#Atsumu x reader

[alpali]

Atsumu cries at every heartfelt act you do for him. It doesn’t matter what it is.

You could give him a rock and say it reminded you of him and he’s damn near in tears.

Or if you call him over the phone and say you’re coming over with his favorite food. He’s trying to muffle his whimpers.

He just loves you so much and even though he teases you so so much for your sappy acts, he loves it all way too much.

So you can only imagine his reaction when you write him a letter for your guys anniversary. Gifting him a basket full of things and memories throughout your relationship.

He’s quiet for quite some time and it worries you that he didn’t like it. But it’s the exact opposite he loves it. When you hear his sniffles, you’re snapping your head towards him, brows pulling together.

“Sumu? What’s wrong?” You rush to his side, rubbing his back but he cries more.

“I jus’—”

He hiccups.

“I love you s’much. M’gonna marry you I swear.” He pouts, staring at you with his big shining eyes.

You laugh and it kind of embarrasses him but he doesn’t care.

“I love you.” He says again, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. You soothe his hair as he holds you and calms down.

“I’ll be waiting then.” You smile, hugging him just as tight.

[sukumna]

he’s so big and tall that your feet can’t touch the ground when he fucks you <333 he gets so into it that he holds your weight by the hips and just…pounds you. it’s so loud and you can only feel the soft rug underneath you with the tips of your toes. it feels like he’s rearranging your guts the way he’s dragging you back onto him over and over. each thrust lifts your chest off the bed until you’re just dangling just forced to take it. every stroke knocks a little more thought out of your head, until you’re just gasping his name, drooling and whining. he slows down just to hear the mess he’s made and then laughs. “you hear that? that’s you, doll.” you try to answer, but your mouth’s too busy moaning. <333

TOJI, NAOYO <3 , MIYA TWINS, USHIJIMA, BOKUTO, BAKUGOU.

[pomeloblush]

A year ago, when ATSUMU MIYA vowed to stand by your side even after death, he meant it. Now, both of you find yourselves in the delivery room. Your blood-curdling screams and cries make his heart ache for your safety. As your contractions began, he tried his best to remain stoic, not wanting to break down while you endured so much to bring your children into the world. Unfortunately for Atsumu, he ended up crying three times.

The first time was when you received the epidural; he was sobbing about his poor wife, though his words were mostly mumbled and difficult to hear. The second time was when you had an absolute death grip on his hand while pushing the babies out; he was sure that if he weren’t a professional volleyball player, his fingers would have snapped. The third time occurred during skin-on-skin contact with your baby girls, and those tears lasted the longest.

After witnessing everything you went through, Atsumu decided to add another vow to your marriage: never let you go through that again. Even if it meant only having his twin girls, with you by his side, that was all he needed.

a/n - lwk based off when life gives you tangerines.

a fellow atsumu lover @dearru and @kawoala since she’s been on a atsumu streak

[seumyo]

BOYFRIEND TEXTS ✰ INARIZAKI TRIO

NOTE. Suna’s the only version to be set in high school (Aha, I forgot to make his a college version like Atsumu and Osamu’s) </3

MIYA ATSUMU

SUNA RINTAROU

MIYA OSAMU

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[haikyu-mp4]

Was it me? – Atsumu x reader wc 425 – gn!reader

You were startled awake, trying to catch your breath and looking around to establish that you were back in your bedroom. The bedroom you shared with your husband Atsumu, who had also startled awake and was now blinking at you tiredly. “Babe, are you okay?” he mumbled.

With a confirming nod, you squinted at him. “I just had the weirdest dream.”

Atsumu grumbled, considering if he wanted to hear it or go back to sleep, but his brain was interested in your dream. “What about?”

“I was in a grand building with several different areas, like a castle, kind of,” you started, staring at the wall in the dark. Atsumu could feel his eyes drooping.

“Okay, cool.”

“And I had like my group of friends there, we had fun just like usual but then there was this jock, and he was my boyfriend.”

Atsumu was suddenly wide awake. He fully sat up, eyes wide and staring at you. “What?”

“Yeah, and he brought me to this gala with his jock friends and they were all really mean,” you told him, pouting and hoping he would sympathise.

“Who was the boyfriend?” he asked curiously, hand drawing patterns on your thigh under the duvet.

“They were planning this trip with all the jocks and their partners, and one of the girls was like oh, hope I don’t have to room with y/n,” you told him, waving your arms at the injustice you had experienced.

“Circle back, babe, who was the jock?”

“And they were testing my Japanese even though they all spoke English!” You were raising your voice at this point of the story, so caught up in trying to remember everything that you didn’t even register your husband’s questions until he carefully grabbed your cheeks and made you look at him.

“Baby! Was it me?!” he begged you.

“What?” you asked him innocently.

“Was I the boyfriend?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, shrugging your shoulders.

Atsumu frowned, now quite insulted. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He wasn’t important.”

“I’m feeling a little cheated,” he mumbled, but you only laughed, knowing he was mostly joking.

“He didn’t defend me against his friends at all. It couldn’t have been you, ‘Tsumu.”

Affectionately, you pecked his lips and booped his nose. He waved you off but came right back for another kiss. “That’s true.”

Atsumu would be the little spoon for tonight, he felt you owed him for considering some nameless asshole as your boyfriend when you already have a hot husband – his words, not yours.

masterlist

talked to @cottonlemonade about my dream, and she had an idea for adding Atsumu into the mix, so we turned it into a thing<3

[kawoala]

atsumu miya - 320 words.

atsumu knows he’s screwed.

the second you laugh at his joke, fingers brushing his chest as you lean forward, he knows he’s absolutely screwed. later, osamu will tease him for how red he got, but he’ll brush it off with an indignant roll of his eyes.

from that moment on, atsumu’s familiar cockiness melts away in your presence. he stumbles over his words, avoiding eye contact. his jokes fall flat, and yet you still laugh every time. suna tells him you’re way out of his league and atsumu shoves his shoulder playfully, reluctantly and internally agreeing.

some random day after school, to his surprise, you ask him to walk you home. he has practice, but he skips the first half for you. kita is gonna tear him a new one—he can’t find it in himself to care. he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground as you talk to him, too nervous to meet your eyes.

when the first dribbles of rain hit the ground, he curses. you both make a run for a nearby bus stop, where there’s a roof, and stand there for a quiet moment.

“i love the rain,” you say eventually, letting out a soft sigh.

he glances over at you and the look of absolute wonder leaves a pang of joy in his heart. you look so . . . ethereal. suna was right; you’re so out of his league.

“especially when it’s warm out,” you continue. you reach your hand out, letting the water fill your cupped hand before pouring it. you turn to atsumu with a giggle. “do you like the rain?”

he hesitates, enamored by the look in your eyes. “yeah,” he answers, breathless. and, really, he doesn’t. it’s cold and wet and it sucks. but you like it. and he likes you. and he would stand with you in the rain forever if it meant seeing that look on your face.

[luster-less]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ your body is his birthright

this man does not believe in personal space. if you’re in the room, he’s touching. doesn’t matter if he’s got a match in an hour—if he catches a glimpse of your bare thighs under one of his shirts, he’s already hard. you’ll be brushing your teeth, and he’s coming up behind you, lazy grin stretching across his smug face as he presses his cock right against your ass. “didn’t even know ya were awake, sweetheart,” he’ll say, voice still rough from sleep, and then he’s bending you over the sink like it’s nothing. just lifts the shirt, pulls your panties to the side, and slides in with a hiss through his teeth. he doesn’t give you a second to process—he’s already fucking you before your toothpaste hits the counter.

his mornings start with cum leaking down your thighs and his mouth on your neck, whispering “such a good girl f’me.” and if you try to resist? if you whine that you’re sore, or that you have work, or that maybe he should chill for like five seconds? he just growls a soft “nah, you don’t get to tell me no, not when you walk around this fuckin’ house leakin’ from the night before.”

miya atsumu believes in full access. free use isn’t even a kink to him—it’s how he shows affection. you sit on the couch to relax? he’s got your legs spread across his lap, hand already sliding up your inner thigh, fingers dipping into your soaked folds like he owns them (he does). you’re making dinner? he’s got you bent over the kitchen island, one hand gripping your throat and the other fucking you from behind so deep you forget your name. food burns on the stove because he’s got you gasping, drooling, eyes rolling back while he mutters filth in your ear: “you love this, don’tcha? love bein’ my little fucktoy. can’t go a day without my cock, huh?”

