i havent been home and been living out of a suitcase for a week or so bc my house is going through renovations and i miss my bed i miss my room i miss rotting in my room writing smaus
sending asks is so scary what if i sneezed on my keyboard and mistyped my entire adress and misgendered everyone and mispelled every single word and also typed my password into the message. what then. once the ask is sent who knows what it looks like. i couldve tyepd anything
i've been going thru it mentally dawgs i got Nothing left in me i'm sorry if i'm just liking and all that and not interacting
having to lock in at work and shit going on at home and it's just been crazy but i still sneak onto here and read osamu/kita/daichi/iwa fics like a lil treat after a whole day of getting constantly thrown rocks at
<3 u and thank u for being here despite NOTHING NEW BEING POSTED
Miya Osamu, who personally, admittedly likes you. Just a little crush, though.
Miya Osamu, who might want to change the “little” in his crush to something much bigger, conscious of how he flinches whenever his hand accidentally brushes against yours.
Miya Osamu, whose case of recall daydreaming just keeps getting progressively worse.
Miya Osamu, who treats his brother just a little bit better whenever you're around, and Miya Atsumu, who takes note of that and uses it to the fullest, further annoying him until he forcibly drops the act.
Miya Osamu, whose new favorite sound might just be you calling him by his nickname, “Samu”—be it early in the morning when you meet to walk to school, while having lunch, or even over the phone.
Miya Osamu, who finds any excuse to interact with you outside of school.
Miya Osamu, who drags you along on the weekend by placing you on a video call while he prepares a meal. Although it's supposedly for you to learn, you spend most of the time listening to him go through the process, drooling over the food, and secretly admiring how he looks in his cooking apron, attractively fully focused on the task at hand.
Miya Osamu, who randomly pauses between those video calls, glancing over at the screen to make sure you're still watching and haven't fallen asleep or gone off somewhere.
Miya Osamu, who enjoys listening to you talk over the phone while he works. It feels like you're physically right there in the kitchen with him, keeping him company.
Miya Osamu, who makes sure to kick his brother out whenever he comes in to steal some snacks or say hello, not amused at all when you laugh at their interactions safely from the other side of the screen.
Miya Osamu, who stares extremely close into the camera, making you wonder how he ever managed to take such good photos of himself to send to you. Maybe it was Sumu’s doing, or even Suna's—though the latter would probably take terrible photos on purpose and keep them for potential future blackmail.
Miya Osamu, who has been threatened by those photos. His big-mouthed brother let it slip to Suna that he has a crush on you, which he immediately denied.
“Then I guess you wouldn't mind if I sent her this photo.” Suna threatened, with a cunning smile, holding up a stupid picture of Osamu midair, falling flat to the ground after Sumu tripped him. Consequently, he silently gave up his pudding and sulkily walked away from the two smug, laughing foxes.
Miya Osamu, on whose cheek you notice a smear of flour and point it out, watching him get extremely close to the phone to clean it off, only to stain the other side of his face as well.
Miya Osamu, who has no words to respond to your entertained laughter, or to your question in between giggles about why he didn't just use his self-view window to check his face.
Miya Osamu, who knows the answer is because he was too busy looking at your face to check his own, but would rather watch you laugh at how stupid he looks than let you know the truth. Plus, it's much more satisfying to see you thoroughly entertained while you hang out with him.
Miya Osamu, who always has a smug smile on his face when he listens to and watches you drool over the finished meal, verbally expressing your strong wish to be there so you can have it in person.
Miya Osamu, who mentally admits it's kind of fun virtually teasing you like that, though it would probably be even more fun if you were actually there with him in person.
Miya Osamu, who changes his lock screen wallpaper—after overthinking it through the night—from an onigiri to a picture of you happily munching on an onigiri he personally made.
Miya Osamu, who refuses to change it back, even when Atsumu sees it and teases him for it, or when the team finds out and hounds him about it, or even when you see it and complain about how greedy you look.
Miya Osamu, who lets you know he's not going to change it, but adds that he'd let you do the same for him. To use whatever photo of him—just him—that you want as your wallpaper. Simply for fairness, of course.
Miya Osamu, who nervously watches you pout about the arrangement, though he is elated to see you present your phone to him the next morning, your payback already installed and locked in.
“It looks terrible.”
He complains, struggling to hide the trembling twitch at the edge of his lips over his hidden thoughts about the two of you having wallpapers of each other, like you're—ahem—dating or… something.
