu miya wanted to give you the entire world, the diamond cut ring and the big fancy wedding— he swore on his life that he’d give it to you. 
he had to, after all, you’d stayed. because you loved him, because leaving him over a shitty PR stunt wasn’t worth not having the opportunity to watch atsumu live his dream. you’d told him that yourself, even as his promises turned to what-ifs and he spent more time and effort working on his fake relationship than building a life with you. 
your voice, still weak, possibly from crying cut’s through the setter’s flashbulb thoughts while he strips for bed and you follow him into the bedroom. you shiver, it no longer feels warm like a home should. “so, the team more important than me? is that what you’re saying?” there’s a crack in between your words, the one just before you burst into tears, the one where you’re holding back and one word from atsumu sends your walls crashing down. he would usually be the first to drop everything , pull you into his chest and press your head close to where his heart belongs so he can bring you back— calm you down. but tonight, the blonde miya can’t bring himself to move, to hold you like he would back when the world was less complicated and it was just you, atsumu and a dream to take over Japan.
“the team— volleyball, it’s my fuckin’ life. I’d do anything to keep my life like this, fake datin’ or not!” atsumu spins on his heel to face you, ignoring the red in your eyes and the tremble of your lower lip. you look so pale, drained of love and life and it kills him to know he’s the cause. “i gave my everythin’ to make sure we could live this life together, coverin’ our asses. keepin’ you off the fuckin’ streets. if you can’t see that, then maybe,  ya don’t belong in my life anymore.” 
he doesn’t mean to say it,  not really. but the words have already been cast into the air, hanging heavy and clinging onto the tension building in the cold room. the look on your face tells atsumu that it’s too late to backtrack, to take back his words and kiss you and tell you that this girl his managers have him set up with mean absolutely nothing to him. that he feels sick every time he has to kiss her cheek for the cameras and tell the press that everything he does in his games is for her when it’s not. when it’s you, he owes all of his successes too. but it doesn’t matter, your worst fears have now been thrown out into the air that you breathe. all by the man you love.
the man who doesn’t need you.
“baby…i didn’t—“ atsumu tries, throat dry as he swallows, not finishing before you cut him off.
“what? and she does? she knows how you like your coffee? how you pack your gym bag? how you hate the noise hotel aircon makes and the way flying makes you nervous. she knows that? she loves you like that?” you spit at him like a snake full of venom, trying your best not to lose it in front of the shell of the man you used to adore. this is not your atsumu, he is not the boy with the shitty jokes and the temperament of a toddler. he’s a product of the fame and success you only dreamed of and had scribbled down into the notebook dedicated to your English classes— his name written in a heart under the doggy ear on the corner of the first page. 
and, of course she didn’t, she was just an act— a cover up by his management to hide the real relationship atsumu had, now crumbling at his feet. “‘m sorry,” he says desperately, crossing the room to get to you in three short strides, backing up when you flinch away, back hitting the wall behind you. “how do i fix this? make it up t’ya?” the blonde feels his chest tighten, hands coming up to cup your face and you look away from him like you’ve been staring at the sun too long. 
like you’ve been scorned and burned by the one thing that brings you life.
“end it, tell them you don’t want a fake relationship anymore. tell them it’s over, it’s done.” 
you give atsumu miya the silence to choose, to make good on all the promises he ever made you or to possibly throw away the career he now had. the one he always wanted…but he makes you wait too long, he can see the dam you’ve built breaking and the tears you were holding back stream down your face and catch on the Cupid’s bow he used to kiss.
“i’ve waited long enough tsumu, hoping— praying that you’d make the right choice, time and time again…but i’ve waited long enough.” you say, tearing yourself away from the setter. 
you leave that night, with bags packed that he never noticed, alongside the pain of the broken heart you’d be stuck with the entire time— one you’d been suffering for far too long, he decides. 
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teamatsumu · 5 months
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Can I please request rekindling a relationship with ex-boyfriend Atsumu who is a total ass man? (He can't stop touching, fondling reader 's ass.)
one day. (miya atsumu x fem!reader)
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word count: 755
warnings: post-break up. sexual language but no explicit smut. swearing. osamu is there. slight angst if you squint. nsfw. mdni.
Taglist: @keiva1000
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Atsumu should have known that even after breaking up with you, your presence in his life would be inevitable. After all, you had been childhood friends, and while your relationship had soured and fizzled months ago, you were still very, very close to Osamu, and no beef with Atsumu could stop you from seeing his twin.
So Atsumu had gotten used to walking into Onigiri Miya and seeing you perched on a stool at the counter, deep in conversation with Osamu who was carefully shaping onigiri for you. You were just as much a fan of his brother’s food as he was, maybe an even more enthusiastic supporter. Osamu often called you his little “taste tester”, and Atsumu would make a sleazy joke in your ear about how he was your taste tester, in that he would bury his head between your thighs to taste y-
You would always smack him before he could finish.
Ah well, those days were long gone. You weren’t interested in anything he had to say anymore, which Atsumu thought was karma for the last few weeks of your relationship, when he had started missing all your calls, messages, dates. After the fight that led to your breakup, which was filled with your teary complaints about how he had no time for you at all, Atsumu wondered if his volleyball career just left no room for him to date. But then he would look at Meian, who had a whole wife, and think that maybe it was just him. He just didn’t know how to maintain a relationship.
That didn’t stop him from hesitating now, catching sight of you in conversation with his brother, your arms folded on the counter before you with your torso leaning forward, and Atsumu’s gaze was immediately beckoned down to your-
Fuck.
Those were his favorite pair of jeans on you.
You had gotten them when he took you birthday shopping, and Atsumu had been enamored with them the minute you tried them on. High waisted and tight, they hugged your ass deliciously, so much that Atsumu had insisted he buy them for you, later using that as an excuse to bend you over the nearest surface any time you wore them and having his way with you. This couldn’t be a coincidence now, why would you wear them today? To come to Onigiri Miya? Where you knew you would likely run into him? Atsumu’s jaw clenched at the thought and he stepped further into the shop, finally catching your and his brother’s attention.