and don’t even think about saying no when you’re wearing something cute. short shorts? he’s dragging them down your legs and licking into you from behind while you try to hold yourself up on trembling knees. his favorite shirt on you with no bra? he’s sucking your nipples raw while grinding against your heat until he’s desperate enough to take you on the floor, the bed, the fucking hallway.

this man has a mouth like sin. he eats pussy like it’s a reward, like it’s holy, like he needs to be buried in you just to keep breathing. tongue everywhere—circling, sucking, dipping inside—his arms locked around your thighs while you squirm. he lives for the mess, for the taste of you dripping off his chin, for the way you beg him to stop when you’re already cumming again and again and again. but he never stops. he keeps going until you break.

and the filth he spews while inside you should be illegal. he’ll hold you down, cum spilling out of you from the last round, and say “bet ya love bein’ filled up, huh? you’re made for my cock. fuckin’ greedy little thing. can’t get enough, can ya?” every single time you finish, he’s praising you like you’ve given him the world. “atta girl. look at ya, takin’ it so good. let’s do it again.”

refractory period? he doesn’t know her. he’ll cum, take a breather, and slide right back in while you’re still twitching from the aftershocks. your legs are shaking? pretends he doesn’t see them. you’re crying? he kisses the tears away and fucks you deeper. he’ll pin you down, rub your clit until you scream, and thrust until you’re writhing, completely brainless beneath him.

he’s not satisfied until you’re crying, drooling, covered in his cum, and still begging for more—because you will. he makes sure of it. you’re addicted, ruined, owned. and atsumu? he’s proud of that. he’s cocky, sweaty, flushed, breathing hard while he watches you collapse and says, “fuck, ya look so pretty like that. think i’m ready for round five.”

[rosierin]

the other twin | atsumu, osamu

synopsis; the miya twins fight. that’s nothing new. but this time, it’s different. the words hit deeper. the silence lasts longer. and when it all boils over, (y/n) is left standing in the middle of it, heart hurting for both of them. it’s messy. it’s loud. it ends with tea, a quiet couch, and something almost like healing.

a/n; icl im rly proud of this one guys. prepare for emotional whiplash

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was tense tonight, blanketed in a silence too thick to ignore.

Not the kind of silence that meant peace, or rest, or warmth—but a taut, fragile silence, stretched so tight it buzzed beneath her skin. The hum of the kitchen light was the only real sound, too loud, like it was trying to fill the space between words no one dared say.

Osamu stood at the stove, arms folded, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the front door. (Y/n) sat curled into the far corner of the couch, legs tucked up, phone in hand but long forgotten. She kept her back to the kitchen, but she could feel the tension radiating from Osamu, like heat off a stove left on too long. Across from her, Suna scrolled idly through his screen, though his thumb hadn’t moved in minutes. He looked relaxed, but she knew him well enough to spot the tension in his shoulders. The weight of something coming.

They’ve been waiting. For a while.

Dinner’s cold. Again.

She tried not to check the time. She tried not to wonder if Atsumu was even coming home.

The click of the front door unlocking made her flinch.

Atsumu stepped inside, shoulders tense, hoodie damp with sweat and rain, gym bag slung over one shoulder. She heard the door, heard the way he kicked off his shoes like he wanted them to hit something, make a scene. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was pissed.

No greeting. No apology, either. Just the weight of his presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

Osamu’s voice cut through the air, low and sharp. “You ever think about showin’ up on time for once? Or are we just all on Atsumu Time now?”

Her heart clenched, and she shifted slightly on the couch, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. She didn’t want to see the look on Osamu’s face—not yet.

Instead, she glanced at Suna, whose eyes momentarily lifted from his screen.

Atsumu scowled without turning. “Fuck’s yer problem? Tough day makin’ rice balls or what?”

Osamu inhaled through his nose. Tried to keep a lid on it. “Don’t start, 'Tsumu. You've had a long day, we get it. So have I.”

“What’s so hard about yer job?” Atsumu muttered, voice already growing sour. “All ya do is cook rice. Ain’t exactly rocket science.”

The insult made her stomach twist. Without thinking, she nudged Suna with her knee—a silent question, or maybe a plea. One that asked, Should we say something? Should we intervene?

Osamu didn’t reply at first. His hands twitched at his sides. “I’m not in the mood, Tsumu.”

“You started it,” Atsumu shot back. “I just walked through the door and yer already houndin’ me about punctuality.”

“Cause it’s inconsiderate,” Osamu said tightly. “You know how many times we’ve had to wait for ya to come home without so much as a text update?”

“Nobody’s askin’ ya to wait for me,” Atsumu said with a shrug. “I don’t need to eat with you guys.”

Ouch. That one landed somewhere deep in her chest.

(Y/n)'s shoulders sagged.

It wasn’t aimed at her—he didn’t even look her way when he said it—but it still stung. The words settled in her stomach like stones, heavy and cold. They always waited. Not because they had to. Because they wanted to. She wanted to.

Because it felt like a small piece of something solid in a world that kept spinning.

Osamu's expression twisted. “No, but have ya considered that we all wait for ya because it’s nice? Maybe we do it for yer sake. So ya don’t hafta eat alone every other night.”

Atsumu scoffed. “Will ya lay off? Ya don’t need to coddle me like I’m yer kid. I don’t care about eatin’ with ya.”

(Y/n)’s throat felt tight. She glanced toward the plate Osamu had prepped and reheated—now untouched and congealing on the counter.

“Right. Course ya don’t,” Osamu muttered, quieter now. Something about his voice made her shift in her seat. It was the tone he used when he was done pretending. When he meant it.

There was a long pause. She didn’t breathe.

Then Osamu looked up.

“Ya know, ever since ya made it to the big leagues, you’ve been nothin’ but a self-centred prick,” he said flatly. “Even worse than before. Ya finally make it pro and think yer hot shit—just 'cause people scream yer name when yer own the court. Big deal.”

Atsumu’s gaze snapped to him, lip curled.

“Ya jealous or somethin’? Do yer customers not praise yer cookin' enough? Mum and Dad not tell ya how good of a job yer doin’? Don’t they mention how proud they are, hm?”

The insult was laced with something meaner than usual. Something designed to wound. (Y/n) hadn't missed how he'd sneered at the word 'proud'.

Osamu’s laugh came out bitter and hollow.

“Ya wanna talk pride? I’m not the one who spent ten years chasin’ validation from strangers who don’t give a single fuck about me.”

“Don’t act like yer above it, Samu. You quit. You walked away. That ain’t noble—it’s convenient. You ain’t better than me just ‘cause ya chose a different path in life."

“It ain’t about quittin’,” Osamu shot back, voice climbing by the word. “It’s about growin’ up. Somethin’ ya clearly haven't figured out yet. I chose a different path, yeah—but it doesn’t mean I’m bitter about it.”

“Well clearly, ya are!” Atsumu’s voice cracked. “’Cause ya always do this—act like yer better. Like volleyball’s some big childish fantasy I should’ve grown out of. Ya treat me like I’m just some immature, fame-chasin’ loser.”

(Y/n) felt like she was shrinking into the couch. Her hands were cold.

This wasn’t just a fight. This was years of resentment spilling out into the open. This was the kind of thing you don’t come back from clean.

Osamu’s words came out sharp. A blade laced with raw vulnerability.

“No. It’s the fact that ya said you’d support me when I opened the shop. Ya promised. Then ya ghosted every time I needed help—‘Sorry bro, got practice,’ ‘Got a flight,’ ‘Maybe next week.’ Ya never showed up.”

Atsumu barked a laugh that sounded more like defence than humour.

“Because ya made it clear I didn’t belong there! Like I was just in the way!”

“You’re my brother,” Osamu bit out. “Ya could’ve been in the way all ya wanted, I wouldn’t have cared—as long as you were there.”

Atsumu looked like he was about to say something else—but something in his face faltered. His chest was heaving, eyes glassy and bright.

“Don’t ya drop this on me now,” he said, voice shaking. “Ya never once said any of that. Ya just sat there with that smug, quiet judgment—like you were waitin’ for me to fail or somethin'.”

Osamu stared at him, face unreadable.

“If I was ever smug,” he said, almost too quietly, “it’s ‘cause I had to swallow my fuckin’ pride and cheer for someone who made me feel like less every time he walked into the room.”

