#under.tsumu

[undermattsun-archive]

And you know that Atsumu eats ass like a messy bitch. Fucking slobbers on it. Devotes time to it. Switches from light teasing around the rim to fucking you with as much as his tongue can give bc he’s a bastard. Folds your legs to your shoulders so he can watch your pussy drool and see your face as you get more desperate. It’s canon, Furudate told me himself.

absolutely the sloppiest loudest mf when eating ass, u can hear him miles away followed by ur screamin n creamin <3

[underkita-archive]

cotton

miya atsumu | w.c 1.3k

a/n: hesitant to call this x reader as well so i won’t </3 but this is the companion piece to polyester and it’s more of just atsumu’s perspective! it felt necessary ffksjdfh and i listened to a lot of feelings are fatal by mxmtoon while writing this <//3 sorry </3

set post time-skip

warnings: unrequited feelings/love, miki trying to use past tense, again, angst

Miya Atsumu fell in love in his first year of high school on Valentine’s Day. 

His brother would argue that it had happened long before that, but what does he really know? 

He fell in love the second your hands brushed against his with a shy smile as you placed homemade chocolates on his desk before running out of the classroom to chase after your friends.

They shouldn’t have been special, the entire team received the exact same treats from you, although Kita’s box had a few more pieces, which you argued was due to him being the most helpful before and after practice. But that was neither here nor there, because Miya Atsumu was head over heels, pitifully, in love. 

And he wouldn’t shut up about it.

Night after night he lamented to Osamu about their pretty little manager with her kind smile and strong presence. How she was the smartest girl he’d ever met, the way she didn’t flinch when he was too loud and occasionally laughed at his lame jokes. The only thing that he had kept to himself was the way there was a fire in your eyes that made his heart pound, that every second where your gaze would hold his only sent him further towards the edge. 

“Then tell her, and more importantly shut up.” Osamu had hissed in the darkness of their room. 

It was easy for Osamu to say. He didn’t know what Atsumu did, he didn’t see what Atsumu saw. And for someone who was always a little too consumed by his sport, when it came to you, it was the first time he could clearly see outside of it. 

The way you looked at Kita Shinsuke held no secrets, for the way you looked at Kita Shinsuke was surely the way he looked at you. 

It had been a bitter realization that had left him pouting and glaring at his teammate in that special petulant way that he had perfected with Osamu. It hadn’t made an inkling of sense. Kita wasn’t the best on the court, he wasn’t even a starter nor did he ever really play in games.

The adoring look in your eyes spoke volumes, it made Atsumu’s head spin with envy and confusion and he wanted to hate Kita more than anything. 

But how could he? As time went on he couldn’t help but feel the pain in your heart was his own. There was something profoundly sad in the way you held yourself when Kita was around, stricken so deeply with something far too intense for a high schooler to truly grasp. 

Despite the pang in his own chest, he had found himself supporting you in your feelings, hoping you would find the courage to confess, hoping that you would gain the happiness you had deserved. Even if it wasn’t with him.

He held onto his feelings tightly, careful not to let any lingering touches or stern commands throughout the years mean anything more than the concerns of a caring team manager.

If he let himself be selfish he found himself consumed, tormented by the possibilities of if you could ever look at him the way you looked at Kita. 

After Kita graduated he had fooled himself into thinking he had a chance, strolling up to you at the end of practice with his chest puffed and the title of captain tacked onto his name instead. The distant look in your eyes had stopped him dead in his tracks, your eyes had moved over the players searching for someone who wouldn’t step foot in that gym again, not like before.

He resigned himself after that, officially dashing away any thought of a confession or returned sentiment. Watched in silence as your final year together ticked by a little too fast, keeping his second button tucked in his jacket pocket as you parted ways.

-

The text detailing an invitation to an engagement celebration doesn’t come as a surprise to Atsumu. He had already heard from Osamu, who heard from Suna, from Gin, from Aran that Kita has been planning on proposing to his girlfriend. 

His thoughts immediately drift to you. Since graduation there had been sparse communication, consistent birthday and happy holiday wishes, along with the occasional emojis thrown back and forth and the one time you had found a picture of him sleeping with Suna and Osamu scribbling furiously on his face. 

He’s gotten over you, he swears it. And he’s sure you’re over Kita at this point, preparing himself to see you stroll in with someone of your own. So he gets ready for the night, texts Osamu at least three maybe twenty times to hurry up. 

He walks in with his brother in tow, head held high and his people winning —shit-eating according to Osamu—grin on his face. The second he sees you it hits him like one of Kageyama’s serves to the face. Three years later you look just different enough to show growth, just enough to be a little wiser, a little bolder but not enough to hide that what you feel for Kita really hasn’t changed.

It makes him feel nostalgic, bitter, yet nostalgic.  