“Finally. What’s the point of making ya fresh onigiri if ya won’t show up on time?” Osamu scowled at him, but Atsumu paid him no mind, catching your eye and giving you a smirk.
“Nice ass.” He quipped, making you roll your eyes and turn back to your own plate, but Atsumu caught the tips of your ears turning red, making him grin. Victory.
“You’re disgusting, Miya.” You replied, voice low before you took another bite. Atsumu settled into the stool next to you.
“Ya never minded that when we were datin’. In fact, I still remember the sweet sounds ya made-”
“Shut up.” You glared at him, while Osamu made a disgusted face, saying something along the lines of ‘not in front of the food’. Neither of you reacted too viscerally though. Atsumu’s foul language was nothing new. You might have broken up with him, but you both knew he still liked you, and he would never stop flirting. That was his way of saying he wasn’t giving up on you.
Deep down, Atsumu knew you liked it. So when Osamu turned his back to search for something behind him, Atsumu leaned close to you, lips brushing your ear.
“Why’d ya wear those jeans, doll? Temptin’ me to bend ya over this counter?”
You dug your elbow into his side to push him away a bit. “In your dreams.”
Atsumu hummed, no longer resisting the urge to reach down and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. You jumped a bit, turning to glare at him. “Ya really don’t wanna know what goes on in my dreams, sweetcheeks.”
You groaned and rolled your eyes, but Atsumu caught the corners of your lips, fighting to hold back a smile. He sighed as Osamu placed a plate of food in front of him, not bothering to bite back his own smile. You still loved him, deep down, Atsumu was sure, and he was determined to make you his again one day.
One day.
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zorosprincess · 2 months
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The Longest We've Ever Gone
Pairing: Miya Atsumu x Reader WC: ~0.7k     Genre: angst Summary: growing up with the miya twins always meant you were basically raised with them, attached at the hip. sure, you fought, but it has never been this bad. CW: none here really
Prev Part —  Masterlist — Next Part
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It was finally getting to that point. The point where you were wondering if you were wrong. If it was time to give up your pride.
Growing up with the Miya twins may have given you a good portion of your personality. Your stubbornness, your competitiveness, your intense need to outlast not only others but your own limits too. Growing up with the Miya twins may have also given you a bit of attachment issues to them.
You were basically raised beside them, from the age of six on, you’d never gone more than a few days without seeing them. The only exception had been when your sister had dragged you away for a small vacation when you were in middle school. Less than a week and you’d started lamenting the unfairness before the car was even packed to leave.
Well, that was the only exception until now.
A week and a half.
10 days.
That was how long it had been since the double date that went up in flames. That was how long it had been since you and Atsumu had spoken. That was the longest time you’d ever gone without seeing him, without talking to him.
Your pride was keeping you from going to him first, but it was slowly losing to the hurt, the feeling of loss at not being able to go to him. The mourning feeling of stopping yourself from dialing his number when you got a bad grade on a paper, or from calling him when you can’t sleep at night. He was always up later than Osamu, had been since you were kids.
Your heart always ached about that too, late at night and remembering the first night you felt closer to him than Osamu. Osamu always got your secrets, kept them tight to his chest. But Atsumu had you in the middle of the night, sleepy confessions of insecurities and weakness, reassurances passed through heads on shoulders and arms around waists, shared blankets and carrying you back to bed.
You wanted to scream, to cry, to protest what had been your fault in the first place. Yet it was still something you weren’t quite ready to admit to yourself. Instead you sat on the small couch in your dorm, stabbing your spoon into the tub of ice cream. Your tv glow kept your room lit as it played the end credits of your latest episode on Netflix. You groaned when the screen turned dark asking the question you hated the most.
Are you still watching?
You rolled your eyes and fought with your blanket trying to locate the controller so you could slam your thumb down on the ‘yes’ button. “Stupid Netflix.” You grumbled as you tossed the remote away again, your tv lighting up with the opening sequence of another episode. You hummed along to the theme song of your show as you shoved another spoonful of ice cream in your mouth. You were halfway through that bite when the lock on your dorm door twisted. You glared at the light from the hallway as the door opened and crinkled your nose at the intruder.
“Are ya just mopin’ in the dark?” Osamu knocked his knuckles against your legs, pushing them off the couch as he sat where they just were. You huffed in response, not giving him a response. “Yer cryin’.” He thumbed the drying wet spots on your cheek and you grumbled as you spooned another bite.
“M’not.”
“Ya were.” He countered. “Still haven’t talked t’him?”
“It’s the longest we’ve ever gone, Miysam.” You mumbled, knees pulling closer to yourself as you stared off at the TV.
“I know.” He ruffles your hair lightly, affectionately, as he tries to get you to open up. “One of ya s’gonna have t’talk to the other.”
“Doesn’t have t’be me though.” You shut down his gentle prying in one swift comment. You’ve been doing it for days. Moping over it but not letting him help. He sighs as he takes in the shadow of your form created by the flicker of the TV glow. He knows it’s killing his brother as much as it kills you, this lack of communication between the two of you isn’t something any of you ever remember having to deal with and it was tearing all of you apart.
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TAGLIST : OPEN (send an ask) @the-last-shiv @iluv-ace
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noosayog · 10 months
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wc: 500
content/warnings: arguing, slamming doors, angst, cheating(?)
part 5. directory here.
--
"Hold on," you hear him chasing after you. You pick up the pace, sidestepping rowdy groups and the wall of Atsumu's teammates.
You’re able to get to your door, fumbling with the keys. You’re yanking the door open when he catches up. 
"Just hold on one fuckin' second," he says when he grabs ahold of your arm with enough force to topple you backwards. 
"What, Atsumu? Just let me go!" You're mortified to find hot tears welling up. You forcefully shake his hands off to press the heel of your palm against the offending eye.
