Tug of war
pairing: miya atsumu x f!reader genre: fluff, minor angst warnings: none wc: 3k+
m.list.~ taglist.~
a/n: haven’t been here in a while cos i’m still finishing my kita longfic (it’s coming along, i’ll be back soonish!) so i thought i’d drop this fic in the meantime :) this fic is a combination of the requests i got for my milestone event - (atsumu, declaration of love, childhood/best friends to lovers, argument)
You meet Miya Atsumu when you move to Hyogo at the age of four.
He and his brother greet you with dirt streaked faces, and you realise they’re the irrepressible Miya twins your neighbours whispered to your parents about. Twin terrors, half-feral, tearing up the neighbourhood with their mischief, driving the more judgmental neighbours to madness. You hear about a prank involving frogs and torn pink dresses, another neighbour swears she came home to see both boys hanging upside down from the tree in her front yard. Your parents should have kept you away from them but you’re their only child, more inclined to savagery than dainty tea parties, so they let you run wild, run smack into them on the playground.
“I wanna play with you”, you shout defiantly, ducking under the slides to chase after them.
Osamu agrees almost immediately. He’s sweeter than his twin, politer too, but Atsumu only groans.
“A girl’s just gonna slow us down”, he whines loudly, sticking his tongue at you.
“I’d beat you in a race”, you challenge as his eyes narrow.
“Deal”, he answers, flying off immediately as you screech at how unfair he bloody well is.
You lose to him, of course, and you keep losing until Osamu gets tired of your bickering and just includes you in all their games of tag and pranks anyway. You thank him with biscuits that your mama made, and instantly win his grubby little heart.
Atsumu still resents your presence, resents the fact that his dynamic duo has now become a trio. His snarls at you are a little more restrained but he still preens whenever he outruns you, compares you to a gremlin unkindly. Still, you are undeterred.
You pull him towards you, he pushes you away. That’s just how things go.
He sneers at you, calls you a useless little girl despite Osamu and you ganging up to pummel him into the ground, attitude unchanged until he breaks the heads off your favourite dolls when he and Osamu pop over to play. Osamu asks shyly if you could hold a tea party with him. You know him well enough by then to discern that he just wants an excuse to stuff his face with the pastries and cookies your okaa-san made, but you oblige him anyway, seating your dolls around him in a solemn half circle.
He holds your gaze when he snaps their plastic heads off, expects you to shriek and cry, call for your okaa-san, vow never to play with him again. Instead, there’s a gleam in your eye that sparks sudden fear, so much so that he barely registers the flash of a chubby fist until it slams into his cheek.
“Tsumu, jus’ admit she got ya good”, Osamu remarks, amused at how his brother thrashes and kicks to no avail.
“Never!” he yelps, squashed beneath you, cheeks burning at the indignity of being pinned down and sat on by a little girl his own age.
You yank at his hair. “Never?” you question sweetly, fingers digging into his sides, Osamu cackling as Atsumu squeals like a pig. “You wanna admit you lost now?”
Atsumu will never forget having to bow and apologise out loud to each maligned now-headless doll.
It’s a game of tug of war - you’ve won the first round.
Your parents enrol you in the same elementary school, the same middle school, and out of habit you apply to Inarizaki High with your boys. Your restless energy gets channelled into student council and your studies, while the boys fall head over heels for volleyball, though you suspect Osamu’s true love will always be food. They spend hours trying to achieve the impossible, resisting the gravity of polished wooden floors in an attempt to fly.
Still, you refuse to allow them to grow distant from you. You wait in the library until their practice ends, walking back with either or both of them. You kick their shins over bowls of steaming rice and curry to remind them about homework, begrudgingly allow them to peek at your assignments. You credit your tutoring skills with the fact that they managed to pass their classes despite their brains being filled with nothing but volleyball (and food, in ‘Samu’s case).