Throughout the night his eyes keep sliding back over you, watching as you smile so easily without a hint of joy, how you laugh and joke and avert your eyes from the ring sparkling on the fourth finger of the woman cuddled up next to Kita. He sees it all and says nothing as he downs another beer. 

It’s by the time there’s practically a rain cloud hanging over your head and a look of utter defeat in your eyes that he finally takes pity on you. Opening his mouth to spew whatever comes to mind first and grabbing at your wrist, hauling you out of your seat. 

When you protest he barely makes note of it, keeping his eye on the door of the restaurant as he pulls you along. You shaking out of his hold was something he was prepared for, about to snatch your wrist once more when the determined look in your eyes stops him in his tracks. 

“Congratulations Kita-san. I wish you both... I wish you both unending happiness.”

It’s such a genuine statement, it hurts him to hear it. He can barely fathom the pain that uttering it brings you as you twist around on your heel and stalk past him. 

He knows there’s no point in calling after you or in telling you to slow down when he’ll easily catch up in seconds. You don’t jump when his hand lands on your shoulder, simply stopping the second he makes contact. He braces himself for the fallout, for you to tell him to shove off and disappear.

“It hurts.”

And he holds back a wry chuckle as you fall apart before him. Because yeah, it does.

There’s a part of him that feels vindicated as you touch your forehead to his chest, sobs wracking through your body as he shifts his hand to press between your shoulder blades. He should feel guilty, he should feel pity maybe, but the cruel part of him feels like he’s won. 

Won against you, won against Kita. 

The feeling fades quick, because he’s lost more than he’s ever gained in the past six years.

It’s not the right time or the right place, but Miya Atsumu was never patient, in fact it had always amazed him that he was able to hold back for so long.

“Could you… consider me?”

His voice comes out softer than he intended, his words far more unsure. He watches with his heart in his throat as a wave of emotions shifts through your expression.

There’s a few more words passed back and forth, and he knows he sounds desperate, only reminded of just how wrong the timing is. But he can see it, that slight shift, a lifting of a veil, a door cracking open and it gives him hope. 

For once in his life when it comes to you, he lets himself hope.

[undermattsun-archive]

skate rat starter packs

(+ their current anthems)

cmon i know y’all love these >:)

kita shinsuke

miya atsumu

miya osamu

sakusa kiyoomi

[undermattsun-archive]

no but like imagine u go to meet ur boyfriends dad and there sits fucking former (gold winning) olympic athlete miya atsumu sitting across his equally hot and successful brother restaurant owner miya osamu what do u even do

[undermattsun-archive]

skate rat miya’s r sick of of their friends playin hide the sausage w their lil sis

[undermattsun-archive]

IM SORRY IM SORRY ITS JUST ..!.$/ THIS OF ATSUMU

if memory serves me well lin and i kept sending that to each other and suffering for it

[undermattsun-archive]

I need Atsumu’s mouth vacuum sealed to my asshole yesterday. I’d say “kiss my ass” and he’d just be like bet? End up with my ass in the air and his cheeks between mine.

HIS CHEEKS BETWEEN MINE STFU THTS SO GOOD

[underkita-archive]

atsumu + “i swear, if you say another word, i’ll leave.”

9. “i swear, if you say another word, i’ll leave” 

“It’s not that big a’ deal I dunno why you’re so upset!” Atsumu cries out, throwing his hands up in frustration as you raise a brow at him, a sour taste filling your mouth as bitter jealousy and frustration eats at you. 

“If it’s not that big of a deal, than why didn’t you just tell me?” You keep your tone as even as possible, knowing that yelling back at Atsumu only makes him yell louder, the fight becoming more of a headache than anything. 

“’Cause I knew you’d overreact like you’re doin’ now.” 

Fuck not yelling.

“Overreact? Overreact? Oh I can fucking show you overreact.” You shoot up from the couch, crossing the room and jabbing your finger towards his chest, careful to not touch him. 

“See! This is why it was better for me to not tell you.”

“Oh so lying is fine? You wanna start lying to each other more huh? Fuck communication, so much for a team player.” It burns at your own chest, that wounded puppy look flashing in his eyes before he schools it into something colder. 

“Yer bein’ dramatic and annoyin’.” He makes a point to roll his eyes, clearly dismissing you. 

“Annoying? That’s what I’m being?”

“Actually yer bein’ a bitch.” The air around you goes cold, a stabbing pain knocks into your right temple and your stomach drops at the single word. Fights were bound to happen, the two of you being well aware of your respective tempers. But there was one rule the two of you promised to never break.

No name calling. 

Not anything as simple as jerk, especially not what he had just uttered. His eyes widen at the realization of what he’s said, floundering in front of you as he tries to figure out what to even say. There’s a noise in the back of his throat preempting whatever bullshit apolology he’s put together, stopping him with a scoff.

“I swear if you say another word, I’ll leave.” His mouth snaps shut as you push past him towards the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.