"You're misunderstanding the situation," he starts.
"Misunderstanding?" you parrot.
"Yeah, just let me explain." He presses, stepping all up into your personal space.
"Fine then," you yell back. "Let's hear this explanation."
"We didn't, I didn't do anything."
You remain quiet, expecting more, but that's all Atsumu seems to have to say. That was the extent of his explanation. You kick yourself for even expecting anything more out of someone like him.
"So what," you grit out, lowly, slowly. "After a series of incidents in which you played no role in, you found yourself in bed, a girl sitting on your lap, making out with you? You did nothing and it all just happened?"
"Well, I-"
"Save it, Atsumu. And get the fuck off of me."
"Just hear me out-"
"I did. And you had nothing. So go away. Go away and stay the fuck away." The sheer volume and force of your words push him further from your door until it takes one final shove to push him out the door and out of your space. You slam the door and bolt every lock shut.
Outside, Atsumu slams his fist frustratedly at the door.
"Fuck!" you hear him yell.
You beeline straight to the bathroom to wipe the stupid glitter you have on your eyes, blush you have on your cheeks, and gloss you have on your lips. A sick part of you thinks that despite that whole fiasco, Atsumu never even made a comment about how you looked. You scrub harder until your cheeks and eyelids turn red, then dive straight under the covers. The tears are falling freely now and you press your face into your comforter to muffle the sobs, knowing that if they are even a decibel louder, Atsumu could probably hear them through the walls.
You can't help but replay the scene in your mind. Seeing Atsumu and someone else lock lips on his bed, the very same one he had pried some of your most closely held secrets in late night conversations on, made you sick. Did he even notice that you owned that same top that girl was wearing? The same one that he had badgered you about wearing on your official first date? The one that you mustered all your courage up to wear for him when you decided you could trust him? The mix of tears and snot stain your blanket and the sniffles become convulsions when you feel the bile rising up in your throat. You throw your covers off and run to the toilet to vomit the contents of your stomach out, wondering how it could be possible that him breaking your heart could hurt you more than when he gave you a concussion.
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omgjumin · 2 years
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10:59pm ☆ miya atsumu
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you knew from the way your boyfriend quickly slammed the door shut behind him, he was angry. it wasn't often that atsumu came home angry. but instead he came home disappointed. atsumu would be quite disappointed in himself that he didn't work hard enough to score the winning point. but as soon as the next morning rolled in, he'd be passionate to practice and practice till he perfected what he messed up in the previous game.
but now with the sheer amount of anger you could feel radiating off of atsumu, you halted everything you were doing at the moment. even the smallest things could set him off.
"baby, are you okay? what's wrong?" you hesitantly spoke out, your footsteps slowly approaching where he stood. his furious brown eyes met yours before quickly looking away. "talk to me please." you wanted to reach out your hand and hold him in your arms because some days that's exactly what atsumu needed. but as soon as your fingers even dared to inch closer to him, atsumu stepped backwards. "did your game go badly?" you questioned, your voice faltered as you did so but you wished that it went unnoticed. "you'd know if you went." you so desperately wanted to scoff. atsumu knew you couldn't make it because you had work so why is he blaming you now? he had a rough day, you should understand so you took a step back, further increasing the space in between you.
"i had work tsumu, i'm sorry i missed it but i'll be sure to make it to your next one, okay?" you never knew that one promise could set him off but it did. "you fuckin' said that last time, now here we are. it feels great to see you don't care." atsumu knew that if you could drop everything to support him, you without a doubt would, but after being let down twice, he couldn't help but express his disappointment towards you. sure, samu was there, supporting atsumu like he always does. but not having you, you were his lucky charm. maybe that was the reason he lost. maybe he should stop placing his faith in you to show up. or at all. "god, you're so annoying." atsumu whispered as if he didn't want anyone to hear. but with the sheer amount of distance between you, you had heard it. "what?"
atsumu peers over your shoulder, his eyes avoiding yours like you weren't anything important. you froze, your hands rolled stiffly into fists, the heated air feels like it could cut through ice, as you stood there. surely you and atsumu have been in plenty of small fights but they were just that, a small one. yet not once had atsumu called you annoying. your eyes quickly dropped down to the floor before turning away and walking towards the guest bedroom.
"don't, miya." atsumu was sure that then he could feel thousands of volleyballs slamming against his chest as he heard his last name fall from your mouth. his throat squeezed tightly, suddenly feeling parched from the dry and cold atmosphere between you. his hand from where it was reaching out to you, falling sadly to his side. "look, i-" you turned your shoulder, your eyes catching a glimpse of atsumu. "i'm so sorry, baby, please don't shut me out." you had to scoff at him, the mere irony of his own sentence, but you chose not to. your hands slowly unfolded, your palms were clammy from how you were intensely holding them close. "but you can shut me out?"
atsumu takes one step closer to you before taking a deep breath. "no, shit, i know i did, but," you really couldn't handle the awkward tension in the air but avoiding it would only make it worse. "but i hate being angry. and i'd hate it even more when you're angry at me too." it didn't take much to fully face atsumu but with the two heavy weights on your shoulders, anger and avoidance, it took much longer than it should've. "i'm not angry with you atsumu."
"please call me tsumu." he cringed at the way his full name came out once again. he begged for you to use the nickname you've always used for him. "next time this happens, i am going to keep walking." atsumu nodded quickly, his hands finding their place in yours. "now tsumu, tell me what happened? i'm here to listen.