Osamu reciprocates, ruffles your hair, packs you delicious bentos, tells you you’re the sibling he wished he had. You punch his shoulder, pinch his cheek, matching grin on your face. Atsumu on the other hand bickers and teases, doesn’t treat you any more than his annoying childhood friend. He wheedles you into not marking him late for class despite oversleeping half the days of the term, complains when you slap the back of his head for being rude to his fangirls and refuses to lend you his jacket when it gets chilly.
It doesn’t even register to Atsumu that you are a girl until the Matsuri festival at the end of your first year of high school. It’s a tradition you’ve had - attending the summer festival as a trio, stop Osamu from spending all his pocket money on takoyaki and yakisoba, scout for the best spot to watch fireworks.
But this time, your mother insisted you wear a yukata since you’re a young lady now. You listen to your mother for once. It’s a simple garment, pastel blue with pink sakura print, but it’s such a departure from your usual attire of a blouse and shorts that Atsumu’s brain short circuits when you first appear.
You’re pretty - his traitorous mind notes, even as you complain that the long skirt impedes your movements.
“Yer wearin’ a skirt” he manages to choke out, minutes later.
“I wear a skirt in school”, you point out impatiently. “Shut your mouth, you’ll catch flies - race ya to the shrine, loser has to buy mochi for the winner!”
You take off. Atsumu loses a race for the first time. Osamu merely chuckles to himself when he watches his brother’s brain fry itself to a crisp when you hike up your skirt to scale a tree later that night.
If it’s a game of tug of war, he finally figures out that he has a rope in his hands in the second year of high school.
You shriek at him when he and Osamu turn up on your front step with dyed hair. They merely laugh at you. Laugh’s on them - mere hours later, you corner Atsumu in his bathroom waving expensive shampoo and conditioner threateningly, forcing him to sit on a stool between your legs as you wash his hair. You insist he goes first, trusting Osamu more not to flee into the night.
“Waste of money”, you grumble, rubbing shampoo into his hair. “Just cos’ you wanna look good to your fangirls -”
“Aww, are ya jealous”, he teases, yelping as you yank at his hair roughly.
“Don’t you call them squealin’ pigs, you nasty boy”, you reply flatly. “I know you too well - you just wanted to look cool without thinking it through.”
“Ya admit I look cool like this!” he crows, preening until you tug his ear, muttering more complaints under your breath.
It’s nice, for the lack of a better word, he supposes, turning to contemplate the situation he’s found himself in. It’s not unfamiliar - the three of you have taken baths together for most of elementary school, but it’s different. He’s positioned between your legs, the soft skin of your thighs warm against the sides of his arms, and he nearly moans aloud when you run your fingers through his hair, rake your nails against his scalp.
He doesn’t say thank you when you’re done with him, just breathlessly asks if you’ll do it again for him.
“You’re shameless”, you snort helplessly, asking him to call his brother in for his turn.
“Is that a yes?” he asks, the funny feeling in his stomach blooming when you mumble a begrudging fine, and tell him that you’ll come around again next week, spoilt brat.
That same funny feeling in his belly erupts into a storm when he overhears Kita complimenting you for helping the volleyball club get the practice schedule he’d applied for, growling when he hears you giggle and reply breathlessly that you’re just doing your job as the secretary of the student council.
He corners you after practice. “D’ya think Kita-san is good looking?”
You look at him like he’s grown a third head. Handsome Kita Shinsuke is the talk of all the girls in school, and some of the boys. You’re not blind to his attractiveness.
“Yes”, you answer without hesitation, tacking on a sly - “of course!”
“Whaddya mean!” he shouts indignantly, stomping his foot as you dash away laughing.
Osamu just rolls his eyes, drags him by the back of his jacket back home.
“Ya should just tell her how ya feel”, he says, munching on a pork bun he snagged on the way home.
“Don’t know what yer talkin’ about”, Atsumu snaps, kicking at a pebble viciously.
“Whatever you say”, Osamu replies, shrugging. His smile only grows as Atsumu sulks his way through dinner, only perking up when you barge into his room the next morning to shout at him for oversleeping for school yet again.