When you were sixteen, you thought Miya Atsumu held the world in his hands. Maybe that was what he liked about you: the wet moved eyes and the admiration that shone out of your features every time you looked at him; the facade of indifference you tried, and failed, to pass off every time he looked back at you; the way you spoke his name with reverence and awe. Maybe that's why he asked you to be his girlfriend.
You liked being Miya Atsumu's girlfriend. You liked when he threw his arm over your shoulder and walked with you like you were completely his. You liked bragging about it a lot. The jealousy of other girls almost fueled your ego entirely and it came with this odd sort of respect from the boys you knew. People knew Atsumu, so they knew you.
He asked you to come to his games and you did, and you cheered for him like a good girlfriend would. You learned about volleyball and you listened to him talk about it for hours and when you said things to him like, "That other team's setter was terrible" or, "It looked like Suna wasn't hitting a hundred percent today," Atsumu would kiss the top of your head and say, "I think you're my soulmate."
You felt like you were doing everything right, when it came to him. You brought him good luck charms before games and made him playlists and held his hand on the way to school and you would come over and help his mother make dinner and Osamu, at the very least, tolerated you and would make polite conversation with you whenever you were around.
Atsumu told you he loved you after a few months of dating. He said it in on a shaky bus ride, your hands interlocked and your head on his shoulder. You didn't say anything for a second, because you didn't want to cry on a bus that early in the morning. But when you found your voice, you eventually said it too.
It was perfect, Atsumu and you. He gave you a necklace with his initials, and you wore it every day.
You went and cheered him on during the Nationals in your second year. You wore his sweatshirt and you cried when they lost. You imagined him crying in your arms and you kissing the top of his head and telling him that it was okay, that he could come back again and get his revenge. By the time you found him, he did not look like he needed consoling.
The person he was talking to was tall and pretty, and wearing this terrible neon jacket. You couldn't hear what they were talking about as you approached, but Atsumu spotted you and his face brightened. His eyes were rimmed red like he had been crying, but he grinned. He grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into his side, arm over your shoulder and he said, "Omi, this is my girlfriend," like he was bragging.
Atsumu didn't look at you when he said it. He stared Omi directly in the eye, challenging him. Omi didn't look at you either. If it weren't for Atsumu's arm aorund you, it would be as if you weren't even there.
"Don't show her off like she's some kind of toy you won," Omi spat at Atsumu. And with that, he turned on his heel, hands stuffed in the pockets of his terrible jacket, and walked away. You blinked. You never even told him your name.
Later, you and Atsumu sat on the floor of his room, your back against the wall and your legs outstretched onto his lap. "I didn't like your friend," you said, quiet and unsure, like if you didn't know if you were allowed to or not.
"Hmm? Which one?" Atsumu asked. He had one hand on your ankle, fingers tapping rhythmically on your skin.
"The one you called Omi," you told him, looking at your entagled legs and not at him. "He was rude."
"Nah," Atsumu said easily and quickly. "He's just like that. You start to like him once you get used to him."
You didn't talk about him again. Sometimes you would see his name pop up on Atsumu's phone and he would turn his screen away from you to answer, but you didn't talk about it again.
You got older. Atsumu kept winning volleyball matches and you kept getting good grades to get into your dream university in Tokyo. Things stayed the same. Atsumu told you he loved you every night and you said the same. High school passed. Atsumu signed to MSBY. You got accepted. He left for Osaka, and you left for Tokyo.
It was hard, at first. There were a lot of times you felt like you wanted to give up, because the distance wasn't something you were used to and you were convinced it was something you could never get used to. Your studies were hard and it was harder being so lonely. But every time you felt like you were done, Atsumu was there. Taking the train to see you, calling you, being there in any way he could. Atsumu always did his best to be there.
It felt different than it did in high school. It felt more real, somehow. Like before what you were doing was just some kind of make-believe, just pretend. Now it felt like Atsumu was more than just a boyfriend - it felt like he was a partner. You started to take him and yourself more seriously. You started to take everything more seriously.
Atsumu would mention you in post-match interviews and post pictures of your visits together and he would talk about how proud of you he was and how much he loved you, like he wanted everyone to know. You wore his initials around your neck and told all your friends about him and when you called your mother every week she would ask when you two were finally going to get married.
"Atsumu," you whispered into his chest on one of your visits down to Osaka. You had just watched him win a match and instead of going out with his team, he laid in his bed with you and ran a hand down your spine. "Do you see a future with me?" you asked.
