“He learned too late that love doesn’t survive on almosts.”
Osamu Miya was never the loud one.
Atsumu stole the spotlight, shined in every room, demanded the world to look at him—but you? You always looked at Osamu. Quietly. Softly. Like he was enough.
For a long time, he believed that was true.
You were there when he first dreamed of Onigiri Miya. When he burned rice the first three weeks. When he cried, not from cutting onions, but from the fear that his dream was too big and he was too small. When he opened the shop and only three customers came that day, yet you still clapped like he won a championship.
He remembered your voice. “You’re doing great, ‘Samu.”
He remembered how safe it felt.
But dreams became work, and work became routine, and routine became exhaustion that sat heavy on the bones. You still visited the shop nightly, waiting at the corner table. Your smile warm, patient, glowing with the kind of tenderness Osamu thought would never fade.
He told himself you understood when he locked up late.
He told himself you understood when he forgot anniversaries.
He told himself you understood all the things he stopped saying.
Because you were gentle. Because you loved him.
Because you always had.
But love doesn’t survive on assumptions.
The first crack came the night you waited two hours outside the shop because he “swore he’d be quick cleaning.” He forgot. He forgot you were outside. He forgot he told you to come. He forgot your messages because Atsumu had called.
When he finally emerged—tired, smelling of frying oil, eyes heavy—he saw you shivering in the cold. He rushed over, apologies tumbling out “It’s not… it’s okay, ‘Samu. Really.” But your voice trembled.
That was the first time he realized something inside you had weakened.
The second crack came three weeks later.
He came home late again, expecting you asleep on the couch like always, blanket wrapped around your legs. But you were awake. Sitting. Hands clenched on your knees, eyes distant. “Osamu,” you whispered. “Can we talk?”
But Osamu, tired and clueless, just kissed your temple and went to shower, not seeing how your shoulders had curled in, how your face had fallen apart the moment he turned away.
The third crack wasn’t a moment.
It was silence.
The kind that fills a home and hollows it out.
You stopped waiting at the shop.
You stopped texting him “be safe” on nights he closed late.
You stopped asking him to eat with you.
You stopped asking him anything at all.
Osamu noticed—of course he did. But he thought… you were just stressed.
He thought you just needed time.
He thought you still felt the same.
He didn’t realize the distance until you stopped kissing him goodnight.
He came home early one evening—he was excited, actually excited, because he closed the shop ahead of schedule. He wanted to surprise you, maybe cook dinner, maybe finally talk. Maybe fix things, even if he didn’t know what was broken.
He pushed open the door and called, “I’m home.”
You were standing by the table, hands shaking, a small duffel bag at your feet. The room spun.
“You… going somewhere?” he asked, voice cracking. You looked at him like he was a memory.
Not a person.
Not a home.
Just something that used to mean something.
“I can’t stay, Osamu.” His breath punched out “What? Why? Did something happen? Did I—tell me what’s wrong. I can fix it. I’ll fix it right now, just—just tell me.”
Tears gathered in your lashes, but they weren’t the breaking kind.
They were the final kind.
“You didn’t do anything all at once,” you whispered. “It was little things. The ones you didn’t think mattered.” Your voice trembled but didn’t break. “I waited for you, every night. I waited for you to choose us. And you kept choosing everything else, assuming I’d still be here.”
“I thought you understood,” Osamu choked.
“I did,” you said. “For so long. But somewhere along the way… I stopped being your priority. You stopped showing me that I mattered.”
Osamu stepped closer, heart hammering, chest aching in ways he didn’t know were possible.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I didn’t know it was hurting you. I didn’t know I was losing you.”
Your smile was soft. Devastating.
“You didn’t lose me all at once. You chipped away at me until there wasn’t enough left to stay.”
He fell to his knees.
Actually fell.
“Don’t go,” he said, fingers trembling around yours. “Please. Please don’t go. I’ll do better. I swear I will. Just—don’t leave me. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”
You knelt too, cupping his face, foreheads touching like it was the last place you both still remembered how to meet.
“I love you, Osamu,” you breathed. He sobbed at that.
A real, shaking sob that came from somewhere deep and raw and terrified.
“But love isn’t enough,” you whispered.
His heart shattered.
Your hands slipped from his.
Your steps were silent.
Osamu didn’t chase you.
He couldn’t—not because he didn’t want to, but because his legs wouldn’t move, his hands wouldn’t unclench from the empty space where your warmth had been.
The door closed.
And Osamu Miya stayed on the floor, staring at the place you had been, realizing too late—
He had been building a dream. while letting his home walk out the door.
[2:02 P M] [2] [Rintarou's story] [Atsumu's story] [Osamu's story] [3]- completed
[4:55 P M] - Atsumu only
[10:17 A M]- Atsumu only
[2:18 PM] - Osamu only
[3:00 PM] - Atsumu A/B/O au
[2:18 PM] - Osamyu A/B/O au
Summary: It was no secret that Osamu had more friends than Atsumu. It was natural, Osamu was nicer than his brother.
Osamu was the calm, intelligent, pleasant twin. Atsumu was the arrogant, loud, and unbearable twin, easy like that.
Atsumu was also the insecure twin, the one who overthought things, the one who listened to everything the others said and kept quiet about what he wanted to say. And, of course, Osamu was the clueless twin.
Atsumu was drowning.
Every day battling against his mother, his brother, the team and the school. He was neck-deep in water, and the smallest wave could end his attempts to stay afloat.
Lucky for Atsumu, Kyoomi felt like a breath of fresh air.
You and Atsumu have been at each other’s throats ever since Middle School. But will a reunion at the yearly volleyball camp a few years later straighten things out?
Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers
Disclaimer: All events are made-up in this story.
----
"Miya Atsumu?" You bark out a laugh, "hell no. He's too loud and obnoxious and I think that thing he does with his hair whenever he tries to flirt is dumb."
Your two friends are looking at you as though you've just ripped their entire world apart. And you have, in a sense, because this is Miya Atsumu you're talking about; volleyball player extraordinaire, best setter their school has seen in a while, and terribly charming and sexy charisma that make the girls fall and left and centre.
"You've got to be joking," Yachi Hitoka's eyes are so wide they might fall to the floor, "either that or you're the dumb one."
You scoff, "call me dumb then. I don't mind, not when he's the one involved--"
"When who's involved?"
That voice.
Your fists instantly clench atop the cafeteria tabletop and slowly releasing a breath through your nose, you turn around to see none other than the said Miya Atsumu with one palm pressed to the table so that he looms over you, a little too close for personal comfort.
"Get off," you say, glaring at him, "and that's none of your business."
"Really?" Atsumu's other hand comes to up brush through the hair upon your shoulder, only for you to slap his limb away, "I think it does, considering I'm the one you've been talking about."
"Don't worry, we weren't saying anything to feed your huge-ass ego," you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, not minding the two girls blushing to the tips of their toes, "now go and stop wasting our time."
To your frustration, Atsumu merely chuckles -- breath fanning against your skin -- before he draws back with a smirk, "see you around, princess."
Yachi releases a shriek when he's far enough, "jesus, Y/N! Why the hell would you do that?! Now he thinks we all hate him!"
You don't care. You'd rather he stays out of your hair during the whole of volley camp if you can help it.
When exactly had this relationship started turning sour, you're not quite sure. Maybe it's because you've known of his playboy tendencies since Middle School that you can't seem to admire him the way the other girls do. Maybe it's because he reminds you too much of everything that you loathe to admire in a man.
Maybe it's just because it's him.
In any case, you'd rather die than be caught with Miya Atsumu . And you say so with such confidence that your two friends have to room to argue with you.
The volleyball camp that you’re attending as Nekoma’s manager is filled to the brim with testosterone. It’s a new position, one that had never been filled before and as welcoming as the boys have been, the first few days were a bit rough when it came down to figuring out what volleyball was comprised of. Nevertheless, Nekoma’s captain Kuroo Tetsurou had adamantly set it upon himself to make you understand the entire concept of the said sport before the volleyball camp and for that you’re grateful.
It wasn’t until Nekoma was set for a practice match with Inarizaki that you had found yourself face to face with not one, but two familiar figures of your past.
“Well well well, if it isn’t who I think it is!” Miya Atsumu’s voice had boomed across the volleyball court with enough energy to have you cringe into Kuroo’s side.
Undeterred however, the blonde had instantly made his way over to your team with a cheshire grin that made your skin crawl, “been a long time, princess.”
“Hello to you too,” you’d mumbled out, unconsciously shifting closer to the Nekoma captain for comfort.
"Still as distant as ever, Y/N. Thought high school would've helped."
