genre. american football, to all the boys i loved before au (sort of?)
warnings. suggestive, swearing
song recommendation. the alchemy — taylor swift
aki’s notes. i love it when fir and i go down a rabbit hole 😌😋 also, ya’ll– i watched two american football nfl guides so im basically an expert now. kidding!!! it was like i was taking a crash course, and in a sense i was, but now i know stuff about football and i don’t even know where else i can use this information
ATSUMU calls your name above the rising cacophony of voices just outside the locker room as he adjusts the helmet on his head.
“one more thing.” he gives you a lazy grin, takes a step towards you, and places a delicate finger under your chin to tip your head up. “you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”
your eyes rival his challenge with a sharp gleam, a sly smile plastering itself on your face. “won’t be a problem.”
that promise was made over a year ago. both of you on your eleventh year at inarizaki. now, you have made it to the last hurdle of high school, senior year, and yet, it feels as though you’re still stuck in time—back when you first saw the boy being bathed under the golden rays of the sun, running across the field, his hair windswept.
you have never seen anyone so happy. but what caught your eye the most was his smile.
atsumu had a grin so bright it puts helios to shame.
you make your way through the noisy benches—oddly sticky with soda, beer, gum, and whatever else a crowd of teenagers has dragged in—a tangle of limbs obscuring your path. it has been your first time in the stadium again since your break-up with miya atsumu.
well, break-up was a completely inaccurate word to use, fictitious even.
how could two people “break-up” when there wasn’t anything real, tangible, in the first place that could be broken, per say?
no. the deal was off.
that was what it was.
a calling off of bets and games.
not a breakup.
muttering apologies, you find your seat and something heavy in your gut settles. it looks different, a tad rougher at the edges, and yet somehow still entirely untouched by time. the same curve, the same grainy texture, the same lines etched onto the plastic it had the year before.
it was the same chair you shared your first—well, fake—kiss with atsumu, where he caught a football one-handed inches before it could hit your face, and then stole your lips instead, swallowing your gasp.
had your feet instinctively brought you here?
“yo, sit down! it’s startin’ already!”
a gruff, aggravated voice pulls you out of your trance. somewhere between finding the chair and staring at it, reminiscing memories, people have already filled up the seats. ducking your head, you quickly glance around to find a different spot, but the next one was at least a hundred paces away—where the other school was seated, itachiyama institute—and the game was about to start, and you’re not in the mood to get targeted by white foam fingers and black skinny balloons.
inarizaki was chosen as the home court, so the team had the liberty to be introduced. one by one, players would run out of the small tunnel that was connected to the locker room. the same place where you had made the bet; the same place where atsumu pressed himself against you up the wall, pinning you in place with his hands around your waist. while your own greedily roamed across his arms, his chest, his broad shoulders before tangling in his hair as he sinfully kissed you senseless after one of his games—which was the first of many.
a secret exhaled in the heat of your mingled breaths. in gasps and in sighs; in wandering touches and tightening holds; your hands crossing lines neither of you bothered to redraw anymore, the locker room was the sole witness to your transgression.
and where atsumu decided his body was yours to hold—reserved it only for you—surrendering to you in ways he never did to the rest of the world.
he let himself be claimed by you.
you shake your head like you can physically fling the memory away, then force yourself to focus on the disembodied voice crackling through the speakers.
“team captain, number 1, shinsuke kita!”
you lace your hands primly in your lap.
“number 4, aran ojiro!”
your knee starts involuntary bouncing.
“number 10, suna rintarou!”
your heartbeat quickens.
was this the right idea? being here again?
“number 11, miya osamu!”
your chest tightens, already knowing who’s next.
“number 7, miya atsumu!”
he runs onto the field like he was built to be seen. so full of life. as if the sun itself had come down from the heavens to envelop miya atsumu with its warmth. the sun approximately releases 3,860 trillion of energy every second—atsumu is a fraction of that number, and still too much. the bleachers tremble with the crowd’s stomps, a rolling wave of concussive force beneath your feet.
you had forgotten what it was like to be sitting amongst the crowd. the energy is exhilarating, almost overwhelming. releasing a breath, you let yourself be drawn to the pulse of the game.
it’s the last quarter, fifteen minutes ticking away. inarizaki is down by a number of points, the game sitting at an eleven-point deficit in favor of itachiyama with just under seven minutes left.
head coach, norimune kurosu, calls for a timeout the minute the ball is dead. the atmosphere tenses as the teams gather round. on the stadium clock, the number six looms largely over everything like an omen. six minutes left in the game. inarizaki needs to keep scoring, and find a way to keep the ball—anything to close the gap.