He made a humming noise that you felt rattle in his chest. "I can't see a future without you."
You moved to Osaka, when you graduated. You wanted to be with Atsumu and you wanted to start that future that he had spoke of, so you said goodbye to your friends and promised to visit and you got on the train.
If it was hard to be separated, it was harder to come back together. Things were odd at first, living together. You had gotten used to university life and Atsumu had grown accustomed to living alone. You felt like it was hard for him, at first, to make space for you.
You argued about stupid things. About where to put dishes and who was responsible for folding the laundry and who's turn it was to mop the floors. You argued about bigger things, too. Like how Atsumu thought you felt like you were too good for him and his career just because you went to university and got your degree. Like how you thought Atsumu didn't want to make space for you in his life and only wanted you when it was convenient. Things were hard.
But it was you and Atsumu. You two just made sense. You two were right for each other. So you worked things out. You made it okay. Atsumu adjusted, you adjusted. You made it okay.
It was around the time that you moved to Osaka that Sakusa Kiyoomi came back into the picture, joining MSBY as their new outside hitter. And you got the feeling, the same feeling that you got when you were sixteen, that Sakusa did not like you.
It was in the way his hard gaze lingered on you when you greeted Atsumu post match, watching carefully and critically as his arms went around your waist and yours around his neck. It was in the way he whispered something to himself and pulled his mask over his face whenever you spoke while you were out drinking with the team. It was in the way Sakusa Kiyoomi never once bothered to say your name; you weren't sure he ever bothered to learn it.
You didn't know what it was. Bokuto liked you. Hinata liked you. Meian and Inunaki liked you. Everyone liked you but him. And for a second you thought it was just Atsumu that Sakusa had a problem with, and he was taking it out on you. But Sakusa seemed to like Atsumu just fine. He looked Atsumu in the eyes when he spoke to him. He let Atsumu clap his shoulder and hold onto it while he laughed. Sometimes you would find them, bodies close to each other and whispering before pulling apart at the sight of you.
"I just don't know what the fuck his problem with me is," you had complained with muffled words to Atsumu as you brushed your teeth next to him, like you had probably hundreds of times before. "Like, why does he look at me like he wants me dead?"
"He doesn't baby," Atsumu said, spitting into the sink. "He's just like that. You gotta trust me."
Atsumu kissed your head before he turned to walk out of the bathroom. "Going to bed, love you."
You felt stupid when you realized it. Like you should've known this whole time.
Maybe there was some part of you that knew what you were doing when you arrived home from work early. Maybe you knew what you were doing when you quietly removed your shoes and crept towards the bedroom more carefully than usual. Maybe you already knew what was behind that closed door.
You opened it anyways.
It still shocked you.
It still made you feel like the world had dissolved under your feet. Like something horrible and painful was growing in your stomach and spreading up to your chest. It still made you feel sick.
Atsumu was hovering over him, blocking his body with his own bare back. But when he heard you enter, he jumped away, and revealed to you the naked and bare Sakusa Kiyoomi.
You don't know why, but you didn't look at Atsumu. You didn't look at Atsumu when he crawled out of that bed, your bed, and rushed towards you. You didn't look at Atsumu when he placed himself in front of you and put his hands on your shoulders and said, "Baby, it's not what it looks like, okay? Baby, please look at me. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. Please look at me. Can we talk about this? Can you talk to me?"
You just stared at Sakusa. You stared at him and his shocked, pained expression, like he had any right to be, and it clicked in your head. All the looks and the whispering and the tension. From the very first second he met you, Sakusa Kiyoomi has hated you, because you were taking Atsumu from him. You thought you might vomit.
Atsumu was still pleading, was still making his case like he wasn't standing in front of you, naked and reeking of sex, like there was any chance left to salvage this. Like there was anything left to salvage.
And as much as you wanted to scream and hit him and destroy the home you had built together, you just couldn't do it. You felt like you couldn't do anything. You took a deep breath, and without saying anything, you removed Atsumu's hands from your shoulders, and you turned around and left. You left the apartment and you left him behind and Atsumu made no effort to follow you.
You didn't cry until you were on the train back to Tokyo. You let out guttural, body-wrecking sobs and people looked at you and no one said anything and you just sat there and cried and you didn't know what you were going to do. You thought, you'd figure it out, once you got to Tokyo.