"It clearly didn't help your sorry ass," you'd shot back.
Atsumu burst out laughing, "so she talks! Ah, that brings back so many good memories--"
"For you maybe."
"Ah come on princess," without warning, Atsumu's arm wrung itself around your shoulder, tugging you close as your hand went up to his cheek to push him away like an aggravated kitten, "you know you missed me."
"Fuck off!" You tried wriggling out of his grip, eyes darting to find Kuroo for help, "a little help would've been nice you know!"
"You two friends?" Is what Kuroo asked instead.
"No!"
"Yea'!"
Shoving Atsumu away with a scowl that would've sent any volleyball member of Nekoma running, you hissed, "stay out of my way Miya. I mean it."
You had meant it. For one, you loathe his ego-centric, narcissist, charismatic lying gut.
And for two, you can't bring yourself to not find him attractive.
So that only ends up in you trying to avoid him everywhere you go which, in retrospect, is working out to your advantage. After all, he has practice matches all day and you are the one running around to get water for your boys, which is an ideal situation that makes it easier to breathe.
However, it also means that you end up being teased and prodded by the Nekoma boys at every chance they get.
"Ooh Y/N look it's your boyfriend," Lev sniggers behind his palm as they watch the Inarizaki team file in. No doubt that you've accustomed to seeing men of that calibre enter the court -- you had a batch of them yourself -- but you can't deny the intimidation trembling throughout the court at Inarizaki's appearance.
You don't hesitate to swat his arm, causing the tall boy to chuckle, "well ouch. I'm just telling the truth."
"Shut up, Lev. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Bet that one of them will be making their way over very soon," Yaku joins in, bottle in hand and wiping the sweat off his brow.
"Yaku, has anyone told you how short you are?” You shoot back, smirking when that instantly triggers him on the defensive, “shut up, Y/N! Boys are more than just their heights!”
"And you,” You whirl around to glare daggers at the youngest Nekoma player, “keep talking and I won’t hesitate to rip every single one of your jerseys to shreds.”
“I told you not to mess with her,” Kenma pipes in nonchalantly from the side, currently too busy winning his game to spare you a glance, “she’s not like the Karasuno managers. She actually bites.”
“I second that,” Kuroo chuckles before letting his arm fall atop your head, “right, midget?”
You make a biting motion and he retracts his arm just in time, chuckling and proceeding to ruffle your hair despite your threats about ripping his jersey instead and you’re so intent on trying to hurt Kuroo for being a bitch that you don’t notice the Miya twins until it’s too late.
"Y/N?”
Both you and Kuroo freeze in mid-scuffle as you look up in surprise at the other Miya twin.
“Osamu!” You let out a grin, retracting your hold onto the Nekoma captain in favour of standing up to greet your long-lost classmate. In comparison to Atsumu, your relationship with Osamu had always been one of general respect and mutual friends. You had hung out together during study sessions and had both volunteered to help back then during the school festival, and though you’d initially been weary about the exact replica of the other Miya twin, Osamu had proved you wrong on multiple occasions.
“How are you? It’s been a while,” you are dead set on ignoring his blonde counterpart, glad that Osamu has made an appearance so that you can rub it in Atsumu’s face even more.
“Alright, I guess. I’m surprised we’re meeting each other in these circumstances,” Osamu’s eyes have a mischievous spark, “since when were you interested in volleyball?”
“Since an old giant creep forced me to become manager,” you shoot Kuroo a pointed look then. He replies with a grin of his own as you continue, “I’m glad though, or I wouldn’t have had the chance to see you--”
Atsumu is quick to interrupt, “how come I didn’t get this kind of greeting, princess?”
You roll your eyes, “do you want me to fall at your feet like all the girls you’ve been flirting with during camp?”
“Oh so you’ve noticed?” He asks with a wriggle of his brows.
Asshole. You fold your arms across your chest with a sigh, “what are you doing here, Atsumu? Don’t you have better things to do? Like flaunt your peacock feathers at your fanbase?”
Osamu can’t help but stifle his laughter into his palm while his twin raises a brow, “you sure have a tongue, princess. Don’t worry, we’ll see how to put it to good use.”
And with a suggestive wink he saunters away, leaving you flushing a bright tomato red as you can’t help but roar out, “oh piss off, you stupid overgrown blonde!”
“I see that the two of you are as close as ever,” Osamu remarks in amusement.
“Tell your brother that he can do me a favour and make as if we don’t know each other,” you snap back, “otherwise I’m not sure I can promise not to murder him.”
“Ya know he doesn’t actually hate you,” the grey-haired twin points out.
“He came over to insult me!”
“He likes doin’ that, you know how he is,” Osamu says with a sheepish grin, “anyway, I’ll see you later. Try not to kill him off during the week alright?”
It’s a promise that you’re not sure you can keep, but you grumble out your agreement anyway and Osamu chuckles, giving you a quick squeeze on the shoulder before jogging back to his side of the court. When you turn back towards your team though, you are more than surprised at the mischief and interest glittering in all of Nekoma’s eyes.
“Someone’s got it going good,” Kuroo taunts.
“Hm, I smell a date in the near future,” Yaku adds jokingly.
“So, not just Atsumu, but Osamu as well?” Yamamoto strokes his chin in a semblance of deep thought, “you sure know how to play your cards right-- oof!”
You interrupt him with a kick to the leg, nostrils flaring and anger pulsing through your veins and making you see red, “I want nothing to do with that blonde-haired jackass,” you snarl while barging your way through, “now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pee.”
You manage to push your way past the horde of boys to stumble out into the midday sun, away from the commotion of banging balls and the squeal of shoes against the court.
You can already feel a migraine coming, and you groan.
This is going to be a long week.
----
The week is crawling by at a snail's pace, filled with day-to-day activities set out for the teams. By the end of Wednesday evening, you barely have any voice left to cheer for Nekoma and your feet hurt from constantly scuffling around for water and spare balls and towels whenever the boys need them.
Not to forget a certain blonde-haired young man who seems all too keen to corner you whenever you least expect it.
You bump into him at the water fountain whenever he's out filling Inarizaki's bottles in-between matches, always taunting you with those lazy feline smirks and teasing you and anything and everything he can find.
"We meet again princess," he'd say breathlessly, watching you dump your stash and proceeding to open up a tap beside his, "bet you weren't expectin’ such a feast for your eyes this morning."
You roll your eyes as you place one bottle under the faucet, "why are you here?"
"Obviously ‘cause I want to."
"You know what I mean."
"Well, our team isn't lucky enough to have a cute manager to handle them," you don't have to look at him to know that he's broken into a cocky grin.
You shove the next bottle underneath the tap with more force than necessary, "wouldn't expect anyone to deal with your kind of bull, to be honest."
He gasps mockingly, "wow, you hurt me. Then again, you've never been one to show your affection so easily."
"Oh really?" You scoff, still adamantly turned away when you hear a splash.
You do the mistake of glancing back, eyes widening upon seeing Atsumu in his shirtless glory. You quickly swivel around with a yelp dying in the back of your throat.
"Wh--What the heck, Atsumu," you can't help but stammer, "this is a public space!"
"As far as I know, I'm not indecent," his chuckle is dark, yet amusing, "yet."
"Shut up! Just-- Just put something on!"
"Oh come on princess. Surely you've seen all the Nekoma boys strutting around shirtless," he's closer now, you can feel it. And out of impulse you try to stumble away when a warm hand encircles your wrist before swivelling you around.
"Oh?" Atsumu's so close that you can feel his breaths against your face, golden eyes dancing with delight, "you're blushing? Never thought I'd see the day."
You swallow thickly, trying your best to pull back as heat overtakes the back of your neck, "l--let me go you ass."
"Ya know, I kinda like how you're lookin' up close though," he leans even closer and you tilt back, dangerously close to falling if not for the iron grip on your wrist, "kinda cute."
Then, as abruptly as though you'd electrified him, Atsumu drops your hand, turns away to grab the rest of his now filled bottles, before sending you a wink, "see ya around, princess."
Or during meal time for instance, where he'll always find a way to cut in line just to bug you as you are making your way through the food section.
"That's not good for you," he'll eye the banana tart like it's poison, "you don't even exercise. Where's all that sugar gonna go?"
"Mind your own business," you'll snap back without bothering to look at him and hurrying your way through the buffet just to escape the said setter.
And more often times than not, you'll bump into him late in the evening when you're cooped up in the common room reading your book and he'll find his way to get a glass of milk in the kitchen.
"I seriously think you're stalking me," Atsumu remarks for the nth time he spots you in the same position, same spot, "that, or you just like seeing me."