He falls ill with a cold and is sent home unceremoniously by Kita. He hates missing any practice, even if he’s feeling unwell, but he can’t overrule his captain so he heads home.
Osamu must have texted you, because half an hour later, you shimmy through his bedroom window, running a cool hand over his forehead before you even say hello.
“Stupid boy”, he hears you say, watches you with bleary eyes as you grab a cold tower to press against his hot cheeks. “Should’ve stayed home if you were so ill.”
“Wanted to play”, he mumbles, shifting to lay his head on your lap. It’s the best pillow in the world, he thinks.
“Of course you did”, you say fondly, combing your fingers through his hair, the familiar action settling his heavy breath.
“Stay with me?” he asks, as sleep overcomes him.
“Always”, you whisper, when you’re sure he’s fast asleep.
He feels much better when he wakes, especially when you’re still there, head drooping, the book you were reading long forgotten over your snores. It feels right to brush his thumb over your cheek, tuck your hair tenderly behind the shell of your ear.
He’s starting to decipher how he feels about you. He learns to tug gradually at the rope, wants to tug you over, claim his prize.
But Atsumu is a dolt. He assumes that you’ll always have his back, be firmly by his side, and doesn't understand that he is soon reaching a crossroads where it’s all too easy for you to slip away. He’s single minded in his pursuit of throwing the ball into the sun, so the third year comes and goes, you’re still just his childhood best friend.
You don’t say anything because it’s Atsumu.
“You can confess to him if you like”, you say flatly when yet another one of his fangirls pester you for advice. “But don’t cry if he turns you down. He only cares for volleyball right now.”
You assume the same applies to you - and that even if he’d be interested in love, he’d be blind to you as he’s always been. It’s easier that way than to swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment. You’d rather spare yourself and your friendship that. Besides, you too are busy with club activities, homework, university applications - because like Atsumu and Osamu, you need to figure out what to do with your life.
The dam breaks when Osamu declares he isn’t following his brother to turn pro.
Atsumu yells, Osamu remains resolute.
Hell, they even brawled during school hours, the hapless Ginjima sprinting over to collect you in the hopes that you could break the fight up, Suna just chortling and continuing to film when you roll your sleeves up, hop right into the fray. Your childhood repeats itself - you push Osamu back, whilst you sit yourself down on Atsumu, but you forget he’s six foot tall and you’re very much not, so he pushes you off, the fight continuing until one of them (they’re still fighting who’s truly responsible) elbows you hard in the stomach, and you fall back, winded.
They both freeze, staring at you as you slowly rise to your feet, your expression dark and angry.
“You guys are both IDIOTS!” you roar, resisting the urge to stomp your feet. “Go sort yourselves out like adults for once!”
Then you storm off, and refuse to speak to either of them until they apologise.
Osamu expresses his remorse with your favourite cream puffs, which you accept with a smile and a tweak of his nose. Atsumu on the other hand, mumbles his apologies with a nervous bob of his throat, a boyish smile breaking across his face when you punch his chest lightly, calling him silly, like you always do.
His reaction to his brother’s decision should have clued you in to how he’d explode when he finds out you’re not following him and ‘Samu to Osaka, like you originally intended to.
“What?” he hisses, hurt written all over his face when you tell him that you’ve accepted a place to study in Tokyo, the best university for the course you’d had your eye on all throughout high school.
“You should be happy for me”, you state bluntly, hands on hips, thoroughly unimpressed by his attitude.
“I thought ya were gonna stick with us, head down to Osaka together like we always planned”, he snarls.
You recognise the four year old boy who broke your dolls out of spite. It would be easy to slap him, shock him to his senses, but you’re not sure if you truly want to anymore. Perhaps you shouldn’t rub salt in his already festering wound, but it’s been years and you are sick and tired of his greed, his need to grab and grasp even if you too, are in the wrong by breaking your promise to him.
You deserve to put yourself first.
“You’re fucking selfish, ‘Tsumu”. You snap, tone harsh even as he flinches back. “If you and ‘Samu are entitled to chase your dreams, then so am I. Even if that means leavin’ you, I think that’s a price I’m happy to pay.”