You would get there and you would cry some more and you would figure out how to live a life without Miya Atsumu. You ripped his initials off your neck, and left them on the floor of the train.
tell me why the place i'm going to is only screening scott pilgrim the day AFTER??? fuck my fucking life how am i supposed to show my friends the movie that shaped me as a 9 year old, watching it on an ipod classic after she learnt how to pirate it, in the darkness of my shared room with my sister, sharing the earpiece
CHAPTER TWO: guy who thinks i'm his ramona flowers or some shit
content warning: some sexual content/smut (VERY BRIEF), timestamps are NOT accurate, MDNI
"Fuck, you look so pretty like that."
Suna Rintaro is in a good mood. It could have something to do with him winning his match or the fact that his image is already starting to turn around just three days after announcing his fake relationship, but really the primary reason for his mood is you.
You, laid out beneath him, chest bare and eyes screwed shut in pleasure, making sweet noises that go straight to his dick. He feels drunk. There's a layer of sweat on his skin. He dips his head down and attaches his lips to your neck.
When it's over, Suna's pulling off the condom, while you rise from the bed and disappear out of the room. Suna lifts his head to stare after you, listening to your footsteps. He's wondering where you've disappeared to, and then he hears the shower turn on. He snorts. You certainly make yourself comfortable.
Twenty minutes later, you emerge from the bathroom wearing nothing but the jersey he gave to you, the one with his name on it. Suna stares for longer than he needs to. "You didn't have to mark me up," you say, sitting down at the edge of the bed. You reach up to tug at the neckline of the jersey and Suna sees it then, the dark bruise blossoming at the curve of your neck. "I'm too old for this shit."
Suna grins. He feels oddly smug. "Sorry, got carried away."
"Yeah, whatever. So are you gonna be a gentleman and sleep on the couch, or a dick and make me do it?"
Suna blinks. "We've already slept together. Do you draw the line at sharing a bed?"
You're terrible to share a bed with. Suna regrets it when it's three-fifteen in the morning and you've woken him up twice. You snore and then you stop snoring and then when you start it up again it jolts Suna awake. You've kicked him many times and you are the least generous blanket-sharer perhaps on the entire planet.
Suna gets hardly any sleep and when morning comes around you look like you've had the best sleep of your life. Suna almost hates you for it. But when he walks to you work and he gives you a kiss on the cheek (for the sake of the giggling teenager with the camera Suna is sure recognized him), Suna walks away with the distinct feeling that he is probably going to end up doing it again.
EXTRAS!
y/n and suna's text span about two and half weeks ignore the timestamps
y/n just texted her mom that she wasn't ready for her to meet suna yet because it's not that serious yet and she doesn't want to make the same mistake she made with kuroo
kuroo
y/n kind of has the feeling that suna has a little crush on her
me when i get new followers and people read my things and i genuinely don't know what to do. so here's facts about me.
:) u can call me miyako/miya or whatever floats ur boat i will Hear u out. i write sporadically, i don't proof read anything, my top 5 haikyuu boys are daichi, osamu, kita, iwaizumi then kuroo. i keep getting flamed by my friends bc none of them went pro and they said i was never in it for the game (i was in it for Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer)
thank you for following me i will try to use my brain to shit out another good smau (seeing double is my newest baby that i'm putting my heart and soul into) but just know when i go missing and i stop yapping, it's my full time job beating me up and making me just a shell of the person i once was.
i will smoke a stick for each and every one of u <3 that's how much i appreciate each like and follow and reblog and comment <33333
Osamu starts calling you sweetheart well before the two of you get together. The endearment is never patronizing, sometimes teasing, and always affectionate.
It’s “Sweetheart, ‘m so glad yer here!” when you stop by Onigiri Miya, spoken like just the sight of you crossing the threshold is enough to ease the tension in his shoulders and soften the furrow of his brow.
It’s “You alright, sweetheart?” when you’ve had one too many drinks on a night out. You’re wobbly on your feet, a little doe-eyed as your hand rests in the crook of his elbow to steady yourself. It’s so cute Osamu can’t help but flush, the heat creeping up to the very tips of his ears.
It's "C'mon, sweetheart, ya know 'm right!" when the twins put you in the middle of another one of their arguments, Osamu cajoling you into see things his way.
And when he finally decides to confess, to cross that line from friends into something more, the endearment is as smooth as butter, dripping with years of love gone unspoken. “I wanna be yours, sweetheart.”
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