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demxnscous · 2 years
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Unto You, Unto Me
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pairings: timeskip!atsumu x f!reader
word count: 6.0k
contains: best friends to lovers, initial angst, omniscient pov, flowery prose, suppressed → resolved feelings, mutual pining, intimacy comes in many forms, mentions of masturbation (f.), love confessions & other confessions, nervous!atsumu & reader, brief std talk, emotional sex, safe sex, atsumu is a giving man, oral sex (f. receiving), brief overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f. receiving), implied size difference, penetrative sex, bathing together afterwards, bonus scene included
warnings: minors dni
a/n: this is the final fic to my best-friend!atsumu drabble series Friends Don't Do This; it can be read separately, but i highly recommend reading through the series before reading this! (there's a lot of references in this from previous drabbles; this fic takes place directly after Mistakes With Memories)
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Make of love what you will, but it is not this.
She wears a burgundy blouse, a beautiful smile; she is what Love believes itself to be. A primordial want that takes, and takes.
Atsumu picks his utensil around the candied vegetables as Misato continues speaking.
“I heard there’s a press panel coming up for your team. Agencies are scrambling for their best reporters to be there,” she says, pressing the edge of a wine glass to her lips.
“Will you?” He sets a piece of the vegetable on his tongue; it has an unusual taste. “Be there, I mean.”
“Yes.”
Atsumu hums, then drinks from his water. He doesn’t take wine tonight.
Replacing her glass, Misato asks, “Why did you ask me out for dinner?” It’s a sudden question, though gentle.
He gives pause, not having realized he’d been tapping his finger on the tabletop. “What do ya’ mean?”
“Atsumu,” she begins, “when I first met you, there wasn’t a moment you or I didn’t take to joke and flirt. Then, I start seeing less and less of you until it all becomes strictly formal interactions.” Misato folds her hands in her lap. “You can imagine my surprise when I got your call.”
He moves to the roasted meats on the plate. “Thought it might be nice to see a familiar face again, catch up and whatnot.”
Misato nods her head carefully.
They exchange conversation well into the night; they talk of simple things, palatable to their circumstance. Misato says his name, recalls their brief shared memories, remarks on previous game matches. Atsumu says her name and wants yours, he sees her face, listens to her. 
When the dinner is finished and the bill paid, he walks her outside. Misato watches the street and its people and cars, she watches him.
“I don’t know what you’re wanting, Atsumu, but I don’t think you’ll find it with me,” she says assuredly, adjusting her coat.
Atsumu turns toward her, brows rising in mild surprise.
“I had a great time talking to you, though. And I hope that you find whatever it is you’re looking for.” She smiles again, steps away to hail a taxi.
Atsumu is left alone on the sidewalk.
He drives home with the radio loud until he reaches the parking garage of the apartment building. Atsumu pulls the vehicle into a vacant spot, the radio now silenced as he breathes out, closing his eyes.
Misato’s parting words come back to him, as do you. Nothing has changed. You, who still remains the cornerstone of his thoughts, his understanding of what love could be.
Atsumu opens his eyes, inhales uncertainly. He drags a hand down his face, to his throat where he undoes the uppermost buttons there. And you’re likely waiting in the living room for him to come home, a large book in your hands, a smile when he opens the door. He exits the car, locks it.
Home, he thinks, ponders, as he enters the old elevator. It had always been ‘home’ when it was with you. Even as children, when you would tell him, “Let’s go home,” after a long day of play. Home was his home, your home, or something in between. Now, it’s a moderate apartment, nestled among the buildings of the city, shared with you.
He passes through the lobby, greeted by the secretary, slates for another row of elevators, presses the button for his floor.
When had he fallen in love with you? In the very beginning, as a young boy with scraped knees and loose teeth? Perhaps in middle school, when parents warned their children away from developing romantical habits.
Atsumu removes his coat, holding it over his shoulder as he begins to walk down the hallway. He can’t seem to keep his attention stilled, his eyes moving from door to door, along the wallpaper and carpet.
Soon, he reaches the apartment, pulling the brass key from his pocket and turning the lock over. Atsumu uses a hand to usher open the door, closing it behind him when he toes off his dress shoes.
“How did it go?” you ask and he looks up as you cross your arms over the backing of the couch, resting your chin there.
He shrugs, hanging his coat on a hook, “It was nice, but not what I’m lookin’ for.” Subconsciously, he finds himself mirroring Misato’s words. She had been right, after all.
You hum in acknowledgement, lifting your head. “What is it you’re looking for, then?”
Atsumu is staring at you, near reluctant to do so, his own words unable to pass the precipice of his tongue. He wonders if you can see the desperation in him. “I don’t know,” he tells you, because it’s an easy answer, applicable to any question, even if it is a lie.
Your brows furrow gently at his response. “You don’t know?”
“No,” he breathes. “I just—I think ‘m gonna head off to bed early, shower real quick.”
“‘Tsumu, wait.” You get up from the couch, following behind him. There’s a tautness to his shoulders that you find, the way he carries himself like he holds this leaden weight in the cradle of his arms.
He walks to the bathroom, turning around promptly to face you once he reaches the doorway, almost causing you to stumble into him.
You take a step back, away from Atsumu. “Something’s wrong,” you say, a question folded into a statement. The expression he wears is strange, encompassing, pleading yet indifferent.
“‘M fine.”
“That is such bullshit.” There’s a wryness that laces around your lips and its small, unamused smile. Atsumu continues into the bathroom, as do you. “I can only guess what you’re thinking so many times before it gets tiring.”
His hands move to the buttons beneath his throat, unlooping the fabric in a methodical manner to hide the light trembling of his fingers, to busy himself. “Are ya’ stayin’?”
“What?”
“In the bathroom—are ya’ stayin’ to talk?” he repeats, reaching the button at his navel. He doesn’t know which answer he wants from you. Atsumu misses when you used to sit yourself on the counter, listening to him, speaking to him as he bathed. There had been no implications then, no straining tension. But something has changed, indefinitely.
You pause a moment before you answer, and Atsumu fumbles over another button. “Yes,” you eventually tell him. 
With his back to you, his shifting expression goes unseen. He’s…relieved. 
Atsumu pulls the dress shirt from his body, listening as you lift yourself onto the counter.
“My eyes are closed, just so you know,” you murmur. 