"The world doesn't revolve around you," comes your answer as you turn your page.
After heating up his milk in the microwave, there's a slight hesitation before he pads over to where you sit on the couch. He drops his weight onto the other end and the material dips beneath you. Still, you ignore him.
"Whatcha readin' ?"
"Like I said," you turn another page, "none of your business."
"Ah come on," he groans, " I've been nothin' but nice to you during camp."
"Nice? You call bugging me nice?"
"I'm just teasin', princess. Don't take it so personally."
"I do. Now scram. Your voice is annoying."
"Jeez. You're annoying," he downs his milk with a pout and you glance over, lips twitching as you notice a white foam over his upper lip.
"Hey Santa," you call out jokingly, making Atsumu frown before checking his reflection in his phone.
"Ha ha," he rolls his eyes and you can't help but burst out laughing because he looks completely ridiculous. Before you know it Atsumu's joining in with his soft chuckles, eyes crinkling up at the corners and taking five years off his age.
"So she laughs, too," he says as he grabs a tissue from the coffee table to wipe his upper lip, "I'm going to ask again so try to be nice about it; whatcha' readin'?"
Old you would've been irritated by his pushiness, but considering that he's been tolerable so far, you decide to entertain him.
That night, you find yourself bidding him goodnight long past curfew and try to fall asleep without thinking of the way his brown orbs shone in the dim golden light of the corridor.
Nevertheless, the lack of sleep catches up to you the next day. Your movements are slower, sluggish, and you've got visible dark patches under your eyes. So it doesn't come as a surprise when you barely have time to react to a volleyball shooting straight for your face.
"Y/N watch out!" You hear Kuroo yell--
Too late. The ball hits you square in the face.
Pain explodes through your nose.
Body flying backwards and hitting the ground with a sickening crunch, you barely feel the impact since the throbbing fire burning through your nose and traveling to your eyes makes you gasp, tears gathering at the corners. Voices are head crying your name, except there's nothing you can hear apart from the echoing ache pulsating through the back of your head down your back.
Arms come around you, gripping your shoulders in a tight grip, "Y/N! Fuck--You okay?! Let me see!"
Someone tears your hand away from your face and that's when you notice the blood staining your fingers. You blink, disoriented, as a familiar face comes into focus.
Miya Atsumu, of all people.
"Fuck, you're bleedin'!" He doesn't waste time gathering you up in his arms while hollering, "out of the way! Move!"
You try to see past the sea of blurred faces as the said man barges through the crowd suddenly gathered in the middle of the court. You note Kenma's worried expression, Kuroo's back as he helps Atsumu push forward, and what seems to be the rest of the team following behind. But despite your valiant attempts to keep the pain from drowning you altogether, your eyelids slowly start falling shut, head slowly lolling towards a warm chest.
Atsumu's chest.
"Hey hey, no sleepin' princess," Atsumu's voice is breathless, echoing through your ear, "come on, stay with me. Stay--"
That's when you black out.
----
"Y/N."
Eyes slowly peeling open against the heaviness of your lids, your gaze falls upon the horde of Nekoma boys gaping at you a little too close for comfort.
You want to yelp, but a groan slips from your lips instead. Your head feels like it weighs ten times its weight and as you lift a hand to your forehead, Kuroo quickly moves to grab your fingers, "s'alright, Y/N. You're okay."
"What..." your eyes flit from one face to another, "happened?"
"You got hit," Yamamoto's voice is choked up, "Inarizaki were serving. That ugly bleach-haired asshole is going to pay--"
"Shut up, Yamamoto," Yaku is quick to slap the back of his head, "he didn't do it on purpose."
"How do you feel, Y/N?" Lev asks tearfully.
"Dumb question. Of course she doesn't feel good," Kenma comments.
"How's your head?" Asks Kuroo.
"It hurts a little. But I feel like my nose is the size of a volleyball."
The team members chuckle as Yaku is quick to reassure you, "don't worry Y/N. It was before the nurse iced it. But now it's just very bruised."
"How bad?"
You don't fail to notice the way they all exchange glances, and you let out a sigh, "I look stupid, don't I?"
"You crazy?! You're still the prettiest manager even with that stupid bandage in the middle of your face!" yells Yamamoto with such passion you can't help but chuckle, "thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."
It takes you the entire afternoon to finally gain the strength back in your body, and when you manage to stumble into the bathroom with the nurse's help, you choke back on your spit at the big gigantic bruise that covers the left side of your face. It makes you look like you have a black eye and the sight is so terrifyingly disastrous that you quickly lumber back towards your bed.
Despite your impatience, the nurses order you to take a rest for the rest of the evening for fear that there might still be some side effects from the hit. Your face had taken a pretty bad blow and for that, you're quite happy to stay nestled in the nurse's quarters so that you don't have to face anyone for the moment. God knows you look ridiculous.
"Can I see her?"
A voice echoes from the other side of your door. It's around dusk, from the way the sky is slowly darkening in deep shades of purple and blue.
Strange, for Nekoma had told you they'd be practicing until late today and would come pick you up at night time when there were no wandering eyes around.
So if this isn't anyone from Nekoma, then who--
The door slides open to reveal none other than Miya Atsumu.
Your muscles tense out of impulse before memories of what transpired earlier suddenly flash before your eyes:
You. On the ground. Atsumu's chest. His warmth.
"Hey," your gaze snaps up to see the blonde with freshly washed hair, wet tips dripping down his dark t-shirt that does nothing to hide the curvature of muscle in his arms.
You quickly avert your eyes, "hey."
He takes a seat by your bedside, looking more worn out than you'd ever seen him. For once in your life, it seems like the blonde has nothing to say or doesn't know what to say. It makes your stomach uneasy.
"How...how d'ya feel?" His murmur is so soft you barely hear it leave his lips.
"I'm okay," you bite down on your lower lip, "I look ridiculous though."
The silence that follows is deafening. Atsumu shifts in his seat, swallows, and you can't stand this suddenly meek young man any longer.
So you decide to go straight to the point, "what are you doing here, Atsumu?"
Another pause where he squirms, clearing his throat and looking away in what seems to be embarrassment.
When he speaks next, his voice is barely above a murmur, "I'm sorry."
You straighten slightly. Big mistake since it makes your bruise pulsate and causes you to hiss, Atsumu's arms quickly weaving around your frame to help.
"What for?" You mumble out, trying not to think of how good he smells, of how close he is to you.
Goddamnit. If only he wasn't such an ass then you would've jumped straight into his open arms.
In any other world, he would've been the perfect prince charming.
"For hurting you. Shit Y/N, look at your face," Atsumu's voice chokes up, "I--I looked away for one second. I didn't know-- I didn't see ya--"
"Hey hey," you're quick to cup his face with your hands, chest tightening at the glassiness of his eyes, "it's fine. I'm fine."
"I swear if I'd broken your nose I--jesus," his own fingers come up to brush softly against your cheekbone right underneath your bruise, "yer pretty face lookin' bad enough as it is--"
It seems he realizes what he's sprouted the same time as you do, for you quirk up a brow while asking, "you find me pretty?"
He grumbles softly under his breath and all too soon he's released you from his grip, your hands falling to your lap as he settles back on the stool, "don't flatter yourself."
"Damn Atsumu. If I knew you'd go soft on me I would've gladly received a volleyball in my face anytime."
"Dunno what you're talkin' about."
"Oh come on," you tilt your head playfully in an attempt to catch his eyes, which are adamantly glued to the hospital window, "you're so guilty it's written all over your face."
"Shut up, Y/N."
"You're blushing."
"I--I'm not!"
Chuckling at the red blaze scattered across his cheeks in contrast to the denial in his features, you say, “s’alright. It’s actually not that bad despite how it looks.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yeah, whenever I move too quickly. Otherwise it’s tolerable,” you nudge your chin towards your bedside table, “the nurse gave me some antibiotics for the pain.”
He nods. Then, quickly says, “ya not gonna sue me, are you?”
"Sure I will. You did leave a big scar after all.”
“Thought your injury would’ve toned down your attitude a little.”
“It takes more than a volleyball in the face to take me down,” you grin, before wincing as pain sparks through your eye and travels up your forehead, “I, for one, would think that you wouldn’t be an ass if you saw me in such a state. How wrong I was.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that ya talk too much?” he says that while pushing back some stray hairs from your face. You wouldn’t have guessed him to be of the gentle kind and his action takes you by surprise.
“Did anyone tell you that your head is shaped like an egg?” you shoot back, though with a smile that only widens as Atsumu lets out a warm laugh.
It must be a first to see him -- to see his face -- crinkling up like that. You decide that you kind of like it more than the usual scowl he sports during your squabbles.