Atsumu scoffed—dry and bitter, like he was already bored of the argument.

“Whatever, Samu. Yer ramblin’. I never did any of that.”

And then, like he hadn’t already ripped enough open, he said it.

“You were always just the other twin, y’know that? The one they forget about.”

He didn’t stop there.

“That’s why you opened a fuckin’ rice shop. Only thing you could do where no one’d compare you to me.”

Silence.

Dead, thick silence.

(Y/n)’s body didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Her pulse pounded against her ribs like a warning, every beat echoing in her ears like thunder. It was the kind of silence that made her stomach twist. The kind you never forget.

Osamu’s voice broke it, flat and sharp like splintering glass.

“…What’d ya just say?”

Atsumu didn’t even blink. He just shrugged—slow. Venomous. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

And (y/n) thought maybe… maybe that would be it.

That maybe, somehow, the argument would just burn itself out right here. That they’d take a breath, walk away. Slam a door, maybe. Go to their rooms, sulk, ignore each other for the night. Maybe they’d go to bed angry—but alive. Whole.

She prayed for it. Please.

Her heart hammered in her chest, throat tightening with something close to panic. She didn’t even realize when she’d started gripping Suna’s sleeve, or when he’d silently threaded his thumb over her hand in slow, grounding circles.

But of course… of course Atsumu couldn’t let it go.

Couldn’t walk away, couldn’t end it without getting the last word.

And so he gave one final jab—sharp and deliberate.

Just because he could.

“Insecure prick.”

(Y/n) flinched like she’d been slapped.

Then everything happened at once.

The scrape of a chair against tile.

The sudden burst of footsteps.

Osamu’s snarl—raw and animal.

“You wanna say that to my fuckin’ face?”

She turned instinctively, practically scrambling to look over the back of the couch, and the moment she did—

Her breath caught.

Tears sprang to her eyes before she could stop them.

Osamu had Atsumu by the collar, knuckles white where they clenched his hoodie. His eyes were blazing—burning—with a rage she had never, ever seen on him before. His lip curled into the most vicious snarl she'd ever seen on a man, and for a split second, he didn’t look like Osamu.

He shoved him.

Not a brotherly push. Not roughhousing.

A taunt. A challenge. Hard enough that Atsumu stumbled backward into the kitchen table, his hand shooting out to catch himself. His eyes were wide, disbelief flashing across his face—but Osamu was already closing in.

His whole body moved like it had made the decision without him.

"Well?" Osamu’s voice was low, dangerous. "Where’s that loud mouth of yers now, huh?"

Atsumu straightened, rage flooding back into his expression. “Go ahead, then. Hit me. Bet it’d feel real good to finally win at somethin’, huh?”

Another shove—harder. The echo of it cracked through the apartment like a gunshot.

Then Atsumu lunged, fists curled, shoulders tense with instinct and fury.

Suna was on his feet in an instant.

Fast. Controlled. Silent.

He moved like he’d done it before—like he’d been in this moment before—and grabbed Atsumu by the collar, yanking him back with one solid motion that broke the momentum completely.

“Enough!” Suna snapped, voice harsher than she’d ever heard it.

Atsumu stumbled. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, red blooming across his face. Osamu didn’t back off. His fists were still clenched. His chest rose and fell like a war drum—like his body hadn’t registered the stop yet.

His hand twitched.

Like he still might swing.

That was when (y/n) moved.

She didn’t think. Didn’t decide. Her body just acted—rushing forward, slipping past the couch and across the room before she even knew what she was doing. All she could feel was the crushing weight of panic pressing against her chest, breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

“Stop it, please—just stop—” her voice cracked as it left her. She reached out blindly, fingers trembling, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Osamu, stop—”

Her hand closed around the fabric of his sleeve.

And then he moved.

Just the smallest shift—his foot sliding forward, his body leaning in like he hadn’t finished what he started.

But it was enough.

She flinched.

It wasn’t dramatic, just a jolt of instinct—a tiny pull-back, a muscle reaction that betrayed something she hadn’t even processed yet.

And that—that—was what finally broke him.

Osamu froze.

His head tilted just enough to really look at her, and whatever fury had lit his eyes minutes before drained out in an instant. What replaced it didn't look like rage. Nor pride. It was something smaller. More fragile.

Something shifted in his face. Like he’d just seen something he hadn’t expected. Maybe the fear in her eyes. Maybe the way she’d pulled back. The way her hand hovered now instead of holding him. The way she’d looked at him like he might actually hurt someone.

Regret.

His shoulders dropped as if something inside him had been holding them up, and now… now it was gone.

His hand fell slack to his side. His expression crumbled, jaw loosening, lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Behind them, Suna let out a breath—one that sounded more like a warning than relief.

“You two need to grow the hell up,” he muttered, still standing between them like a referee waiting for the bell to ring again.

The room fell silent.

The kind of silence that felt wet—like a storm had passed through and soaked everything in its wake. The air didn’t move. No one did.

The front door slammed so hard behind Atsumu that the frame rattled.

(Y/n) stayed frozen for a second. She didn’t even realize she was shaking until her hand brushed against the edge of the table behind her, searching for something solid. Something grounding. She curled her fingers around it and let out a slow, uneven breath.

Osamu didn’t move. Not right away. He just stood there, shoulders hunched like the weight of what just happened was finally setting in.

Then, quietly—so quietly it almost didn’t feel like him—he spoke.

“…I didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Her voice was soft. Still caught in her throat. “I know,” she murmured. “I just—” She exhaled, slow and unsteady. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Osamu swallowed. She saw the movement of his throat, the tension in his jaw that hadn’t fully left.

“I ain’t proud of it.”

He still wouldn’t look at her. He turned away, walked into the kitchen like he needed something to do—something to fill the space his anger had left behind. He opened drawers. Closed them. Opened them again. The rhythm of it was clumsy, like he couldn’t remember what he was looking for.

Suna sank into the couch behind her with a quiet groan, rubbing both hands over his face.

“Two idiots,” he muttered, voice muffled. “Raised in the same damn womb and somehow still managed to miss every one of each other’s signals.”

Another silence.

This one less charged. More… tired.

Osamu finally stopped moving. He leaned against the counter, hands braced on either side of the sink. Then his voice came again—quieter now. Not cracking, but close. Like he was speaking around something he didn’t want to let out.

“…He really thinks I look down on him?”

(Y/n) felt her chest tighten again.

“I don’t think he means it,” she said softly. “He’s just… hurt. And insecure. And too stubborn to say either out loud.”

Osamu was quiet for a long moment.

Then:

“…He’s not wrong.”

Her breath hitched.

“I was jealous. Still am, sometimes.”

He picked up a knife and a half-chopped onion from the cutting board, like he needed something to keep his hands busy. He started chopping. Too fast. Too hard. The blade hit the wood with a sound that made her flinch again—but he didn’t seem to notice.

“But not 'cause he’s better,” he muttered. “Just ‘cause… he still gets to chase somethin’ he loves. I stopped. And I tell myself I’m okay with it, but sometimes... I dunno if I am. What if the path I choose ain't the right one.”

There was nothing left to say for a moment. Just the sound of the knife hitting wood. The wet sound of the onion breaking down. The soft sniffle (y/n) tried to hide behind the sleeve of her sweater.

Suna glanced toward the door.

He didn’t look worried. Just tired. Like he’d seen this play out before.

“He’ll come back,” he said, voice quiet. Certain. “He always does.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond. She just nodded, barely.

Her legs moved on their own, carrying her back toward the couch. She sank into the cushion beside Suna with a quiet exhale, body curling inward. And then, before she could think her way out of it, she leaned into him—shoulder first, then chest, then the full weight of her pressing into his side like a dam finally cracking.

The tears came quick.

No warning. No breath to brace herself.

Just a wave of everything. The tension, the fear, the ache of hearing them fight like that. Of seeing Osamu like that. Of seeing Atsumu like that.

It poured out of her before she could stop it—but she tried. She buried her face in Suna’s hoodie and bit her lip, trying to keep the sound down. She didn’t want Osamu to hear. Didn’t want to make it worse.

Suna didn’t say anything at first. He just wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other moved in slow, calming strokes down her spine. He smelled like shampoo and the faintest trace of miso.

“Hey,” he murmured, lips close to her temple. “It’s okay."

She shook her head into his chest.