He works at his belt next, his jaw tightening at the chink of metal clicking together that he knows you can hear.
Truly, you attempt to keep your thoughts occupied with idle reminders, a grocery list, previous calls from friends. There’s the sound of a zipper being tugged down, the shuffling of clothing, before it drops softly to the bathroom tile. You lean over your body, placing your elbows on your knees as you lift a hand to the side of your face, opening your eyes without being able to see him. Another sound, a quieter sound, of Atsumu removing his briefs. 
He turns the faucet handle and warm water fills the tub. At the realization that he’s drawing himself a bath instead of a shower, you shift in place. This was different, but was this purposeful?
“The woman I was with,” Atsumu begins, speaking as he watches the faucet, “her name’s Misato. I met her a while back after a game where she interviewed me.”
You don’t know what to say, whether to look at him or continue looking away. So, you remain silent, your eyes still covered from him.
“We started off as acquaintances before I saw her more often after that first meetin’. Then she became a friend, of sorts. Misato initiated the flirting after that, asked if I would ever wanna meet up with her for drinks or lunch.”
The heat from the water touches your skin, envelopes your body.
“I went to a bar with her and some of the team one night, but beyond that, nothin’ else.” Atsumu steps in the shallow water, patient as it continues to rise around him. “You can stop coverin’ your eyes, I promise I don’t look that bad,” he teases half-heartedly.
You lower your hand, turning hesitantly to face him. Atsumu is lying in the tub, his head resting on the porcelain lip as he catches your eye, wanting to watch you instead. Below his chest, his body is concealed by the tub. The familiarity and foreignness of this exchange eases him, if only a little bit. 
“You’re lookin’ at me like ya’ don’t believe me.”
Open your mouth, close it; you’re unsure once more, but you settle to say, “Why did you take her on a date if she was nothing more than a friend?”
And isn’t that quite the question? he thinks. I’ve been askin’ myself the same thing, except I already know the answer even as I search for a different one.
Atsumu leans down to place his head beneath the faucet, wetting his hair. “I just wanted to see.”
“See what?”
“If I could change somethin’.”
“Change what?” you ask, a plea in your tone.
He reaches for the shampoo, lathering his hair. The answer you want is, simply, to the right of you. The answer sits in a tub, naked, bathing himself in your presence because the comfort and trust you bring him is inevitable, as is the comfort and trust he brings you.
His mother always said that Atsumu was ‘made to love.’ Atsumu was a boy who felt his emotions to its most potent degree. And love was no exception, even if it unwinds him now as a man, splices his flesh to relieve itself of his body.
The bathroom is growing warmer, your palms are beginning to sweat. 
Atsumu is quiet for a moment, rinsing his hair of the shampoo, then, “Do you remember that night I came home drunk and told ya’ all those things?” He’s cautious, effectively circumventing your question.
“Yes,” you breathe. Near immediately you recall Atsumu tucking his head to your collarbone as he asked, “Why’d ya’ say my name?”
He makes to speak when you interrupt him.
“You haven’t brought it up since. I—I thought you were too drunk to remember.”
Atsumu pours soap onto a washcloth, not knowing how to discern your statement. But he’s terrified, nonetheless, of admitting this to you. Yet, somehow, it’s an easier truth to cut from the meat of his burdens than saying that he’s in love with you.
“Before that night, another night, I got home sooner than I planned and…and I texted ya’, told ya’ I’d be back a half hour earlier than usual.”
You know which night he’s referring to, and something fervid nips at your body, waiting in terrible anticipation. That night, that strange night, you had touched yourself to the thought of Atsumu, bringing yourself to orgasm again and again, imagining it was him between your legs, praising you, kissing and licking and pressing the vibrator to your clit until you came.
He’s washing his body now, and you hope he can’t see the embarrassment that’s begun to appear on your face. Though, Atsumu is stalling, his throat bobbing when he swallows.
After you had finished, whimpering out his name against your pillow, you looked to your phone to check the time. It was then that you saw his message, read it, then read the time again, and realized that he was likely already home.
Atsumu sniffs, nervous, quiet. “I heard ya’ say my name. I…didn’t mean to, ‘m sorry.”
And now, as he says it again, his words hold an entirely different meaning.
From your peripheral, you can see Atsumu keep his head down, pouring water on himself. And from all the times you had sat in this very spot, laughing, talking with him, you never would have thought you’d find yourself without a response to give. Because Atsumu wasn’t obligated to tell you such things, he could have kept that secret with him, leaving you knowing none the better. Though, fundamentally, Atsumu is an honest man, almost to a fault.
An uncomfortable moment of silence passes. Atsumu shifts, becoming uneasy, flighty: signs that he’s readying to fill the quiet with stumbled words of his own before you speak.
“I should be the one apologizing, it was—” you murmur out, your heart beating beyond its utter humiliation. You can’t find it in yourself to knot the end of your sentence. Your best friend, the man who would reach every length for you, heard you moaning his name in the privacy of your bedroom.
What more is there to say?
Atsumu finishes with his bath, pulling the drain, rising carefully as you turn your head away. You’re embarrassed, he knows, and he wants to apologize for that alone as well; it was one of the many reasons he debated on telling you this. 
Stepping out of the bathtub, Atsumu takes a towel from its holder, placing it around the circle of his hips. You remain looking toward the door, not at him, when he walks toward you. It hurts him, and he knows it hurts you too, this wall now being built between your bodies, between the decades of time spent learning one another, knowing. But Atsumu is a man on the brink of losing what he loves after years of only watching from afar.
So let him hold your heavy burdens and heavy hands. Let him drown in you and understand what life may be. 
Let him be yours.
“Hey,” he says, softly.
Your eyes look toward him before your head moves along. You’re wracked with panic, your wide stare and tight mouth, the way you curl in on yourself. “‘Tsumu,” you say his name like a warning you don’t entirely mean.
“Please, just listen to me.”
“‘Tsumu.”