“I’m alright, really,” you repeat again for good measure, “stop feeling sorry for me. It’s not a good look on you.”
He rolls his eyes, though a smile betrays his words, “and here I thought we could actually get along, ya know?”
And the thing is, you do get along. Behind the nasty comments and the snarky attitude that constantly makes you want to tear your hair out, you realize that Atsumu isn’t so bad to be around after all. He helps you walk out of the nurse’s office when she checks in to sign you out, an arm draped around your waist in support despite your blatant efforts to push him away. You’d resigned soon enough when pain had coursed through your face with every sharp movement made and unconsciously sink closer to him the more you advance.
He notices your tiredness, stopping to give you a once-over, “does it hurt?”
You shake your head, but he sees right through you. So you nod once, "a little."
Glancing down at the heat of his fingers radiating through the material of your shirt, you can't help feeling all flustered at your sudden closeness.
Which only escalates when he swoops in -- one hand under your knees and the other upon your back -- to carry you in his arms without even a second's hesitation.
"Wh--hey!" You try glaring at him, to no avail. Atsumu merely chuckles as he resumes walking, "relax, princess. Not gonna eat ya."
You swear if you'd been well enough to kick him, you would've. Instead, you have to settle for a scowl that clearly does nothing to intimidate him while forcing your thoughts away from the sudden rush of blood roaring through your veins and causing your heart to cartwheel in place.
Miya Atsumu isn't so bad after all.
----
"Okay. Something has to be going on."
"Huh?" You glance at Yachi through the pile of newly-washed jerseys currently residing in your arms.
A few days have passed since your accident and you've slowly managed to get back into your manager duties with the help of the Nekoma boys. They have been more considerate ever since, helping you lug dirty laundry for instance, or always ensuring that you're nowhere near the ball every time there's a match playing.
"He's here again," Yachi mutters under her breath, albeit loudly enough for you to look up and see Miya Atsumu walking up the corridor in your direction.
"He's been doing that a lot lately," you reply while biting your lip and shifting the pile in your arms, "maybe he feels guilty."
"Or whipped."
"Princess," Atsumu calls out before you have a chance to defend yourself, and you turn to face him fully as he comes to a stop with an amused smile.
"You know, skipping practice to come here is--"
"Practice ended a few minutes ago," he's quick to answer, grabbing the basket from your arms. He nods at Yachi politely, "ya need some help too?"
"N-No! I'm fine! Perfectly fine!" Yachi's face bursts with a blush, "y-you guys go ahead! I have-- I forgot something!"
And she dashes down the hall before you can protest any further.
Atsumu nudges you to follow him, "someone's in a hurry."
"That's because she's scared of you," rolling your eyes and matching his steps, you note the way his pace considerably slows down for your sake. It makes your heart flutter slightly.
Yachi isn't wrong. Ever since your accident, it feels like Atsumu is constantly hovering over you whether it's to tease you or flirt with you. Lord, you'd never imagine saying that the Miya Atsumu is after your attention but here you are, always being cornered when you least expect it and countlessly bumping into him.
By "coincidence" as he likes to call it.
Not that you're complaining. But you do feel slightly guilty every time butterflies suddenly overtake your tummy. It would be a lie to say that there isn’t something particularly enchanting about Miya Atsumu, but you don’t want to go there. You don’t want to cook up the multiple scenarios you might have swimming in the back of your head, for fear that you might face a bigger disappointment if it doesn’t align with your kind of reality.
After all, Miya Atsumu is a known flirt.
It's just so...weird. You're not used to having him being nicer, more playful than usual, not used to his incessant winks and flirtatious remarks that heat up your cheeks and cause you to stutter.
Like during practice for instance. Somehow, he'll find your gaze amidst the countless people in the court and wink before his every serve. That is enough to male your entire face combust with heat.
Or when he swoops into the seat next to yours at the cafeteria despite being surrounded by the Nekoma boys. At some point, he even tries feeding you salmon from his own chopsticks that had resulted in a round of whistles from your said team.
"Y/N, I honestly think he has a thing for you," Kenma points out at one point during Inarizaki vs Karasuno's practice match, "he keeps on looking over here."
"He just feels bad," you stammer out with flushed cheeks.
"Please, if he felt bad he wouldn't be flirting with you like his life depends on it," Kuroo adds from your other side. Resting his cheek into his palm, he grins at you through his raven hair, "we're boys, remember? We know about these things."
You try not to show how flustered you are, until Kenma adds, "Well, tell him to man up and confess already. All his winking is making me uncomfortable."
If you had any doubts about Kenma and Kuroo's speculations, then Atsumu's actions on one particular night during the second week is enough to confirm your suspicions.
It starts out quite casually, the way Inarizaki now eats with Nekoma and Karasuno at every meal. Atsumu makes it so that he manages to either sit by your side or opposite you, which doesn't help the permanent heat blazing through your cheeks.
So on that particular night after dessert has been served and all teams have gathered around tables for some idle chitchat, you quietly excuse yourself in favour of going back to the dormitory. It had been a long first week and honestly, you are in no mood to talk to anyone at the moment.
What you haven't noticed though, is the particular shadow of the inarizaki setter following closely behind. That is, until he coughs and almost makes your heart jump right out of your chest.
"What the-- Atsumu?!" You hold a hand to your heart, "why are you creeping up on me like that?!"
"Sorry. I was--uh--I was headin' in the same direction," he stutters, hand going to ruffle the hair at the back of his neck, "d'you-- we can walk together."
There has never been a moment where you thought you would've seen the sight of an embarrassed Atsumu. But standing here before you now is the said young man, averting his eyes and looking like he wishes to be anywhere else but here.
"Uh sure," you shrug it off, though trying to ignore how hard your heart suddenly starts beating.
Slowly, you fall into step as a comfortable silence fills up the evening air. It feels...unsettling, considering that you can't usually keep Atsumu's mouth shut. It makes you slightly awkward, not knowing how to go about bickering with him when he's not being outrightly sarcastic.
"Cat got your tongue?" You finally decide to inquire, quickly glancing up at him to realize he is already gazing down at you with an undecipherable look in his eyes.
Heat erupts through your cheeks, "wh-what? Why're you looking at me like that?"
"Nothing," he looks away with a semblance of a smile on his lips, "just tired."
Tired and Atsumu don't rhyme. You tell him so, to which he scoffs, "well quiet and Y/N don't rhyme but here we are."
"I can be quiet!"
“Not with me you’re not."
"That's because you're a first-class asshole. I can't help but want to put you back in your place."
He chuckles before nudging you playfully, "come on, your camp experience would've been so boring without me."
Humming in agreement, you cock your head to the side, "guess you're right. Although... you hitting me in the face wasn't something I'd call pleasurable."
It is only then that you feel the warmth of his hand brushing against yours. Maybe it’s your imagination, that his fingers are edging closer and closer with each passing second. But all your doubts are thrown to the wind the moment he manages to weave his hand through, palm to palm, as he looks down at you with such open, vulnerable tenderness it sucks out all the air from your lungs.
“I’m sorry about that,” his voice is quiet as the pair of you continue to walk towards your dormitory. You try not to think too much about the heat of his palm, the rough calluses of his thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles, “ya know I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” you laugh a little, if only to distract yourself from getting all flustered while trying your best not to hold eye contact. Your brain is going haywire, wondering why why why is he fucking holding--caressing your hand like there’s something more to it? “I know you’re a dick, but not that much of a dick.”
He bumps your shoulder, pouting slightly, “ ‘m not a dick,” he mutters.
A soft breeze whistles through the courtyard, ruffling against your figures as he continues, “that day, I hit that ball pretty hard. Seeing you lyin’ there unconscious, I--” he takes a shaky inhale, looks up at the night sky. His hand is so warm and rough from calluses, so strong in comparison to yours, “I thought the worst, princess.”
“Well I’m here now,” you say confidently, “and that’s over and done with. You’ve apologized. Let’s move on.”
"Yea’ but...” trailing off and halting so that you have no choice but to follow, your head tilts up in time to feel his other hand reaching for your cheekbone. Softly, like you’re made of broken glass, Atsumu’s thumb brushes against the now faded bruise along your skin.
You try moving out of his grip, “don’t,” your mumble is barely above a whisper, “it’s ugly.”
“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Atsumu merely chuckles before cupping your cheek fully into his palm and pulling you so close that the warmth of his chest spreads onto yours. The playful smile returns to his lips, honey eyes glimmering like a little boy, “’yer pretty no matter what.”
“oh shut up--”
He chuckles as embarrassment floods through your cheeks. You try in vain to look anywhere but into his golden orbs molten with such intense emotion that butterflies flutter in your stomach.