the horn blares once more and the teams move back onto the field, itachiyama in possession.
sakusa kiyoomi, wide receiver, takes the snap and runs the ball downfield, aiming to burn the clock. but aran ojiro crashes into him before the play can settle. it was brutal, but precise. the ball comes loose and for a split second, it hangs in uncertainty.
then inarizaki’s wide receiver, miya osamu, was there.
he scoops it up like it had been destined to fall onto his arms, pivots, and runs. a tactical play? no, an opportunistic one. strategically instinctive. it’s the kind of play the twins thrive on. because the miya twins are nothing if not cunning. they see the gaps in itachiyama’s formation, the lulls in their movement—and those weaknesses are a double-edged sword in their hold.
because what itachiyama doesn’t realize is that the moment aran makes that hit, atsumu is already moving. osamu doesn’t hesitate when he hurls the ball forward to his brother where atsumu is already across the field. the defense is still collapsing toward the initial collision, still recovering a step too slow. suna runs just enough to pull a defender off the lane, and that opening is all atsumu needs.
with five minutes on the clock, atsumu catches the ball in stride, narrowly dodging itachiyama’s center, tsukasa iizuna, and driving straight into the end zone.
touchdown.
that’s six points off.
another six or more to close it.
inarizaki lines up for an onside kick rather than risking a turnover. it might be a desperate move, but it’s calculated. incredibly necessary to make the tables turn in favor of them. the ball arcs into the air and for a moment—just a moment—atsumu’s gaze follows it when it falters. his eyes had inevitably, and finally, found yours in the crowd.
he has been looking for it the whole game.
looking for you.
at the sight of you holding your breath, he takes it as a sign to exhale his.
the ball hits the turf and chaos breaks loose. bodies collide, hands reaching, scrambling—and osamu eventually steals it back.
touchdowns back-to-back were not uncommon, but to ask for one? it felt like asking for a miracle. turn water into wine. and yet, atsumu moves like divine intervention had already chosen him to be its conduit. because as the ball falls towards him, aran bodyslams motoya komori, clearing a path to the endzone.
the stands still.
the crowd quiets.
and in that moment… all atsumu sees is you.
in the crowd, he sees you still holding your breath—a stark juxtaposition to the way he exhales once more, finally letting go of everything. time slows down and you stand, hands flying to your mouth as sixty seconds bleed into fifty, then forty, and—the crowd erupts.
touchdown.
miya atsumu single-handedly closed the eleven-point deficit in under six minutes. leaving the score to be 34-33.
his teammates run towards him, black jerseys and helmets flying off as they lift him up, cheers chanting in the air.
“miya atsumu, the greatest in the league!!!”
touchdowns back to back was a play carved straight into history. it was one for the books.
and yet it’s not enough.
the speakers crackle, barely containing the noise as the voice roars over the chaos—“what a play, give this man his trophy! where is his golden cup!? that was fuckin’ incredible work!!!”
they finally set him down and atsumu frantically searched for your eyes amongst the crowd—like it was the only thing he needed to find.
he catches your gaze in a heartbeat and your heart constricts at the sight of the same smile that caught your eye the first time you saw him. flushed and radiant, atsumu was slick with sweat, chest heaving from the adrenaline and body still burning from the game.
but despite their victory, it’s not enough.
he looks at you and decides, then and there, that you’re the only thing left he has to win.
wants to win.
you watch as one step becomes two, and two becomes four. and in the same way he claimed two touchdowns in minutes, he’s already at the fence, already climbing, already pushing through the sea of people trying to reach him. he vaults over the bleachers, careless in the way he shoves past bodies, pulled only by your presence. like he was the earth, forever caught in the sun’s orbit—bound to you by something greater than choice, something that would not let him drift too far, would not let him leave even if he tried.
and he did try.
he stops in front of you and you barely have time to react—the gap between you two is nonexistent as the crowd pushes you closer together.
“i love you,” he blurts out. ripped out of him before he could stop it. it wasn’t supposed to be like this, hadn’t meant for it to be said this way, but it’s already there, hanging between you. atsumu slides his helmet off and lets out a breathless laugh right after because he can’t even believe it himself. tears pool around your eyes and you can’t help but furrow your brows. “i don’t understand—”
“i love you—” he says again, quicker this time, his brain trying to catch up to his own words. dropping his helmet, atsumu’s hands clumsily come up to cup your face, brushing away the strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead from the heat of the crowd. “i love you. i— i, i don’t—” he huffs out another laugh incredulously.
“i’ve loved you ever since that day in our eleventh year when you said i was an idiot for asking you out.”