“No, hold on, please.”
You’re imperceptibly moving away from where he stands in front of you, near pressing yourself against the vanity mirror. He sees it, then sees your chest rising and falling quickly, shaking your head when you close your eyes.
“Earlier…” he begins, sounding breathless because this is likely his last chance to tell you this. “Earlier, when ya’ asked why I went to dinner with Misato, and I told ya’ I was tryin’ to change somethin’—” he swallows again, water dripping down his hair, into his face “—I was tryin’ to see if…if the way I feel for ya’ is just circumstance or…”
“What?” you ask, your question barely audible.
Atsumu had imagined this moment many times over, even as a child. Professing his crush on you in primary school through a bouquet of fine flowers; admitting his affections in middle school by offering homemade desserts; telling you that he loved you in high school whilst handing you a beautiful necklace. However he had believed this would occur, he would not have guessed he’d be in a towel, wet, with you on a bathroom counter, confused and ashamed.
And the words are shaky when he tells them to you, but their meaning is not lost. “I’m in love with ya’.”
Your lips part, breath quickening. “What?” you ask, again.
Atsumu, decidedly, continues. “I’ve loved ya’ since we were kids—I always have and I know I should’ve told ya’ earlier, but, fuck, I feel like I can’t think straight when I’m around ya’.”
And, now, you’re staring at him, wholly dumbfounded, your legs pulled up to your chest.
“Please, say somethin’.” The behest is spoken as if constricted, small, hoarse.
You whisper his name, rubbing your hands at your face, unsure of what else you can communicate. Seeing him like this, hearing him say these things to you, the remnants of your previous shame still lacerating: it’s overwhelming, rampant in how it takes hold of you. “‘Tsumu…” you repeat, now imploring.
He sets his hands gingerly on your knees, feeling you startle beneath his touch, before he pushes down, lowering your legs from your body. “I didn’t know when to tell ya’ all of this, and ‘m sorry for doin’ it now, but I don’t—I don’t know much longer I can do this without some sort of closure.”
You watch him, something akin to dazedness and disbelief on your features. He thinks he likely looks the same.
Atsumu continues, remembering the conversation he had had with his brother after you sprained your ankle. “This thing, this circlin’, around each other is drivin’ me up a wall and I need ya’ to say somethin’.”
His palms are still on your knees when he finishes, awaiting your answer. He’s closer now, a worry-line etched between his brows.
There are many thoughts that come to you then: a younger Atsumu tugging you along a forest’s path; the high school games he wanted you to attend, finding you in the crowd each time; the touches and the embraces and the laughter; the kiss he had asked for to be placed on his cheek. Above it all, however, is the thought, a determined knowledge, that you love him too.
“...You’re terrible at this,” you laugh quietly, woundedly, still apprehensive, but it’s enough to soothe. And lifting your hand, you place it over his own, the one holding your right knee, to squeeze it in kind.
“Well, I’ve never had to do this before.” Atsumu watches, wholly content with just being able to see you, as you move that hand upward and hesitate. 
Don’t stop, he thinks, inclining his head closer to your hand. You curve your fingers around his face, press your palm to his cheek before you wipe your thumb along his skin, taking a water droplet away. He sighs like there couldn’t possibly be a greater feeling than you touching him. 
His own hands move to brace themselves beside your legs, needing you to set the pace before he loses himself to it all entirely.
You tell him, a whisper really, “I love you, too,” before you pull him closer and he lets you.
A smile adorns his face, a bright, relieved one that you hadn’t seen in so long when he rests his forehead against your own, breathing out unsteadily. “Can I kiss ya’ now?”
Putting your inhibitions aside, mollifying your previous embarrassment, you nod. Atsumu keeps his hands on the counter, feeling the tips of your fingers lower from his face to rest on the nape of his neck as he leans in, and pauses.
His nose nudges yours, offering a moment of recollection in the chance that you might not want this. But you don’t writhe away from him, you don’t push him out of your space. Atsumu presses his lips to yours, tilting his head, focusing on this careful kiss just as he had when you placed your own to his cheek. And his blunt nails curl against the cold countertop, grounding himself while he feels the warmth of you.
The kiss is short, testing, fragile, until it ends. You pull back first, still close enough to share breath when you look down and see his knuckles whitening. The sudden thought that Atsumu is holding himself back has you flushing further, reaching down to unfurl his hands.
Something changes in him then, the desperation returning with haste. He kisses you again, deeper, inhaling sharply, bringing his hand to your hip and holding you. You try to keep up with him, with the idea that Atsumu is kissing you as if you might be taken from him.
A small sound comes from your throat when you feel his fingers press into the fat of your hip, hearing him move closer. The kiss slows until he offers a parting one to the corner of your mouth, dipping his head by your shoulder, needing to settle himself.
“Should we…?” Stop? 
You’re near panting when he speaks those words, pressing your temple against the side of his neck, water slipping from his hair and onto yours.
“‘S this too much?” he asks, subdued, cautious.
You place your lips beneath his ear in reassurance, your hand running up through his undercut. You’re nervous, just as he is. “Don’t stop,” you tell him, like you pulled the very words from his previous thoughts.
He listens to you, heeds you, because there’s no one who knows himself better than you. Atsumu stands with your legs bracketing him now, giving a kiss to your shoulder, your throat, silently asking you to tip your head back for him.
He can’t bring himself to think about how he had been to dinner with another woman only two hours or so ago. How can he possibly care about anything other than you and him at this very moment?
In that small bathroom, it remains the two of you and nothing more. His kisses and yours, the need to touch each other and be close. You don’t know how long you stay there with him, learning his body in a far different way, and neither does he.
“If we’re gonna continue,” he adjusts your hair, smooths it, scarcely leaning back, “I want ya’ to be a bit comfier than this.”
From the hand he has on your upper leg, you feel his thumb brush the bare skin there. How far do you want to go?  he seems to be asking you.