You slam the door in his face, refuse to talk to him until you graduate. It’s no longer a game if you refuse to play it anymore.
You put him out of your mind. It isn’t easy when he lives right down the street but you try your best, filling your time with packing and planning and pre-reading for university, even as memories of gap-toothed smiles and dirt streaked cheeks float stubbornly through your mind.
“I told ya he’s a piece of shit”, Samu drawls when he bangs down your door to congratulate you with his latest experiment, a match swiss roll, beautifully baked to perfection. It’s your favourite flavour, and you’re so excited you don’t even raise any objections when he suggests eating it out of the box, right on your bedroom floor.
“I know”, you respond much later when you’ve stuffed yourself full of cake, pausing to wipe away the dollop of cream from the corner of his mouth before sighing. “Sometimes I think life would’ve been easier if it were you instead of ‘Tsumu.”
You expect Samu to tease you for your admission, or laugh. But he just flops on his belly, taps his chin thoughtfully.
“Yer both alike in that way”, he says, dark eyes dancing with amusement. “Yer both never met a challenge ya wanted to back down from.”
Samu’s right, but then he always is. Tsumu has always desired a strong opponent on the court. You’re not much different, a moth attracted to the bright sparks of a live wire, blind to the danger it poses. You’ve been drawn to each other, challenged each other to your limits since you were mere children. It’s no different now, but you’re old enough to know better.
“I suppose”, you muse. “But if we dated instead I think my life would be a lot calmer.”
Osamu wrinkles his nose. “It’d be like dating my sister”, he says with disgust, but lets you lean your head on his shoulder anyway.
The last day of school comes and goes, and you graduate from high school in a swirl of pink and white petals.
You bow to your teachers, accept their well wishes and congratulations with grace. They wave you off, tell you to celebrate with your classmates, take endless photos under the cherry blossom tree - and you do, with your student council friends, your classmates, with Samu, with Suna, even with the hapless Ginjima. But you make yourself scarce whenever you spot the familiar head of blonde at the corner of your eye, and it’s easier to tell your parents that you’d like to celebrate with them, alone.
You’re already in your pyjamas when you hear your window rattle. Out of instinct, you slide it open.
“Did you really climb the drain pipe?” you demand incredulously as Miya Atsumu pushes his way past you, collapses onto the floor with a dramatic groan.
“Didn’t want yer okaa-san to start questionin’ me”, he answers with a laugh, as if he hadn’t torn a rift in your friendship with his own bare hands.
You remember belatedly that you don’t want to see him, let alone talk to him.
“You shouldn’t be here”, you state flatly, but he doesn’t take the hint.
He grabs your wrist, drops something cold and round and hard into the center of your palm. You gasp when you unfurl your fingers.
A brown button. From his blazer, more likely than not.
“Tis the second button”, he says, voice a low quiver, gaze never leaving your face. “But ya can have the rest if ya want, I saved them all for ya. It’s always meant to be yers ever since we were four years old.”
You glance up at him beneath your lashes, suddenly shy before the boy you’ve known almost all your life. Perhaps it feels different because he’s honest, vulnerable with you for the first time.
“I’m moving to Tokyo in a few weeks.”
“Osaka’s not that far away, we’d make it work.”
“It’ll be hard -”
“I promise it’ll be worth it.”
He’s offering you your side of the rope. You pick it up, relish the familiar weight in your palm.
“You’d better, or I’d sit on you again”, you say almost crossly, and he laughs, liquid honey pooling in his eyes.
“As if I’d consider that a punishment now”, he whispers playfully against your lips, making heat rise in your cheeks, drawing you onto his lap as you exchange promises for the future.
There is plenty to talk about, plenty to figure out. But despite the distance that will separate the two of you, you’re hopeful. He’s never given up on something he’s bent on chasing, and you’ve never met a challenge you’ve backed down from - so perhaps it’s a game worth working at, a game of tug of war where you both get to win.