“atsumu—”
“i already lost you once.” the words come out more grounded now, but there’s still something breaking underneath the surface of his armour. so you place a steady hand on his wrists, just to hold him together. atsumu glances at his shoes, hair sticking to his temples, beads of sweat running down his face as a crease forms between his brows. he swallows the lump in his throat to keep his mouth from going dry and shakes his head disapprovingly more to himself.
“and it was my fault. lost you when i got too scared to make what we had real. i kept tellin’ myself it wasn’t serious but—” his voice falters but his eyes meet yours and holds it steady. “truth is, i was just scared of how real it already was.”
“atsumu…” you whisper, but he shakes his head. he knows that if he lets you speak he might lose the nerve. that was always his biggest problem. it was why things were called off in the first place. he was too scared to confront how genuine his own feelings had gotten that he had weaponized that to drive a wedge between you two.
in letting himself be enamoured by you, he risks the chance of having something to lose. and he didn’t want that—didn’t like the thought of it.
because miya atsumu never loses.
but he pushes through his fear despite the demons clawing up his throat, trying to close it shut.
“i don’t wanna risk losin’ you again.” a confession rising through the confines of his own pride that has caged him in. “not when i’ve always loved you. not when i love you this much. please—” he chuckles at the vulnerability of his own voice and runs a thumb under your eye to catch the tears that have fallen.
“can i be yours? i already broke that stupid promise i made not to fall in love with you anyway…”
“atsumu…” you smile, slicking his hair back, and he catches your hand—guiding it to move down his cheek.
“what?” he asks urgently, already bracing for impact. atsumu leans into your touch to steady himself, and as he waits, presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist like he has always belonged there
and he has.
always will.
“you idiot.” you laugh at the irony of it all—how stupid you both had been for making that bet when the foundation was real. when the feelings were already there, but you were both too busy convincing yourselves it wasn’t anything at all. underneath the guise of friendship and little games, you had crossed a line neither of you acknowledged—already meaning everything to each other long before you had the courage to admit it.
“i broke that promise too…” your voice barely above a whisper. “when i said, ‘won’t be a problem,’ it already was a lie.”
because in truth, the game had always been bigger than both of you.
you two took strides rather than careful steps. called it bravery, not knowing you both were long gone from walking and were already too far to turn it back into what it was before.
“i had already loved you then. loved you before that too.”
for a split second, he just… stares. lets your word hang heavy between the air between you. he processes them, as if it wasn’t part of the script. the plan he had in his head. because in reality, it really wasn’t.
nothing could’ve prepared him for this.
this was something incredibly better than he could’ve ever imagined.
atsumu’s disbelief falls over his face, eyes widening a fraction before he breaks into a laugh—sharp at first, slipping out of him before he can stop it. it mixes with yours, the sound of it catching and breaking apart until it turns into something shared, something unsteady, something that feels too big for the space between you.
“i love you so fuckin’ much.”
and then there’s no more distance to think about it.
his lips crashed into yours and atsumu was done holding back. you instinctively match his fervor, chasing the kiss like it’s your lifeline, and his hand comes up your arm to settle at the back of your neck, angling your head closer to him to deepen the intimate act.
he sighs into your mouth, swallowing your gasps as if your breath is the only air he’ll ever need to survive. atsumu relishes the way your lips move with his—desperately missed the feeling—for it had always felt like they were carved to fit each other. you were always so intoxicating, your taste the only thing he will ever willingly let himself get high on.
with you in his arms, the world falls away, the historical play long forgotten, and every ounce of atsumu’s hesitation doesn’t exist in his nerves anymore.
atsumu’s kisses were sensuous, passionate, overwhelming in the way he always is when he stops thinking and just sends it.
still caring about internet friends you lost touch with years ago is so embarrassing. yeah i had a deam we met up irl recently. the last time we spoke was maybe 7-8 years ago. i still wear the laces we randomly decided was a sign of our friendship. i dont know what any of your socials are or if youre even active on any. sometimes i see someones art resemble yours and i wonder for hours. do you still go by that name you chose? whenever i see it i wonder if its you. we couldve passed each other in this vastness a thousand times and not have a clue.
HI FIR POOKIE~!!! IT'S A WILD AKI HERE WITH AN ART QUESTION 🤓
do you have a favorite painter/artist from any of the different art periods? mine's claude monet! HIHI love love the impressionism era
HI BBY !! god I’ve missed you here 😭
AND ITS MONET FOR ME TOO !! i love love LOVE his usage of colors sm and how he creates light aand how soft the strokes are, it feels so gentle and fleeting aaaa im so emotional about his art :((
also aki I’ve been laughing for the past 10 minutes over these tags pls