And you tell him, “Okay,” content and willing.
“‘S it alright if I bring ya’ to bed?” 
Instinctually, you mean to press your legs closed at the sudden warmth brought on by his question, but they merely tighten at his hips when you shift on the countertop. He catches the minute sensation, his chest and shoulders expanding with breath, though he says nothing until you nod.
He steps out from between your legs, keeping a hand at your waist when he smiles, a lopsided thing. “Yeah? You gonna let me carry ya’ like a gentleman?”
You almost want to find humor in how Atsumu’s demeanor has changed entirely from when he first returned home. Coming through the apartment frustrated and irate, now kissing you, touching you, giving himself to you. 
You do, however, manage to huff a short, abashed laugh as you say, “Of course.”
Atsumu brings an arm behind your back, the other holding at your knees when he lifts you, making sure your hands keep securely to him. He thinks of the irony in that moment, of the time he carried you out of the bathroom, only a towel tucked around your body.
He mentions it, naturally, wanting to elicit a reaction from you that might assuage this timid headspace you’ve found yourself in. And it does, even if you shove patiently at his shoulder for bringing it up.
His bed is unmade, cold from the absence of the body that usually habits it, as he places you gently by the headboard. You lean back against it, further into his large pillows when he pinches your cheek in jest. Atsumu moves away, toward the other end of his bedroom.
“Where’re you going?” you ask, beginning to lift yourself.
He turns, brows crooked up. “‘M just gonna change real quick.” Then he pauses, runs his fingers through his wet hair. “I didn’t wanna assume anythin’.”
So, he quickly pulls on another pair of briefs and sweatpants, inwardly amused at how you look away from him when he does such. 
He returns to you afterward, stopping momentarily at the edge of his bed. You peer up at him, tilt your head as if to ask, “What?”  And Atsumu shakes his head to say, “Nothin’.” 
Truthfully, he’s thinking of how lovely you are, perched on his bed, lying in the sheets and blankets that smell like him. But it isn’t long until he’s bringing you into his lap, wanting you to be as close as you’ll let him.
His kisses are slower here, purposeful, sensual in a way that makes you hold tighter to him, unconsciously pressing yourself further into him. And he’s hard already—has been since he had you in the bathroom, though he tried to hide it. Now, however, you shift forward and Atsumu’s hand guides you at your waist to do it again. His mouth parts, a trembled inhale, when you move against his cock. He knows you feel it as well when there’s a hitch in your breath, breaking the kiss to look down, then at him.
“Sorry,” he tells you, a restrained murmur, suddenly remembering the last time he had you here, settled over him, when you hurried to move off of his lap.
Even so, this is wholly different, evident when you reassure him that it’s alright, kissing him once more, cradling his face in such a way that has him sighing. You rock yourself over him again, listening to that sigh bleed into a soft moan.
He’s quick to place you on your back then, bracing himself above you with one arm as the other wanders your body.
“S’this okay?” His hand follows the edge of your lounge shorts, up to the dip in your waist.
You nod, because if you spoke, you know it would sound utterly breathless. 
Atsumu touches along your very being, observing the innate reactions you have to each one; this is how he learns, physically, inherently. He feels your nails bite into his skin, watches you writhe, hears your quiet panting.
When he places his knee between your legs, inclining your hips to better settle over him, he sees your head bow back into his pillow.
“‘Tsumu,” you whimper, his name buried somewhere in the sheets as he kisses at your neck, your shoulders.
Soon after, he’s helping to remove your shirt and shorts, your breasts now bare, leaving your underwear untouched, though he can see where you’re wet already. The sight itself has him subconsciously rutting into the bed; a meager attempt at staving off the pressure that nearly addles him.
“So much for not wanting to assume anything,” you smile as Atsumu begins to take off the sweatpants he wears, and he offers you a similar expression, laughing softly before he returns to you.
Placing himself between the plush of your thighs once more, he says, “‘M clean, by the way. I got tested sometime ago, n’ I haven’t slept with anyone since then.”
You move your hand through his hair, simply wanting to feel him. “So am I.”
He hums at that, pleased as he taps a finger at your underwear in a silent question. You make to push them down your legs when he stops you.
“Jus’ lean back for me,” he tells you at the questioning twist of your face. Though, it quickly gives way when he presses a thumb to your clothed clit, moving down, back up. He continues this, enthralled in the expressions you give him, until your heel digs into the small of his back, wanting more.
Atsumu removes your underwear, lowering himself to your cunt, looking up at you to ensure you still want this. He rests the bend of your knees over his shoulders, leaning down. The first touch of his mouth to you is a kiss to your inner thigh, then another to the next, moving inward to hover; he wants to continue building this tension, knowing the culmination of your orgasm will be better in the end. And Atsumu waits only a moment more, peering up at you, giving a gentle squeeze to your thigh when he catches your eye and holds it as he licks at your cunt. 
You’re only able to watch that brief moment when your body arches toward him, the sight of Atsumu’s contented grin the last you see as your eyes shut tight, lips parting. He brings his tongue to your clit, sucking, laving, easing himself away to put his attention elsewhere. And, distantly, you sense the pressure of his arms around your thighs increase as you steadily approach your climax, beginning to writhe in his hold.
He licks and kisses and pushes his tongue inside you with a fervor that has your hand lowering to tangle into his hair. Because it’s loud, and you can hear how wet you are with the way Atsumu works his mouth on you, groaning around your clit when you accidentally tug; it’s a needy sound from him, almost broken.
And he takes his time giving you everything he has to offer. Adjusting his movements, learning from where you guide his head, pulling you taut and doing it anew. Many moments he comes far too close to cumming, untouched, before he steadies himself again. For now, this is about your pleasure, bringing you comfort, trust and safety. 