His nose brushes yours and you flinch back on impulse, but a hand slips up the back of your neck, stopping you from moving any further away.
The redness in your cheeks multiply tenfold, “are you flirting with me?”
“Somethin’ like that,” his murmur is hoarse.
Air thickens, so thick it’s hard to breathe. You’re not sure what to do, what to say.
Is it awkward? Is it supposed to be?
All you can think of is the heat radiating from Atsumu’s being, the searing emotion building in the pit of your stomach the more you try not to stare into Atsumu’s golden eyes.
“Chill out sweetheart,” he murmurs out with a chuckle, “your heart’s beating so fast.”
You jut your chin out defiantly, despite knowing how red you must probably be, “Then do something about it.”
"Do something?”
“Yeah. Do something.”
“Ya sure about that?”
You hesitate, “yeah.”
That’s when he kisses you.
And not just to prove a point. Or rather, you’d wish it wasn’t to prove a point. But the way his lips curve along yours with such gentleness has you thinking that his intentions are more than just this friendly rivalry. He kisses you like he’s scared you might just run away if he presses too hard, and though there’s a small voiced panic beeping at the back of your mind, your eyes seem to close on their own accord to kiss him back.
A breath dies at the back of Atsumu’s throat -- what sounds like a relieved sigh -- and before you know it he’s kissing you deeper, harder, pressing you back against the dormitory wall and consuming every single piece of you like a man desperate -- hungry -- for your love.
You can’t help but gasp when his mouth suckles upon your bottom lip, hands instinctively grabbing at the base of his scalp and tugging at his hair. He grunts in response but doesn’t stop making love to your mouth. Tongue slipping easily through your parted lips as his hands squeeze your hips, he lets out a soft moan at how your tongue curls around his, a clashing dance of heat and passion.
It’s warm, and it’s getting warmer with every second that passes. Fireworks are exploding along the back of your lids, your breaths are ragged, uneven as you part momentarily then dive back to kiss each other as if you’ve been doing this your whole life. It’s weird, how natural it seems for Atsumu’s rock solid arms to be holding you, pressing you close until nothing but a thin line of clothing separate your bodies. But you don’t pull back. You realize that you don’t want to.
Unfortunately you have to at some point, when air becomes so sparse that your head starts spinning. Leaning back as your lips slowly detach from each other, your head automatically relaxes back against the wall as Atsumu’s mouth proceeds to nibble along the side of your jaw, down to your neck and sending waves of heat coursing through with each peck, each kiss.
“Atsumu?” you breathe out his name, tone ragged and staccato. His hands, lord, they’ve slid right underneath your shirt and are drawing circles over your naked skin, making it hard for you to concentrate.
“Hm?” his voice comes out muffled against the crook of your neck. He sounds drunk, like he can’t get enough of you.
“I--uh, I’d like to know what we’re doing.”
“Something we should’ve done from the start,” he says it so casually that it stuns you for a moment. That is until he lifts his head up to meet your eyes, noses brushing and lips almost touching, before a small smile dances across his lips.
“What?” you can’t help but stutter out.
He chuckles then before pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “cute,” he murmurs with sparkling eyes, “ ‘ya know what I mean, princess. This--thing we have--”
“We have a thing?”
His brow quirks up in amusement, “and that--” he glances down at the lack of space between your bodies, “is not a thing? Do you go around doing that with most men?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Sure sounded very suggestive, princess,” he steals another kiss from your lips before you can argue your case, and you swear your face is about to burst with heat.
You want to say something. Anything to get yourself out of this misery. But Atsumu’s hands on your naked back, his lips so distractingly close to yours, his eyes so molten with desire.
You don’t realize you’re leaning into him until you catch his breathy murmur, “whatcha’ doin’, princess?”
“H-Huh?!” You jolt back on impulse and he laughs before pulling you closer still, so close you feel the heavy beats of his heart underneath your palm that you’ve settled upon his chest.
Contrary to your protests that he should get some rest -- it is the last day of Camp after all -- Atsumu wastes a few more minutes teasing your cherry tomato face and cuddling you close, relishing in your squeaks and your embarrassed, dishevelled expressions.
And when he finally lets you go, it isn’t before landing a rain of kisses; from your temple, to your cheeks, to your nose, and finally ending at your lips in-between rounds of giggles. You swear you’ve never heard such sounds coming from the young volleyball player’s chest, the only thing keeping you quite afloat is the colour of rose dusting Atsumu’s cheeks when he pulls you close for one final hug.
“Ever going to let go?” you joke.
“Hm,” he sniffs your nape, nose tracing your ear as you shiver, “how have we not done this before?”
“Because you were being a dick.”
“I was just flirting with you.”
“That’s a really bad flirting strategy if you ask me.”
You don’t complain though, only burrow closer despite your initial comments about him looking like a raccoon the next morning. He’ll probaby get an earful from his manager too, as would you.
But at this moment, it’s very hard to care when you’re wrapped up in Atsumu’s arms and everything just feels perfect.
Having Miya Atsumu’s heart isn’t too bad after all.
he doesn’t wanna date you because, hello, volleyball-- but that doesn’t mean he wants you to move on. in fact, he wants you to do the opposite; he wants you to pine, and pine and pine. your unwavering pursuit makes him feel wanted; it makes him feel needed. because of this, he wants you to fall at his feet even if he never gives you the time of day. and usually, you do. you drop everything you’re doing to talk to him-- usually.
so imagine his surprise when he sees you talking to bokuto on his way out of the locker room and you only give him a wave of acknowledgment. nothing more.
there you are, by the benches, giggling with his grey-haired teammate. he's talking animatedly about something stupid, probably, and you're just laughing.
atsumu suddenly feels very hot. his ears and neck feel like they're on fire and is he jealous?
no, because he'd have to harbor romantic feelings for you to be jealous, and that definitely isn't the case.
after a few more minutes of speaking with bokuto, you excuse yourself politely and make your way over to atsumu. he pretends not to notice your approaching figure and busies himself with his duffel so you have to tap on his shoulder to get his attention. he huffs before facing you.
"what's up?"
"not much, i was just wondering if you'd like to go on a picnic with me? i have everything already set up in my car, so you'd just have to bring..." you notice his bored expression and your smile falters. "...yourself." he sighs.
"i would, but i'm actually real' busy tonight. have a buncha' things to do. plus, i'm all sweaty..." you nod, disappointed, and he feels kinda bad. he tries to offer you hope: "maybe next time."
"yeah, no worries... next time." you stand there and twiddle your thumbs for a moment. the silence is awkward.
"if that's all, i'm gonna go..." he says as if he hadn't been waiting for you to finish speaking to bokuto so you could speak to him.
"oh, yeah-" you step aside, allowing him to pass you and make his way out of the gym. "-bye, 'tsumu."
"see 'ya."
he passes bokuto, who's walking toward you again, damnit, and slows his pace in hopes of overhearing your conversation.
"hi, kou."
the nickname makes atsumu's ears burn again.
"hey! what's up?" he grabs his duffel, wiping his sweat away with a rag.
"oh, nothing. i was just about to head out."
"me, too! want me to walk you to your car?"
"sure." your smile is small and you begin to leave with him by your side. neither of you says anything for a minute. it’s surprising, considering you're both chatterboxes. then, you open your mouth, blushing. "do you wanna go on a picnic with me?"
bokuto turns to look at you with wide eyes, and you instantly regret asking. why would you ask that? wasn't getting rejected once today enough? "or not, you don't have to go with me- i had just- i packed one and was gonna go after practice but my friend bailed-"
yeah, okay, atsumu thinks. your friend bailed.
"are you kidding? i'd love to! what are we gonna eat?"
atsumu rolls his eyes as you describe to koutarou what you made for the picnic and decides to quicken his pace.
when he reaches his car, he opens the trunk and throws his bag in, sighing. just as he’s about to close the trunk, he notices something pink hiding under some dirty shorts. he reaches for it and quickly finds that it’s one of your water bottles. he’s confused for a second, but then he remembers when you lent it to him-- he’d finally replied to your texts in the middle of a break during practice, only to tell you that he was thirsty and then go back to ignoring you.
he hadn’t imagined that you’d get into your little car and drive on over, and he hadn’t imagined that you’d bring a small pack of gatorades and a bottle of water with you. you gave him a small wave when he saw you and held up the stuff you’d brought. initially, he was very embarrassed that you’d brought him a pink bottle--that you’d brought him anything-- quickly setting it under the bench and hiding it with the gatorades as you left, but now all he felt was guilt. the boys teased him mercilessly for what felt like hours--how could he not be embarrassed?
shaking his head, he’s about to toss the bottle back into his trunk until he hears your laugh, accompanied by bokuto’s. again. it makes him grimace as he shuts his trunk door before coming face-to-face with you and your kou. you look a little startled to see him still around.