“I hate it when they fight,” she whispered, her voice watery and cracked. “I hate it.”

“I know,” he said, so gently it almost broke her more. “I know. Me too.”

He kept smoothing her hair down, over and over, like he was trying to brush the memory of it all away.

“They’ll be alright,” he said after a beat. “They’re too stubborn not to be.”

She didn’t know if he meant it or if he was just trying to comfort her—but either way, she let herself believe it for now.

And she stayed there, curled against him, eyes closed and heartbeat finally beginning to slow, while the apartment fell into something resembling stillness again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment was quiet again.

Not tense like earlier—just quiet in that way only late night could be. Everyone had retreated to their rooms after dinner-that-never-happened. Osamu hadn’t said much else. He just disappeared down the hall and shut his door with a quiet click.

Atsumu still hadn’t come back.

(Y/n) lay curled on her side, duvet pulled up to her chin. Her phone rested on the pillow beside her, screen dim but unlocked—no notifications.

It had been hours.

She blinked at the screen for what felt like the hundredth time, then reached over and finally typed:

You: atsumu please come home im worried where are you

She stared at the message. Thought about deleting it. Thought about saying something lighter, something less… honest.

She decided against it in the end.

It sat there, unread. The minutes crawled. The longer it went unanswered, the tighter her chest became. Every creak of the apartment made her glance toward the door. Every car on the street outside sent her hope spiking, only for it to crash just as quickly.

She was just about to turn off the screen when the typing dots finally appeared.

Then:

Tsum: sorry im omw back now needed to cool off samu up?

Her breath caught, then released in a shaky exhale. She clutched her phone tighter, replying fast with trembling fingers.

You: no. he’s sleeping. i’ll wait for you to come home want a tea?

A beat. Then:

Tsum: ty sweetheart <3 yh please sth floral

Her lips twitched. Warmth returned to her chest like someone had unclenched a fist there.

You: no worries tsum lol okay chamomile it is

She set her phone down on the mattress with a shaky breath, staring at the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The room was far too quiet for her liking and she could still feel the tension in her limbs, the way it had been sitting there all night like static in her bones.

The clock on her nightstand blinked past midnight.

With a quiet exhale, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Her legs ached from being curled up too long, knees stiff as she shuffled across the room. She pulled her hoodie tighter around her and slipped into her slippers, the fabric whispering softly against the wooden floorboards.

She cracked open her door.

The apartment was still. Dark. Peaceful in a way that didn’t quite feel settled—like a house still holding its breath after an argument.

She padded downstairs in silence, arms wrapped around herself, guided only by the faint glow of the kitchen’s under-cabinet light. She flicked on the kettle, its hum breaking the quiet, and moved through the motions without thinking—tea bag into the mug, sugar the way he liked it, hands curling around the ceramic to leech whatever warmth she could find.

She left the mug on the counter to steep and turned toward the hallway—

And then she heard it.

Keys.

A soft jingle at the front door, followed by the familiar click of the lock and the squeak of the handle turning.

He was home.

The second he stepped inside, (y/n) ran to him.

Not walked. Not paced.

Ran.

She threw her arms around him with a suddenness that knocked the wind out of both of them.

“Oof,” Atsumu exhaled, voice muffled in her hair. His arms flinched at his sides, caught off guard by the impact. But then they came up slowly, winding around her back. Holding her there.

“Hey, you,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. Just buried her face in the front of his hoodie, breathing him in like she’d been holding her breath all evening.

He smelled like rain and warmth. Like old fabric softener, the gym, and the faintest trace of something citrusy and clean—his shampoo, maybe. Finally—finally she allowed herself to breathe. To inhale the sweet scent that made her eyes sting and her shoulders finally relax.

“Bout time you came home,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I know,” he murmured. “’M sorry.”

“You better be.”

He chuckled, quiet and sheepish. “Missed you too, y’know.”

She pulled away first, her arms trailing down his sleeves before letting go completely. “C’mon,” she said, tugging gently at his wrist. “Tea’s ready.”

In the kitchen, she passed him the mug with both hands like it was something precious. He took it without a word, just smiled—tired, soft—and leaned his hip against the counter while she rinsed her own glass.

“Your hair’s still damp,” she said, glancing at him from the sink.

“Walked around for a while. Didn’t notice the rain.”

“You want a towel?”

“Nah. The hoodie’s doin’ the job.”

She rolled her eyes, but the fondness behind it made the moment feel lighter. Easier.

When they returned to the living room, she flicked the lamp down to its lowest setting. Just enough to see each other, but dim enough to feel safe. She curled up on the couch first, legs tucked beneath her, blanket pulled over both of them as Atsumu sank down beside her with his mug in hand.

It was quiet for a moment.

The steam from his cup rose and curled between them, catching the light like something magical. Her own sat comfortably between her fingers.

“Thanks,” he said, voice husky. “For the tea. And for… y’know. Textin’. Waitin'."

She nodded, absently tapping her nails against the ceramic. “You scared me.”

He looked down at his mug, fingers tightening around it. “Yeah,” he said. “Scared myself too.”

“You and Osamu…” she trailed off, voice soft. “You’ve fought before. But never like that.”

“I know.” He took a sip, eyes still downcast. “Believe it or not, that wasn’t the plan.”

She smiled faintly. “It never is.”

“I just… I saw red. And I was already so wound up. Then he had to go and say that—” He stopped, jaw working. “He really pissed me off."

She didn’t push. Just let the silence stretch between them before breaking it.

“I hate seeing you like that,” she said finally, her voice soft but sure. “Both of you. It’s like watching something split right down the middle, and I don’t know how to hold either half together.”

Atsumu didn’t answer right away. He just sipped his tea again. Then, with a sigh:

“He thinks I don’t care about him,” he murmured. “Thinks I’ve left him behind.”

“Have you?”

He looked at her—not defensive, not offended. Just tired.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I never meant to make him feel like that. I just… I kept movin’. Kept chasin’ stuff. And I guess I thought he’d understand. That he'd have his own thing goin' on and wouldn't care."

“You’re allowed to chase what you love,” she said. “That's not the issue. And sure, 'Samu's got his own career but... sometimes people still need to hear that you care. That they still matter.”

He nodded. Slowly.

“I said some real shitty stuff tonight.”

“Yeah,” she said gently. “So did he.”

“I should apologise.”

“You should.”

He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closed.

“It’s just hard, y’know? When you’re always buttin’ heads with someone who looks like you, talks like you… was born three minutes after you.”

She smiled at that. “But you’re not the same. That’s what makes you both special.”

He opened his eyes again, and for once, he didn’t hide behind a grin or a shrug. He just looked at her—weary, raw, and grateful.

“Ya always say the right thing.”

She ducked her head slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. Compliments from him always landed a little clumsy—like they stumbled into her chest before she was ready.

“Nah. I just say what you won’t.”

A quiet pause settled between them. She kept her eyes on the steam curling from her mug, but she could feel him watching her—the weight of his gaze thoughtful, warm.

His voice came softer this time, almost tentative.

“I meant it, by the way.” (Y/n) glanced up, brows lifting slightly. “That I missed ya,” he added.

Something softened in her chest. She bumped his knee with hers, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I know.”

The blanket shifted slightly as she leaned her head on his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head, their mugs cooling in their hands. The room hummed with warmth and things unspoken. Between them, between the brothers.

It was messy, still a little raw. But it was better. And for now, that's all (y/n) could ask for.

[solvisun]

040625. have this meet-cute drabble with atsumu while i decide what theme i should do next <3

the first time you make eye contact with atsumu miya, you think you’ve gone mad.

because no sane person would lock eyes with a stranger mid-chaos—while being dragged by a dog on a mission of mass destruction—and think,

god, he’s pretty.

but there he is, flat on his back in the grass, hair tousled, hoodie speckled with leaves, and a golden retriever (probably) standing proudly on his stomach like it just conquered mount fuji. and he’s looking right at you, brows furrowed, like you summoned this nonsense.

your dog, meanwhile, is in a full tail-wagging, tongue-lolling friendship sort-of-ceremony with the retriever, their leashes entwined in an unsolvable knot of destiny.

"you owe me a new shoulder," atsumu says, still not moving. “and maybe a new dog.”