Truly, he could finish like this: his head between your legs, pleasuring you with just his mouth, listening and feeling and seeing you. But he can scarcely think, giving himself entirely for you to use. And when you reach that climax, warning Atsumu with a keen of his name, you tense around him; the hand in his hair trembles weakly, as does your body. He maintains the rhythm he’s built, returning to your clit, wanting you to move against his face as you cum. As so, he keeps his mouth there, slowly bringing you down.
The hand in his hair tightens as the overstimulation begins. “Too much, too much, ‘Tsumu.”
Atsumu lets go, and you can feel from where he has your legs that he’s breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling. He offers lighter kisses to the inside of your knee, his lips wet from both you and him, donning a smile that leaves you susceptible to any connotation of love one can believe.
You must be utterly reeling from your orgasm, from him, because Atsumu returns to place himself above you, cupping your face in his much larger hand. When you nearly begin to even your breaths, staring up at him with half-lidded eyes, Atsumu says warmly, “There she is.”
On instinct, you turn toward his touch, feeling his thumb stroke your skin, fix your hair again. 
“Was that alright?” he asks, partially rhetorical.
A fond, quiet laugh uncovers itself between your teeth when you bring him closer, holding him, settling a kiss to his cheek as he wipes a hand down his lower face, finding pleasure in the way he still tastes you on his tongue.
And, perhaps, it’s how you look at him then: loving, adoring, appraising; or, maybe he’s finally lost himself to you, if he hadn’t already. But Atsumu’s thumb tucks beneath your chin, keeping you there. He wants to watch your face as he holds himself over you, his unoccupied hand slipping downward, gradually pushing two fingers into your cunt. Curling them upward, using the pads of his fingers to stimulate, he feels you tense around him, your chest hitching again.
Atsumu pulls away, his middle and ring finger wet with your previous orgasm just as his lips had been. He cleans them with his mouth, catching how your eyes widen slightly.
Shifting back, he asks, a bit restless, “Can I?”
You manage a soft, “Yes,” as you take hold of his shoulder, bringing him closer to share a brief kiss before Atsumu reaches toward his nightstand, still keeping one hand on you as he does so. 
It’s then that you’re able to fully see him, no longer caught in his ministrations. His erection strains at his briefs, a wet spot where his cock leaks. You want to touch him, brush your fingers there, but Atsumu rises from the bed to remove his own underwear, grabbing the condom and settling himself between your legs. 
Dark hair begins beneath his navel, strewing down toward his reddened cock. He strokes himself once, twice, his jaw tightening, eyes falling shut for a moment. Rolling the condom on, a hand finds your thigh again like some form of physical reassurance to still have you there.
“Can’t believe we’re doin’ this,” he murmurs, and his words are tender along your throat. You smile as your palms smooth over his chest, his arm. Atsumu lifts your right knee, resting your leg on his hip; his entire body folds over you, long limbs and trained muscles warm, taut, when he guides himself in. And, forehead falling to yours, Atsumu moans shakily along with you as the tip of his cock fits inside.
He stills then, his head coming to your collarbone. “‘M not gonna last long,” he tells you, swallowing. You assuage him with feathering kisses, lighter touches, that have him fully pushing in until his hips are flush with yours. 
The pleasure is overwhelming; the idea itself of being intimate with you like this is wholly devastating to his self-control, as is the way your breasts move with your breath, how your pinkened lips part to say his name. He rocks into you, a grinding motion, muffling the whine that catches on his tongue by kissing you. Atsumu does it again, bracing an arm by your head that you wrap your hand around, feeling him tremble when he continues fucking you.
Through some lucidity, he alternates between different rhythms, finding the one that brings both you and him pleasure, stimulating your clit when his hand isn’t grabbing at your body. And he’s pressed against you, taking your breath just to give you his own. Because there’s a devoutness in how he fucks, holding you, rutting into you, telling you, “‘M all yours—always have been,” between suppressed groans and desperate keens.
It’s that confession in particular, those words that could only be formulated by his unadulterated love, along with the way he works your body, that has you holding tightly to him. 
Atsumu lets you curl into yourself, lets you grasp the muscle along his back, as he feels you approach your second orgasm. When you finally reach that crest, your cunt tightening around him, he helps prolong it until your body loosens.
But he’s quick to succumb to the pleasure after you do. Atsumu presses his face into the bend of your neck and shoulder, his mouth falling open as he fucks you with abandon, rutting his cock into you by the base need that he’s close and it’s you he does this with. His rhythm begins to falter and you can feel his nose nudge at you, his hair damp from the sweat and his previous shower.
He whimpers brokenly as his body tenses, only moving now by the desire to be as deep within you as possible; his cock twitches, his moans stuttering, with every wave of his climax as he cums. You cradle the back of his head to you, watching how he moves, how your best friend comes undone.
You both remain there for a moment, quiet, panting, holding one another in the remnants of the pleasure.
Atsumu lifts his head, cheeks flushed, smiling as he asks, “This mean ‘m your boyfriend now?”
The laughter you give is affectionate, bright, breathless.
“Yes, ‘Tsumu,” you tell him, speaking through the smattering of kisses he places on your face and anywhere else within his vicinity.
Because, surely, friends don’t do this. 
-----
Bonus Scene
“I’m still embarrassed that you heard me that night. Why didn’t you say something before?”
Atsumu hums in thought behind you, lathering your hair now as you sit in the tub together, hot water lapping at your bodies. “I didn’t wanna interrupt ya’,” he says, a bit unsurely. “And you…” He trails off.
You turn your head slightly to discern what expression he wears. Though, Atsumu continues working in the shampoo on your head. Absent-mindedly, he thinks of how this night began here, in this bathroom, and will end here as well.
“And I?” you ask, attempting to follow the sentence.
“You sounded nice—sayin’ my name like that,” Atsumu murmurs, returning you to face forward. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to hear that from ya’.”
The sigh you exhale is a contented one, causing you to lean further into his body.
That is, until Atsumu suddenly says, “I also found your vibrator one time, since we’re on the topic of ‘things-I-didn’t-tell-you’.”
“You what?”
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