"oh, hi, atsumu." your voice is soft, laced with a bit of worry.
"hey." his voice is curt as he nods at you. "what're you guys up to?"
bokuto doesn’t seem to sense the animosity atsumu feels toward you, bless him. “we’re just about to go on a picnic! doesn’t that sound fun?”
“yeah,” atsumu can’t help the way his teeth grind together or the way his jaw clenches. he knows he’s being an asshole-- hello, he didn’t want to go on a picnic with you in the first place-- but he doesn’t like the thought of you taking koutarou on a date instead. it was messing with his self-esteem. “sounds real’ fun.”
“you should come with us, then! the more, the merrier!” bokuto says with bright eyes. it makes you choke on your spit and you shake your head at bokuto.
“kou, no; atsumu is busy today,” you say to bo with your brows furrowed, and atsumu can’t help but notice how pretty you look. had you always looked so pretty? “right?”
he clears his throat as his eyes snap back to yours. “i-uh,” he shoves his hands in his pockets. for whatever reason, he wants to go back on his lie. “ 'm actually doin’ somethin’ later.” he says, and you let out a small breath. were you relieved? “i’ll catch up with y’all later, though, okay?”
“sounds good!” bokuto chirps as you nod, and he gets into his car to avoid speaking anymore. he watches you get into bokuto’s car and drive off, feeling angry. why was he even mad? he didn’t like you-- that was something he was sure of. he couldn’t like you. you were annoying, with your constant “good morning!” and “goodnight:)” texts and your unsolicited reassurance-- in fact, he couldn’t stand you, so why was he so mad? he let out a frustrated exhale, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
it’s fine, i’m fine, he thinks to himself, then lets his head fall into the steering wheel.
𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲 - happy birthday miyas. idek if this is good LMAO but here you go
𝗕𝗲𝘁𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 - @justanawolf
𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 - This is not a Atsumu x Osamu x Reader, food and alcohol mention, bosozoku!AU, Miyas and reader live together in a shitty two storey shophouse
𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 - 1.6k
You wake up to an empty futon next to yours. Light streaks through the thin curtains, and you hear the faint sound of metal against metal downstairs. You infer that Osamu must have woken up before you — strange, because he prefers to sleep in on Sunday mornings. You roll yourself out of bed and part the curtains.
Sunlight keeps your shared bedroom warm as you venture into the shabby kitchen with a sink that was dented before you moved in and matching cups Atsumu had picked up from Daiso. You wash yourself up in the bathroom, staring into the stained mirror as you brush your teeth. Sleepiness weighs on your eyelids and you have a hard time keeping them open.
Osamu greets you, pressing a kiss to your hairline. He has something cooking away on the stovetop and takes his attention off of it momentarily to pass you a leftover slice of toast. You press a kiss to the corner of his smile, make yourself a hot cup of something, and lean your weight on the broken front door to open it.
The clanging sound grows louder. You shove your feet into the spare slippers by the front door (you think they’re Osamu’s — they’re at least two sizes bigger than your own — but you’re not really sure, because the twins have the same shoe size and they both bought the slippers in black because there were only two pairs left).
“‘Tsumu?” you call out blindly, balancing your cup and slice of toast in either hand as you make your way down the narrow stairs precariously.
The shutters on the ground floor are half open. It used to be a bakery, or so the landlord had said, but the Miya brothers converted it into a motorbike workshop for the bosozoku ‘Inarizaki Foxes’ they ride with.
You kick the shutters and the noise inside comes to a stop. There’s grumbling, then the sound of something metallic hitting the concrete floor, before Atsumu pulls the shutters up and nearly knocks you over in the process.
“What the- Oh.” he says, a swipe of grease over his cheek. “Hey.”
“Whatcha working on?”
You duck into the workshop, taking a bite out of your toast as you survey the mess inside. Atsumu lets the shutters go and they slide shut with a loud bang that makes you jump. He returns to the bike he had been working on earlier, picking up the wrench that he had dropped earlier.
“Suna said something about wanting his san-dan* seat changed, so I’m removing this one for him right now,” Atsumu explains. “I was fixing a dent on his fender earlier.”
You continue to polish off your toast as Atsumu loosens the bolts and screws holding the seat in place, careful not to scratch the paint job on the bike — the last time he had done that, Suna had punched him and he bruised for a week after.
The workshop is a small space, probably big enough for two bikes and a bit of elbow room, but it’s where Atsumu and Osamu call home. You had scoured through the apartment listings on every newspaper and online website possible before you found this — a run down shophouse that had been on the market for far too long.
It took some time to fix everything up (although the heater still runs cold water sometimes, and you think you might freeze to death each winter), but you’re glad to have a roof over your head with the two people you love the most.
Atsumu thinks differently. He hadn’t been able to avoid your pleading eyes and cute voice that begged him to move in with you and Osamu. Splitting rent three ways would be cheaper than finding a place by himself, or so he reasoned, caving when you promised that he would finally be able to have his own workshop.
There’s pros and cons to everything; evil in good and good in evil, whatever that Yin and Yang shit meant. Atsumu doesn’t really care. He sees things in black and white, and everything that doesn’t go his way is met with force. He doesn’t push — he always shoves first.
So when Osamu announced that the both of you were dating (Atsumu remembers — your hand in his, the streetlight flickering with moths fluttering around it, the shy look you gave Osamu and ducked your head right after), his tongue felt like a weight in his mouth. The congratulations he spat out were reluctant and the smile he wore made him want to throw up.
He would have given up everything for you to be his.
But even Atsumu has a sense of decency. He would never do something as underhanded as stealing you away. Osamu was his blood brother, after all, and family were supposed to be happy when their own were. He had to, even if it meant faking it for your sake.
So he sleeps in an empty room next to yours, covers pulled over his head when Osamu and you get a little too loud in the night. He drowns his sorrows in beer as Kita and Aran persuade the izakaya owner to not kick him out, soaking the bar napkins with his tears as Ginjima pats his back awkwardly. Atsumu overtakes Osamu and you on the road when his brother’s bike is next to his and tries not to imagine what it would be like with you pressed against his back, the warmth of your body blanketing him.
He wonders what was so different between him and Osamu that made you fall in love with his brother first. Being born as twins only served to be a hindrance. People were always comparing Atsumu and Osamu, seeing who was taller or got a higher score on a test, picking who was more handsome even though they shared the same damn face.
“You should be more like Osamu,” they told Atsumu.
“You should be more like Atsumu,” they told Osamu.
Atsumu had enough of being pitted against Osamu, and vice versa. So when you crept into both of their lives without differentiating one over the other and a smile that they swore could light up an entire room, it was no surprise that both of them were eager to win your heart.
Maybe Atsumu should have been more like Osamu.
You perk up when you hear the front door creak open. Dusting the crumbs off of your hands, you gulp down the rest of your hot drink and pull the shutters up for Osamu. You pout as your boyfriend squeezes your cheeks together and kisses your pursed cheeks, letting out a noise of protest.
“‘Samu!” you complain. “You have ketchup all over yer face!”
Osamu wipes at his mouth haphazardly and smiles at you. You can’t stay mad when he uses the pad of his thumb to swipe off a ketchup stain on the side of your mouth.
“Oi, lunch is ready,” he announces.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Atsumu says, his back turned to the both of you.
“You better come up before it gets cold,” Osamu warns, but his face softens when you link your arm in his and grin up at him.
“Whatever.”
“Suit yourself.”
Atsumu waits for the shutters to bang shut and the sound of your slippers against the concrete to fade out into nothing. He can see it — you asking Osamu what he cooked, then followed by that gentle smile on his face as he tells you. Omurice, Atsumu hears faintly.
He puts the screwdriver in his hand down, and calms his breathing. He heads up five minutes after he wipes his eyes dry.
You and Osamu sit at the low table like a married couple in the afternoon sun, bickering over who gets to use the spoon with the little onigiri mascot on top (you won it from a kaiten sushi place after earning enough points for a lucky draw). Atsumu stops by the door. The both of you don’t notice him as he kicks his slippers off by the front door and wonders if he should just barge right into the living room.
“‘Samu, you used it last time, so it’s my turn now!”
“I’ll give it to you if you kiss me.”
“‘Samu!”