“your dog started it,” you try to argue, breathless, wrestling your leash back from the vortex of dog limbs.

atsumu sits up with a wince and a smirk. “and yer dog finished it. i’m impressed. also a little scared.”

you blink. “are you always this dramatic?”

he shrugs. “only when cute people crash into me.”

god. maybe you have gone mad.

[ctrlkenma]

♯ TEXTS W TSUMU ! ✦

☆ cw ; vaping, mentions of addiction (?) slightly suggestive

© ctrlkenma, 2025.

[dumdogs]

wc: 392

cw: alcohol use, smoking

She’s drunk, sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor. The tips of Atsumu’s knees brush against hers. He has a dying lighter in his hands and a poorly rolled joint between his lips. He doesn’t get it lit until his fifth try. Her head spins.

She watches through half-closed eyes as Atsumu inhales, and then tilts his head back to blow smoke up towards his ceiling. The smell of it combines with his heavy cologne. Watching his hands grounds her.

“Here,” Atsumu says, and he lifts the joint towards her lips. He doesn’t wait for her response before he’s placing it between her lips, holding it delicately with two fingers. She inhales like she was told to, and Atsumu hums. “You look so pretty like that.”

There’s a delay in her head, and she doesn’t hear his words until she’s exhaling through her nose and Atsumu’s hand’s retracted. She feels dizzier than before.

Atsumu doesn’t say things like that to her. He shouldn’t. It makes her throat tighten up and her skin prickles. “Tsumu,” she drunkenly slurs, pulling her knees up to her chest, “don’t say things like that to me.”

“Yeah?” he says, smoke billowing from his mouth as he speaks. “Why not?”

She’s not drunk enough to feel embarrassed. She thinks that maybe she will be in the morning, when she remembers that this is real, and her words hold weight. “Cuz it makes me want to kiss you.”

Atsumu doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t say anything for so long that it makes her think that she made a mistake. Her eyes find the ground, and her cheeks grow hot.

“D’ya mean that?” he asks, voice suddenly lower.

Her eyes flash up to meet his. His eyes seem dark. He clenches his jaw and his Adam’s apple bobbles in his throat as he swallows. “Yeah,” she says lightly, afraid to be any louder than she is.

Atsumu grins, then. Slight and easy, and it makes her stomach flip. “You can kiss me in the morning, then, if you still mean it.”

She sleeps in his bed that night, limbs sprawled out and entangled in his. He keeps an arm over her chest and he snores in her ear. She tosses and turns but he doesn’t let her get an inch. When morning comes, Atsumu doesn’t let her forget.

general taglist: @wyrcan @lale-txt @dambxtch @angee444 @kameyyy @A-girl-can’t-decide-on-a-name @kodzu-ken @girlhooddiaries @boooolame @thatonecroc @nnnyxie @eclecticeggknightpsychic @manhattanstrawberry @evilari111

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[sukumna]

┌─ ⟢ HAIKYUU PORN LINKS

𐔌─ cw. porn links. don’t like just scroll. inspired by this post i wrote !

𐔌─ characters. bokuto. osamu. suna. iwaizumi. atsumu

— BOKUTO KOUTAROU and passionate, almost desperate sex.

bokuto and his breeding kink | him shoving his cum back into you | bokuto is just so much bigger than you | this sums up bokuto koutarou in one video

— MIYA OSAMU and laid back possessive sex.

he’s the only one who’ll ever fuck your ass | osamu loves pussy jobs | an ass person through and through | his favorite video you guys ever made | possessive kisses

— SUNA RINTAROU and lazy, teasing, “you’re mine” sex.

make out sesh with suna is the best type of foreplay | you definitely sent this to his annoying ex after you were done | sunarin’s lazy self love to make you ride him | suna pounding you after you complain that you always do all the work

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME and frustration-fueled sex.

you can’t handle the way iwa fucks you | having a personal trainer as a bf definitely has its perks, his stamina and strength is unmatched | iwa loves looking at your face crumble as he fucks you | ridin iwa’s girthy cock after an argument

— MIYA ATSUMU and teasing, ‘we shouldn’t be doin this’ sex.

atsumu n you doing a quickie in the car right before practice | best friend atsumu stretching you out n filling you up before sending you on your date | he can’t help teasing his whiney baby | tsumu loves filming you

[reverie-starlight]

THE BOY HAS RETURNED!!! how I managed to go 5 months without writing for him I will never know. anyway, here’s some atsumu fluff to heal my soul after finishing my last assignment last week and more recently a rough few days of back-to-back exams.

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. university student!reader, MSBY!atsumu. very fluffy, ultra sappy. y’all know the drill. uhhhh very suggestive towards the end. this is very short bc I'm slowly trying to get back into writing after a creative block. I've missed him SO much, you have no idea :(

you reach your arms above your head and hiss at the dull pain that follows your much needed stretch. slumping back down into your chair, you sigh and allow yourself a moment to take in the fact that you can actually relax for the next day or two, completely guilt free.

you shut your laptop and make your way over to the bedroom, eager to finally crawl into atsumu’s arms. you feel bad for him- you’ve been so busy with your assignments and finals lately that you’ve hardly been able to spend any quality time with him.

he’s been a good sport about it of course- he knows how important your education is, but you also know extremely well how much of a dramatic little shit he can be sometimes.

sure enough, as soon as he sees your figure in the doorway, he turns to face the wall and leaves you with the very familiar, beloved view of his back.

but you miss him, and you'll be damned if you don't get any congratulatory cuddles from him tonight, even if you have to fight for them.

you grin a little and slide under the covers behind him, tracing a finger along his broad shoulders.

“baby,” you make sure to drag out the last syllable. you press a kiss to the nape of his neck and smile against his skin when he shudders. “you’re really going to ignore me?”

he doesn’t answer just yet, but you can feel his resolve (which clearly isn't the strongest in this moment) breaking with every kiss you press down his spine, along his shoulder blades, the backs of his arms…

until he finally caves and turns to you with that lovesick grin you adore so much. he wraps his arms around your waist and you realize just how much you've been missing him.

"are ya finally done?" his eyes shine with hope and your heart squeezes in your chest.

you nod and he pulls you closer so that you're face-to-face, breaths mingling and lips barely touching. his skin, always so warm and soft, smells of fresh laundry and his breath has hints of the minty toothpaste your dentist recommended. you burrow against his neck and release the last of your worries with one big sigh.

and in typical atsumu fashion, as if he's just received an encoded message, he kisses your temple to let you know he's got you. "I'm proud of ya," he mumbles. "I know this was a tough semester for ya, baby, but you're gonna finish off strong."

you melt against him, let your shoulders relax and allow yourself the mental break that is letting him take care of you. "thank you," you whisper. "I'm just so glad I have a few days to rest now."

the energy of the room shifts with atsumu as he moves to hover your frame. the calluses on his hand from years of athletics are rough against the cheek he cups but comforting all the same. the look in his eyes is familiar and makes you a little dizzy with need.

"since you've got nothin' going on tomorrow..." your eyes stay trained on him as he turns his head to check the clock on your nightstand. "that means ya can afford to stay up a bit longer?"

you nod, not even bothering to check the time for yourself, welcoming him with a small smile when his eyes find their way back home to you. "that's right."

he grins and leans down to finally, finally, finally slot his lips against yours, right where they belong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[kaxela]

kuroo bf headcanons w/ short stories

₍^. .^₎⟆ (kurooxfem!reader)

not proofread.

When you would complain that you're not feeling well, Kuroo would always diagnose you + come up with the perfect solution to your problem. EVERYTIME.

"Babe," You cry out. "I'm not feeling well for some reason. Like, I feel dizzy?"

This man runs up to you all worried. He starts putting the back of his hand to your forehead. He kind of ponders what may be wrong, and then has his little aha moment.

"Did you eat anything at all today?"

"No-"

You were going to add on more, but that 'no' was all he needed to hear. He swiftly digs into into his cross-sling bag. He frickin' pulls out a convenient banana and just hands it to you.

"Low blood sugar, babe. Here ya go."

Okay, I don't know why. I totally see Kuroo playing basketball here and there. Except it's just for fun and not competitive compared to his volleyball. He loves bringing you out to play with him.

The two of you were at a local park near your home. You were neck to neck with him at a game of basketball. Kuroo could be absolutely insufferable as a defender.

Just before you think you're able to shoot the ball in the hoop, he easily defends your shot.

"Bam!" He exclaims as the ball flies back to his palms. No doubt, he's a middle blocker.

You measly try to smack the ball before he throws a 2-pointer. You fail, miserably. He somehow manages to flawlessly makes it in without the ball hitting the rim.

Moments later . . .

"Kuroo, I want to be able to do dunk." You hop with the ball in your grasp. To no luck, you aren't able to do an insane vertical jump like your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend absolutely dies at the sight of you attempting to be like a D1 basketball player. You swear his hyena laugh could be heard miles away. Without even thinking, he grabs you by the hips and carries you up to the net.

"Go, go, go! Dunk!" Kuroo chants.

Swoosh.

The ball fell right through the hoop. He holds you right back on the ground, and you immediately go in for a hug.

You aren't as skilled as he is, but you're so incredibly grateful that he makes sure you have a good time

You know how he canonically sleeps with two pillows smushed to his face. He would definitely use your thighs to do the exact same thing.

It was a chilly Thursday evening. There were no major plans for you today. As for right now, you were waiting for Kuroo to come back from his business dinner.

You hear the door unlock, and here came in your boyfriend. His eyes were half-lidded, he lazily threw the house keys on the table. You were excited to see him, but a little shocked to see him come back so soon.

"Oh, you're back home so soon. Did you guys end up drinking?" You question.

He shakes his head, "Nah, I didn't feel like it," Kuroo slumps on the sofa alongside with you. He lets out an exasperated sigh. Something at the dinner must have bummed him out, or he just really had a long day.

"I wanted to spend the rest of the night with you. Plus, I'm kind a tired." He stretches his arms out and lets out a huge yawn.

Admittedly, your face slowly turns beet red. You were happy to hear that your boyfriend wanted to spend his time with you for tonight.

You reach over to him and begin patting his hair, and massage his scalp. Kuroo hums to your gentle movements and surrenders to your touch. He closes his eyes and begins laying your body down on the sofa.

"I'll just take a quick nap, kay?..."

You were just a teensy bit flustered, but you let him rest up. You always end up being swayed by this man's devilish handsome looks.

Over and over again.

You move his bangs over to the side to get a good look of his face. You always notice his face is so relaxed and pretty when he's just resting, eyes closed. Unexpectedly, Kuroo gently purrs and grabs your legs closer to his head.

His hands wrap around your thighs and he wedges his head between them.

"Um, Tetsu?"

No response. All you can hear the next second is soft in and out breaths come out of him. You giggle a little, however this position felt just a little suggestive. You would feel so bad to just wake him up now, so you kind of just let him have his way with you.

[missmadella]

Professional, My Ass (Atsumu x Reader)

Got a little carried away again—but I hope you enjoy it :3

Summary: When you're assigned as the translator for pro volleyball star Atsumu Miya during his international media tour, you expect long hours and short patience—not endless flirtation, elevator arguments, and a slow-burning tension that refuses to fade.

Words: 9558

The arrivals hall buzzed with noise—chatter in multiple languages, wheels clattering over tile, and the constant overhead drone of flight announcements. You stood just outside customs with a small placard that read "MSBY BLACK JACKALS – Translator", dressed sharply but casually—clean lines, black jeans, tucked-in tee, blazer. Hair pulled back, expression focused. You weren’t here to fangirl. You were here to do your job.

This was your third time working as a translator for an international sports team, but your first time with a Japanese volleyball team, and definitely your first time with a player like Miya Atsumu on the roster.

You’d done your homework—watched the press clips, read the interviews, even a few Twitter threads (regrettably). Everything pointed to the same conclusion: talented, cocky, and kind of a menace.

You were bracing for the worst.

Your earpiece buzzed as the team’s coordinator updated you.

“They’ve landed. Should be heading through customs in a few minutes.” “Got it,” you replied, already scanning the crowd with practiced calm.

As the wave of black tracksuits emerged from the gate, you spotted him instantly. Platinum-blond hair under a black cap, duffle slung over his shoulder, walking like the world owed him a trophy. Miya Atsumu—grinning, stretching like he owned the airport. Yeah. He looked exactly like the videos.

He walked right past you at first.

Then stopped. Reversed. Squinted at the sign you were holding.

“Yer the translator?” he asked, his Japanese sharp and casual, accented just enough to feel familiar.

You nodded. “Yes. I’m [Your Name]. I’ll be with the team during the tour. Language, logistics, media.”

“Ya don’t look like a translator.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You raised an eyebrow.

He blinked. Then grinned. “Dunno yet. Guess I’ll find out.”

You didn’t blush. You never did. But you did silently reevaluate the situation. Charming—in a smug, trouble-magnet kind of way. The kind of guy who tried to push your buttons just to see what would happen.

You decided right then you weren’t going to let him win.

He glanced down at your sign again.

“Wait, lemme try somethin’,” he said, holding up a hand. “Been practicin’ a little.”

You watched him pause, think hard, then point to your sign and say—very slowly— “Can… I… touch… your grandmother?”

A beat of silence.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He frowned. “That ain’t right?”

You stifled a laugh—barely. “You meant to say ‘Can I ask your name,’ didn’t you?”

“…Maybe.”

You sighed, pulling your phone out to type a quick correction into his notes app. “We’re gonna need to work on that.”

He leaned a little closer than necessary to peek at your phone screen. “That your way of sayin’ I need ya?”

You turned to him, deadpan. “It’s my way of saying I don’t want to be responsible for you offending anyone’s grandma.”

That got a full-on laugh out of him. Loud and unfiltered. And just like that, the tension broke.

You didn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to get the feeling: this job wasn’t going to be boring.

___________________________________________________________________________

Outside the terminal, the city air was thick and warm, heavy with humidity and the scent of traffic and foreign soil. Cars zipped by in orderly chaos as you flagged down a taxi. Atsumu followed you, dragging his overpacked duffle behind him like a stubborn child. He was still grinning from his failed language attempt.

The cab pulled up with a low rumble, and you popped the trunk open smoothly, helping him load his things before sliding into the front passenger seat. He got in the back, and the driver glanced at you for the destination.

You fired off the hotel’s name and address in fluent, clipped local dialect, then turned back to check that Atsumu was buckled. He was sprawled across the seat already like he’d just finished a five-set match.

“Y’know,” he said, tapping the window as the cab pulled away, “this city’s kinda pretty. Not as pretty as you, though.”

You didn’t even blink.

“No flirting,” you said flatly, adjusting your seatbelt. “I’m here to help you navigate, not stroke your ego.”

He whistled low under his breath. “That was cold, translator-chan.”

You glanced back at him. “Do you want to get to the hotel or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, kicking his foot up against the opposite door. “Just sayin’. You’re not what I expected.”

“And you’re exactly what I expected.”

That made him snort, hand going to the back of his neck. “Aww, c’mon. I’m not that bad.”

“You’re a professional athlete who can’t order food, navigate street signs, or conduct a press interview without accidentally proposing marriage,” you said coolly. “Yet.”

He was silent for a moment, either offended or impressed—you couldn’t quite tell.

Then he leaned forward, resting his arms across the back of your seat.

“But you’ll be there when I need ya, right?”

His voice dipped just slightly lower, a little softer, a little too close to your ear.

You exhaled. Slowly.

“I’ll be there,” you said. “When. You. Need. Translation.”

You didn’t look at him. He sat back, laughing again, but this time quieter, maybe slightly sheepish. The cab rolled on in silence for a moment.

___________________________________________________________________________

When you finally arrived at the hotel, you stepped out first, scanning the entrance before he even opened the door.

The hotel was a sleek, modern tower in the heart of the city’s business district. Gleaming glass, uniformed staff, a lobby so polished it felt like a film set. As soon as you walked through the doors, the front desk staff approached with bright smiles—one of them already eyeing Atsumu like they knew who he was.

You gave your name and presented the booking confirmation on your tablet, switching languages fluidly. Atsumu stood beside you, smiling politely, until the receptionist addressed him directly—rapid-fire and enthusiastic.

He froze.

You glanced up. “Do you want me to—”

“Please,” he muttered, scratching his cheek.

You stepped in immediately, smoothing over the confusion with ease. The receptionist laughed, nodding, and handed over the room key.

“You’ll be on the twelfth floor,” you told Atsumu, passing him the card.

“Coulda handled that,” he grumbled.

“You were about to nod and agree to a wake-up call at 4 a.m.”

“...Fair.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, chaos officially began.