Atsumu can imagine the look on Osamu’s face and the adorable way your eyebrows furrow when you’re upset. His breath hitches. He hears the pop of your lips against Osamu’s, and the ‘hmph!’ you let out as you finally snatch the spoon away. Atsumu’s shoulders droop as he lets out the breath he had been holding.
“Would it kill the both of ya to not be lovey dovey all the time?”
You glance over to the front door as Atsumu makes his entrance into the living room. The way your eyes light up nearly makes his swift steps falter and he collapses next to Osamu.
“Move over, ya fat pig.”
“Huh? What didja say?”
“Hey! Calm down!” you cry out amidst the flickering flames between the brothers.
Osamu lets out an annoyed ‘tch’. He grabs his plain spoon, bringing both of his palms together. Atsumu rolls his eyes and you giggle.
“Itadakimasu,” the three of you say in varying degrees of excitement.
The sun shines through the open windows and the oscillating fan rattles away on its hinges. Osamu vaguely remembers that he promised to fix it a week ago. The fragrant smell of omurice wafts through the two storey shophouse as Atsumu scarfs down his food, barely chewing even as you warn that he’ll get indigestion.
Home, they think, is right where you are.
*San-dan seats are a kind of customised seats that are popular to bosozoku, featuring two seat spaces, a high backrest (that is popular for weaving through traffic because it looks pretty), and sits over the rear fender of the bike
WARNING: War, bombs, heavy angst, death. ௹ | Atsumu, Osamu, Kuroo x Reader (Choose your man.)
I have no idea if I'll ever write this formally so I'll just have to write it like this. But any of the boys, (Though I had perfectly imagined Atsumu/Osamu, or Kuroo here,) in an AU where it was still the war full of bombs, guns, and crying children and adults alike at night. It was nearly the end of the world, you both had just watched the news announcing it, giving you the choice to either attempt to escape the bomb set to drop in your city, or be one of the few people who accepts death. You choose the latter, he chooses the latter, you turn the TV on for noise. Your hands never letting go of each other, intertwined, always staring at each other just so full of love. He had just gotten at the peak of his job, he was reaching his ambition, you were reaching your dream, you were getting married.
So, he changes to his tux, you change into a makeshift white dress; dancing slowly to a song from the radio. It was a lovely tune from the piano. Your foreheads stuck to each other, your breaths heavy against each other, you kiss. Tasting the wine you both just drank a few minutes ago, and you were both tipsy as he falls on top of you, laughing. Laying next to you instead. Both of you stare at the ceiling of your apartment. It was quiet. Dear, it was quiet.
"Here it is, our final night alive." He says, his lips trembled, he tried so hard not to cry. He wasn't going to cry.
So you kiss him, you kiss him and his tears away, you kiss him and your years away, you kiss him and your memories away, you kiss him as the atom bomb locks in.
Sneaking this in. I'll alternate (try) between updating with this one and Wipe Your Eyes.
Warning: smut; angst; this chapter could be triggering - mentions of suicide (SPOIL ALERT: reader does not realize she's pregnant & miscarried)
Note: I'm just sneaking away... I don't have a time frame as to when I'll post again. Please be patient with me. Love you all.
First part > third part
He placed a finger on his lips, gesturing for her to be silent, and led Y/n away to a secluded alley.
“Eunhyuk!” Y/n whispers, looking back to see if her maid has noticed her absence.
He looks back before stopping and whipping his hat off and pulling the mask down. His choice of attire was completely different from what she knows, and his hair is shorter than she remembers.
Eunhyuk gazed at her, his eyes gentle and longing. “Y/n.”
She smiles, it was a year since she last saw him. “Eunhyuk,” she calls his name softly.
He enveloped her in his arms, one hand protectively cradling the back of her head. “I’ve been waiting for you to leave for so long….” he uttered. He pulled back, his face revealed the anguish he felt as he continued, “I… I came back too late.” He swallowed hard, the pain is evident in his expression.
Her arms squeezed around him for a split second, she allowed herself to hug him just for a split second before pulling away. She exhales deeply, forcing a smile as her heart drops. “I’m sorry too, Eun. It happened so fast, and I had…” she swallowed, “I had no say in it.”
Eunhyuk was her first love. Someone who shared the same dreams as her, dreams of marrying and having children together.
His eyes pinned hers, “does he make you happy?”
“Yes,” she whispered, deceiving him with her words.
The boy who had loved her for over fifteen years was well aware of how awful of a liar she was.
“Y/n,” he softly called her name, his voice filled with earnestness. “I’m going to ask you one more time, does he truly make you happy?”
Her head drops and her voice cracks, “I don’t know. It has been… tough. Dreadful. But he… has been looking at me differently lately.”
“Can you love him?”
She looks at him with pleading eyes. “Eunhyuk…”
“My Lady!” Mirei shouts breathlessly, she runs towards them standing in between. She protectively stands before Y/n, looking at Eunhyuk. “Who are you and what have you done to my Lady?!”
“Mirei,” Y/n calls her name quietly, “this is my friend, he is not a threat. I promise.”
Her maid looks at her with uncertainty, “he took you!”
“It’s okay,” Y/n assures, “he means no harm.” She looks at Eunhyuk, “I must return.” And you mustn’t look for me again, she silently pleads, nudging Mirei.
When she reached the end of the alley, Y/n turned around one last time to see Eunhyuk no longer there.
“I will not speak of today to my Lord, but you mustn’t do that ever again.” Mirei whispered, “promise me.”
“I promise.” Y/n smiles, “I won’t do that ever again.”
“You mustn’t see that man again.”
Y/n takes a deep breath and smiles comforting, “okay, I won’t see him again.”
.
.
Lord Atsumu did not return by Y/n’s bedtime, so she heads to bed in her chamber.
As tired as she was, she was unable to sleep as her mind would fall onto her encounter with Eunhyuk earlier.
Miya Atsumu sat in front of her with his parents at his side.
“Y/n,” her mother grabs her hand, “Miya Atsumu is here today to ask for your hand in marriage.” Y/n’s eyes bulge before looking at Atsumu, who has been staring at her with a blank cold look. “Your father and I believe this will be a wonderful connection between both families.”
“But Eunhyuk will –“
Her mother shushes her, whispering, “it has been one year already, he may not be returning.”
Y/n shook her head with pleading eyes. She has known Miya Atsumu since they were young, he has been nothing but means to her, and as adults – neither of them has ever spoken a word to the other.
“Can we have some time to discuss this matter?” Her mother asked politely.
Atsumu’s father nodded, he was an older version of his son. “Please let us know as soon as possible,” he looks at Y/n and smiles, “Y/n grew up with our sons and we see that she is the best fitting for our son. If you would consider our son, we will ensure that your future will be nothing but bright.”
As soon as the Miyas left, her mom grabbed her hand. “Do you not find Atsumu likable at all?”
“It’s not that mom, Atsumu is… Atsumu.” Their parents had always brushed off the times Y/n would cry running to the parents – speaking through sobs at how Atsumu was being mean. “We just… I don’t think we’re compatible with each other…”
She takes a deep breath, “I beg you, Y/n, save your family’s name and marry Atsumu.” She did not need to speak of her older sister’s marriage failure that caused their family name to be tarnished. Y/S/N was promised marriage after she had fallen pregnant only to have the father of her child abandon them. Humiliated and ashamed, she took her own life along with her unborn child.
“Eunhyuk has been gone for over a year now. He has not written or sent any message to let you know of his return. Are you going to waste your life waiting for him? What if he is already married?”
Y/n shook her head, “Eunhyuk would never do that… he loves –“
“Do not… walk in your sister’s shoes Y/n. You would only break your own heart. It is best you marry Atsumu – they will secure your future and restore our family name.”
Y/n lets out a deep sigh, it does no good to dwell in the past.
Eunhyuk and her fate were not meant to be in this lifetime.
Sleep consumed her and she had only a short taste of her dream before she was woken up by her husband's head nuzzled against her naked chest.
His dark brown bangs brush against her chest, tickling her skin. He was already in between her legs, naked.
Y/n moans softly, feeling the tip of his cock brushing against her clit as he rocks his hips. She cradles his head against her chest, “Atsumu…”
He lets her nipple go with a pop sound and looks up at her. “I thought you would wait up for me?”
Her hand cups his face, “sorry, I got tired… and I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”
“We have a baby to make, right?”
Her hand flinches away from his face as she remembers her role. “Correct…”
Lord Atsumu lifts one leg over his shoulder before pressing himself into her core. Groaning by the second until his entire cock is sheath inside of her hot wet walls.
He has her bent awkwardly before grabbing her other leg and locking his arms behind her knees and bending her fully in half. His hips rut hard and fast as his mouth finds her in a messy and hot kiss.