You were in the hotel’s small conference room by 9 a.m., sorting through a stack of printed schedules, athlete profiles, and local broadcast notes when the team PR rep dropped a bomb on you.

“Atsumu’s got a solo interview in thirty minutes. Live stream. One of the major broadcasters.”

You blinked. “Thirty minutes?”

“Yeah, sorry. It got moved up.”

“Does he know?”

The rep’s face said: not yet.

You sighed, grabbed your badge, and went on the hunt.

You found him in the hotel gym, tossing a volleyball in the air and hitting it against the wall while two hotel guests watched, enchanted.

“Atsumu,” you said sharply.

He turned. “Oh hey! You came to watch me work out?”

You tossed a rolled-up schedule at his chest. “Interview. Thirty minutes. Let’s go.”

He groaned. “Do I gotta wear somethin’ nice?”

“Preferably something that doesn’t scream ‘I slept in this.’”

“Yer scary when yer bossy.”

“You haven’t seen scary yet.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The media studio wasn’t far from the hotel—ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops—but in the backseat of the taxi with Atsumu Miya beside you, it felt like an eternity.

From the moment the doors closed, he was in full “entertainment mode.”

“Y’know,” he said, shifting in his seat so he was half-facing you, “I bet this city’s got a good dating scene.”

You didn’t even glance up from the itinerary in your hands. “Try experiencing the volleyball scene first.”

“But I’m a multitasker,” he said with a grin.

You inhaled slowly through your nose. “Atsumu. Please. For five minutes. Just… exist silently.”

He blinked. “Why, ‘cause yer scared you’ll fall for me if I keep talkin’?”

That made you actually lower your folder and stare at him.

“No,” you said, deadpan. “I’m scared I’ll throw you out of the moving vehicle.”

He laughed—loud, unbothered. Like your threats were flirting. Like everything was a game.

You turned your face toward the window, muttering, “You are such a pain in the ass.”

But you said it in your native language, sharp and low, making sure he wouldn’t understand.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Nothing,” you replied, eyes still fixed on the passing streetlights. “Just hoping we hit a red light… forever.”

By the time the cab pulled up to the curb, you were holding onto your professionalism by a thread.

“Finally,” you exhaled, pushing the door open before the car even came to a full stop. “We’re here.”

Atsumu slid out behind you, stretching his arms over his head and grinning like the trip had been the highlight of his day.

“You’re so tense,” he said casually. “Maybe after the interview, we grab lunch? Clear the air a little?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “I don’t eat with my clients. I babysit them.”

He put a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

“You’ll live.”

You were already walking toward the studio entrance when he jogged a few steps to catch up, still smiling. Still too tall. Still too loud.

“You’re kinda mean, translator-chan.”

You didn’t look at him, just held the door open with a polite smile and said, “Good. Maybe it’ll keep you in line for the next twenty minutes.”

He walked in first, and under your breath, you added, “God, I hope the mic cuts out.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The studio lobby was chilled with air conditioning and that faint scent of wires, dust, and too much coffee. A wall of glass separated the front room from the broadcasting space beyond, where crew members darted between lights, cameras, and tangled cords like ants before a storm.

You approached the check-in desk and introduced yourself in the local language, all crisp syllables and quiet confidence. The staff member behind the counter smiled, nodded, and gestured toward the waiting area.

“They’ll be ready for him in ten minutes,” she said brightly.

“Great. Thank you.” You turned to Atsumu. “Sit. Don’t wander. Don’t touch anything.”

Atsumu blinked at you like you’d just asked him not to breathe. “You make me sound like a kid.”

“I’ve worked with kids,” you said. “They’re easier.”

He let out a dramatic sigh and flopped into one of the sleek leather chairs, manspreading immediately. You sat beside him with your tablet, scrolling through the notes from the PR team.

After exactly two seconds of silence, he leaned toward you.

“So… what’s your sign?”

You didn’t even look up. “Stop talking.”

“But what if we’re astrologically compatible? That’s important.”

You finally glanced over. “Atsumu, I don’t care if the stars themselves came down from the sky and told me we were soulmates. I’d still run.”

He laughed, clearly delighted. “Yer killin’ me. Seriously. What do ya do when you’re not translating? Like… for fun?”

You considered lying and telling him you played with knives.

Instead: “I rest. And I try to avoid volleyball players who think they’re God’s gift to women.”

He smirked. “So you admit I’m a gift.”

You gave him a dead stare.

Before you could make him regret being born, a production assistant appeared at the door. “We’re ready for you, Miya-san.”

You stood immediately, voice switching languages effortlessly as you thanked her and gestured for Atsumu to follow.

Inside the studio, it was even colder, the kind of place designed to keep people sharp and sweat-free under pressure. Lights blazed down on the center stage—just a small round desk with two chairs, mics, and a modest backdrop featuring both the local league’s logo and Japan’s team emblem.

Atsumu was ushered to his seat. He glanced up at the overhead cameras, then at his reflection in a blackened monitor.

“D’you think I need more gel?” he asked, running a hand through his already-perfect hair.

“No,” you said flatly. “You need less ego.”

He smirked again but dropped it after you stepped behind the camera setup and put in your earpiece.

You double-checked the translation stream in your headset, confirming your mic would stay off-camera as you whispered cues to him during the live interview.

The host entered next, all polished confidence and perfect posture. He shook Atsumu’s hand and greeted him warmly—in fast, enthusiastic local dialect.

You leaned slightly toward Atsumu. “Smile. Nod. Don’t commit to anything.”

He nodded, flashed a winning grin, and said something like, “Yoroshiku,” in a way that made it sound vaguely flirtatious.

You resisted the urge to hit him with your clipboard.

Then the red light over the camera blinked on.

They were live.

You exhaled, bracing yourself.

Let the chaos begin.

__________________________________________________________________________

The cameras blinked on, signaling the start of the live broadcast.

The host gave a confident smile, his voice smooth as he welcomed the audience.

Host (in local language): "Welcome to today’s special coverage of the International Volleyball Tournament! We are honored to have one of Japan’s finest athletes, Miya Atsumu, with us today. Miya-san, how are you feeling?"

Atsumu was already grinning, his usual playful demeanor taking over as he leaned forward, looking straight into the camera.

“Feeling great!” He spoke slowly, probably to make sure the host and viewers understood him. “The team’s looking good, and I’m excited to show everyone what we’ve got.”

You gave him a quick glance from behind the camera, hand on your tablet, ready for the next cue.

Host (smiling): "And we’re sure they’ll be excited to see you in action. Now, tell us, how do you prepare mentally for a match? What’s your ritual?”

You leaned in, whispering the translation in Atsumu’s ear. “They’re asking about your pre-match routine.”

He nodded. “Ah, okay. I focus, get in the zone, maybe listen to some music, and just relax.”

You translated smoothly for the host, but Atsumu added his own flair, looking back at the camera with a smirk.

“But honestly, the real key is my teammates. I just let them do all the work while I score the winning point.” He winked at the camera.

You froze, blinking. “Atsumu. Don’t.”

But he was already on a roll.

Host (laughing): "Ah, Miya-san, always with the confidence! But we love that about you. Now, you’ve been in the spotlight for quite a while. How does it feel to be so famous, not just in Japan, but globally?"

You quickly translated, but you could already tell Atsumu wasn’t about to let this slide without his usual commentary.

“Well,” he began, leaning back, “It’s cool and all, but...”

He turned toward you, locking eyes with that trademark grin.

“I’d rather be known for my skills, ya know?” He pointed toward you, “Like my translator here—she’s the real MVP.”

You felt your face flush with an awkward half-smile. This guy…

The host chuckled, clearly entertained. “I see! Miss L/N, you must be doing something right to earn such praise.”

You: “I just make sure he doesn’t insult anyone too badly,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “So, you think I insult people?”

You gave him a look. “If you keep calling the crowd ‘pretty’ every time you see them, you’ll get arrested.”

He laughed. “Only if they’re not flattered.”

You winced internally. This was already spiraling. You couldn’t even keep up with his antics anymore.

Host: “So, Miya-san, we’ve heard some rumors about you being quite the ladies' man—what’s the truth in that?”

You glanced down at your tablet, keeping the translation flowing. This was going to be interesting.

Atsumu flashed another grin, turning to face the camera directly. “I mean, I’m just a humble guy, y’know? But hey, if a fan wants to grab coffee sometime, I’m not one to say no.”