She breaks away and gasps, “Ah… Atsumu…”
His teeth find the skin on her neck, and he bites hard.
She winces.
“What did you do today?” he whispers hoarsely, letting go of the skin.
Her toes curl, feeling the tingling sensation. “I – I found… some textile…”
“Textile?” His hips slow tremendously, torturing her with slow but deep thrusts. “For what?”
“Ah – baby… for the baby…” she utters.
He laughed, mockingly. “Well, first we need to make one…” His hips smack hers, hard and fast. His heavy sacks bounce back and forth against her ass and the room fills with lewd skin slapping.
Her nails dig into his skin, holding on to him tightly. “A – Atsumu – slow down… please…”
That only made him go faster. Harder.
Until he stops, groaning as he paints her walls with his seed.
She wakes up a couple of hours later, trapped by her husband’s heavy arms and legs from behind. He was still very much inside of her, plugging her so his seed doesn’t escape after the many rounds.
Y/n lay there, recalling how different he was last night compared to the last time. He wasn’t gentle or passionate, but rough and possessive, like the very first time.
She barely moved but could feel how sore she was.
“Stop moving…” a low voice grumble.
Y/n freezes and her heart races as she feels something become hard inside of her. “Atsumu –“ she protested but recoiled when he gave shallow thrusts. “No – no more…”
She rolled onto her stomach and his weight held her down, “one more, just in case.”
Her body was weak, sore, and exhausted so she could not even fight him off. Her hand gripped her bedding, just waiting for it to be over.
.
Y/n jolts awake to her husband missing. Slowly sitting up, she grips her comforters close to her chest.
The day had already started, and she had no idea what time it was. Why hasn’t Mirei come to wake her?
Her head snapped when she heard an excruciating whimper.
Scrambling to get up, she slipped a few times and winced once she stood up. She could barely dress properly before leaving her room. From her doorway, her eyes widened in shock.
Mirei was tied to the pillar with a guard whipping her calves.
Lord Atsumu standing there, with his arms crossed against his chest.
“What are you doing?!” Y/n yelled, limping along the porch. She treads across the courtyard barefooted and stands against her husband, glaring at him. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Meaning?” he mocked, “did you really think I wouldn’t know how you secretly took off with that half-breed yesterday?”
Her eyes widen.
“Your maid here is getting the punishment she deserves for keeping it away from me.” He looks at the guard, signaling for him to continue. “She should be thankful I’m only giving her fifty whips.”
“Fifty!” Y/n exclaimed, her gaze turning towards Mirei, whose pale calves bore red whip marks of pain and anguish. Y/n then looked at her husband, desperation unmistakable in her eyes, and pleaded, “please, stop. It… it was all my fault. She does not deserve this.”
“Then you can take her place,” he responded callously, showing no hint of remorse.
Tears filled her eyes. Angry tears.
Atsumu couldn’t help but flinch at the intensity of her piercing gaze and the icy tone of her voice as she replied, “fine, I will.”
His eyes narrowed in disbelief as if he never expected her to actually agree to it.
She turned around and wiped her tears and he watched her walk up to the pillar, untying her maid and helping her off to the side. “I will take this, Mirei.”
The older woman shook her head, “no, no, my Lady, it is my fault –“
“It is not,” Y/n cuts off with a smile, “it is my fault for believing someone like him can change.”
She takes three steps back and lifts her yukata above her knees. Her eyes lock dead on with her husband. “I will take the remaining whips.”
Atsumu’s eyes were cold, “all for a man?”
As if to puncture his ego and pride, she retorted angrily, “all for Eunhyuk.”
Without another word, Atsumu jerked his head at the guard who held the whip. He hesitated, looking between his Lord and his Lady. “What are you waiting for?” Atsumu snapped.
Y/n remained resolute, her gaze unflinching even as the first, second, and third blows landed upon her. Her eyes remained locked onto his, unwavering with each agonizing lash.
Throughout all the years he had known her, the gentle and tender Y/n, the one he used to tease, the one who always followed him and Osamu around, and the one who would cry at the slightest provocation as a child, Atsumu could have never fathomed that the resolute woman standing before him, enduring the lashes on behalf of her maid, was the very same person.
He was the first to break eye contact when he noticed the trickling crimson stains dripping down her legs. He inhales sharply before turning away and walking away from the scene.
.
.
“I’m okay, Mirei.” Y/n murmurs for the third time, trying to reassure her maid. However, her words do little to console Mirei, who silently weeps while tending to the open wounds on Y/n’s calves.
Y/n endures a total of forty-two lashes and by the fiftieth, her strength wanes, and she collapses onto her knees. Her chapped lips quiver, swollen from the force of biting down on them.
Mirei and a few other servants hurried over to check on their Lady as soon as the guard stepped back, shaken. He dropped down onto one knee, head bowed and he apologized quietly.
“Take her to her room,” Lord Atsumu ordered from the porch. “Attend to her legs.”
They laid her down on her stomach and carefully tried to peel the yukata off the bleeding wounds. Y/n grimaced in pain as the material was pulled off.
“Grab hot water and the ointment!” Mirei shouted, ordering a different servant to duty.
“Don’t forget… to tend yours too…” Y/n reminded with a small smile.
“Don’t worry about me, my Lady…” Mirei choked back a sob, “I failed to protect you.”
.
.
For the second consecutive day, Atsumu stood outside Y/n’s door, receiving only vague updates from his servants about her condition. Y/n adamantly denied him entry to her chambers, and as much as it pained and frustrated him, he intended to respect her wishes. However, his patience was wearing thin, and he found himself growing increasingly frustrated.
The weight of regret burden his shoulders as the internal voice assailed him relentlessly. If only Y/n had obeyed him and remained within the compound like a submissive wife. If only she hadn’t secretly met Eunhyuk. If only he hadn’t punished Y/n’s loyal maid, Y/n wouldn’t be trapped in this unfortunate situation. If only he had prevented a single lash from befalling her…
He should have set his pride and ego aside and picked her up when she collapsed and carried her to her chamber. He should have tended to her wounds. He should have apologized.
Instead, he clenched his teeth in frustration and wounded ego as the maids assisted her in walking past him and toward her chamber. Despite his presence, she refused to acknowledge him and disappeared into her chamber. He chose to ignore the ache in his chest and silently watched as she never turned to look at him.
Mirei emerged from the Y/n’s room, deliberately disregarding his presence.
“How is she?” he asked, his tone tinged with authority, seeking an update on Y/n’s condition.
The older woman paused briefly before responding, “she is running a fever, my Lord.”
Panic gripped him upon hearing the news. “What do you need? Why hasn’t the doctor been called?” he asked urgently, willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure Y/n received the care she needed.
“If you wish, but my Lady has refused any service from you.” With that, she walked away leaving Atsumu stunned and hopeless.
He stood there like a fool, watching his servants enter and exit his wife’s chamber in hopes to catch a glimpse of her but they had covered his view with a shoji screen.
Atsumu found himself pacing down her chambers, sitting across from her door, waiting patiently for her exit.
After what felt like an eternity, Y/n finally emerged from her chamber, intentionally avoiding any eye contact with him as she walked past. He swiftly caught hold of her maid, pulling her aside while trailing behind Y/n, desperately calling out her name. He refrained from physically touching her, fearful that it would only further dismiss him. “Please, talk to me,” he pleaded desperately, his voice filled with desperation. She continued to ignore him, causing Atsumu to notice her limp. Concern etched across his face, he asked, “do you need help?”
“I will no longer have faith in your assistance, my Lord,” she snapped, dismissing his offer of help without a second thought.
Atsumu flinched upon hearing her address him by his title instead of his name. He had just started to cherish the endearment of her calling him by his given name, and now it felt like a distant memory.
She continues to limp away, and he follows her, “I let my anger get the best of me that day – I should have never allowed you to take –“
“Please!” She cries, stopping to turn around and look at him. Tears pooled in her eyes, ready to fall. “Just... stop.” His breath hitched and he wanted badly to speak but held himself back. “It does not change any –“
Atsumu panics when she hunches over, clutching her abdomen, and lets out a painful cry. “Y/n!”
Her legs wobbled and finally gave out and he caught her before she could collapse. He tries to hold her, asking what is going on when his white tabi is splattered with red blotches. He grabs her kimono, lifting it slightly and chills run down his spine as blood is dripping down her inner legs.
“Call the doctor!”
.
.
.
E/n: what a mess... I'm thinking this will be completed in three parts - stay tuned for the last chapter. I can’t recall if I stated if Atsumu had blond hair in Lord Suna series… but he has his natural hair color in this series 😅 Slightly edited.
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