You choked on your breath and shot him an incredulous look.

You whispered, “Atsumu—stop flirting with the entire city.”

He looked at you, genuinely surprised. “I thought I was just being friendly.”

You didn’t bother responding. Instead, you got straight to work.

“Maybe it’s time for a change of topic, yeah?” you said quickly, turning to the host. “How about the team dynamics? How do you work together as a unit?”

The host nodded, grateful for the smooth save, and tossed the question back to Atsumu. “Yes, tell us about how the team prepares to support each other, especially during crucial moments.”

You relaxed slightly. You knew this was something Atsumu could talk about seriously, and finally, he settled into the role.

Atsumu: “It’s all about trust. We’re a team, not just a group of guys trying to score points. Off the court, we hang out, we joke around, but when it’s game time, we’re all in it together. We push each other.”

This time, you translated without feeling the need to edit too much. It was genuine.

Host: “That’s wonderful to hear, Miya-san. Now, before we wrap up, can you share with us what you’re most looking forward to in this tournament?”

Atsumu smiled widely, sitting up straighter in his chair. “The fans,” he said, with a soft but serious tone. “I can’t wait to hear their energy. Volleyball’s not just about the game. It’s about how the crowd makes you feel alive. I wanna give them something to remember.”

You caught the sincerity in his words and translated it carefully. The host nodded, clearly moved.

_________________________________________________________________________

As the final questions rolled by, you found yourself silently thankful that the interview was almost over. Yet you couldn’t deny how effortlessly Atsumu switched from playful flirt to focused athlete.

When the light above the camera clicked off, signaling the end of the live broadcast, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

_________________________________________________________________________

Host: “Thank you so much for your time, Miya-san. You’ve been a fantastic guest.”

Atsumu stood and bowed. “Thank you. It was a blast.” He shot you a look with that same mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, translator-chan, I’ll try to be good next time.”

You smiled politely, but the sarcasm in your eyes made it clear: you didn’t believe that for a second.

You quickly motioned for him to follow you out of the studio. “Let’s get this over with,” you muttered under your breath.

He stepped up beside you, nudging your shoulder playfully as you made your way out the door.

“See? That wasn’t so bad. You think the crowd liked me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just pray they liked your volleyball, not your… charming personality.”

He gave a mock pout, but then softened. “Alright, alright. Thanks for makin’ me sound better than I am.”

You didn’t say anything back. You just wished for one peaceful moment in the hotel room before his next “charming” idea popped up.

___________________________________________________________________________

The buzz of the studio fades as you and Atsumu exit into the hallway. The crew is still packing up, voices low in the distance, but it’s quieter here, away from the cameras.

Atsumu stretches out his arms, clearly relieved. You catch his gaze for a split second before you turn toward the elevator, already mentally preparing for the rest of the day.

“Well,” he says, voice lighter, “That wasn’t so bad, right? I think I nailed it.”

You keep your eyes ahead, already scanning your phone for the next set of details. “You didn’t ruin anything, so I’ll give you credit for that.”

“Damn, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” he says, though you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

There’s a beat of silence as you both step into the elevator. The doors close with a soft ding, and for a moment, you’re trapped together in the small, quiet space. His scent—a mix of cologne and something subtly woodsy—fills the air, almost too close. You turn your attention back to the tablet in your hands, pretending you don’t notice the way his eyes flicker over to you now and then.

Then, just as the elevator hums upward, he speaks again. This time, it’s quieter, softer, and a little more genuine.

“You know,” he says, voice uncharacteristically low, “I didn’t expect you to be so... tough on me.”

You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

He meets your gaze, his usual cocky grin softened, something more real there now. “You’re all business. Cold even.” He lets out a small laugh. “I thought you’d be, I dunno… more impressed by me. Or at least have some fun with it.”

You’re not sure what makes you do it, but you roll your eyes—slightly. Just enough to let him know you’re not falling for it. “You really think I’m impressed by your… charm?”

He shrugs, still smiling, but this time it’s not as confident. “I figured you might be one of the few people who could keep up with me.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, thick with something unspoken. You could’ve said something sharp to cut the tension. Could’ve thrown out another sarcastic quip.

But instead, you feel it. That flicker. Maybe it’s the quiet of the elevator. Or the way his eyes are just a little too focused on you.

You shift slightly, looking away as if the air got a little too thick. “I’m not here for your charm, Atsumu. I’m here to do a job.”

Your voice doesn’t waver. It’s still cool. Professional. But there’s something in the way you say it that feels... sharper.

He leans against the wall of the elevator, a strange seriousness in his expression. “I get it. You’re just doing your job. But, you know, you don’t always have to be so... cold.”

You don’t look at him this time, but the words settle somewhere unexpected inside you. You feel his gaze on you, but you don’t acknowledge it—just keep your face neutral.

Finally, the elevator reaches your floor with a soft ding.

You step out first, trying to shake off the sudden shift in the air between you two.

You’re almost out of the elevator when Atsumu catches up to you, this time his voice lighter, almost teasing again.

“But hey,” he calls, with a smirk you can almost hear. “If you ever do wanna have some fun...”

You stop in your tracks and glance at him over your shoulder.

“Don’t.” Your voice is firm, but you’re not angry—just unamused.

Atsumu grins, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. He raises his hands in mock surrender, looking almost innocent. “Alright, alright. But you can’t say I didn’t try.”

You just shake your head, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips—only for a moment, before you return to your usual cold demeanor.

It’s just another day.

And maybe that’s exactly how you want it.

___________________________________________________________________________

The hotel lobby was unusually quiet for a busy morning, the soft hum of a few guests chatting in the distance. You sat near the large windows with your coffee, catching up on your emails and glancing at the schedule for the day. The warm sunlight bathed the space, and for a moment, it felt like you could forget the chaos of the previous day.

That is, until you noticed someone else in the lobby—one of the local press members. Tall, dark-haired, with sharp features, and a smile that seemed just a little too eager. You couldn’t remember his name, but you definitely remembered the way he looked at you during the press conference.

He approached you with a casual step, his smile already in place as he glanced down at your coffee.

“Hey, good morning,” he greeted, his tone warm, almost too familiar for a first meeting.

You didn’t look up immediately, trying to give off a disinterested vibe. “Morning.”

But he wasn’t deterred. He stood by your table, glancing at the empty chair across from you.

“Mind if I join you? You look like you could use some company.”

You gave him a tight smile, hoping to brush him off. “I’m actually fine. Just trying to catch up on some work.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he pulled the chair out and sat down anyway. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you since yesterday’s interview. I thought you did a great job translating. Not easy work, I bet.”

You gave a polite nod, but you didn’t want to encourage him any further. “Thanks, but I really do need to get some work done.”

The guy ignored your hint and leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower in an attempt to seem more intimate. “You know, you seem different from the other people here. So serious, focused… I like that in a woman.”

You clenched your jaw, annoyed. He was crossing the line, but you weren’t sure how to get rid of him without making a scene.

Just as you were about to give him a polite but firm “I’m not interested,” you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Is everything alright here?”

You turned your head slightly, and to your surprise, it was Atsumu. He stood in the lobby doorway, his hotel robe hanging loosely over his shoulders, freshly showered and looking effortlessly handsome.

For a moment, you felt a strange sense of relief, like a wave of cool air had swept through the space. But you didn’t show it.

The local guy seemed to hesitate for a second, his eyes darting between you and Atsumu. His smile faltered slightly as he stood up from the table.

“Oh, no problem,” he said quickly, offering a halfhearted smile. “Just wanted to chat with her for a bit.”

Atsumu stepped closer, his presence larger than life. “You sure about that? Looks like she was pretty busy.”

You watched the exchange, your fingers gripping your coffee cup tighter. You hadn’t expected Atsumu to step in like this—but the guy wasn’t giving up so easily.

The local guy finally raised his hands in mock surrender, not wanting to escalate things. “Alright, alright. No need to get defensive.” He flashed you one last look before walking away, a little annoyed that his charm hadn’t worked.

Atsumu stood there for a moment, watching him leave with a knowing smirk, before turning to face you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. He wasn’t just playing the role of the protector; there was a certain edge to the way he asked it. Jealousy?

You took a slow breath, still feeling the weight of the encounter. “I’m fine. Just didn’t realize some people couldn’t take a hint.”

Atsumu leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes scanning you with a glint of something unspoken. “Yeah, he didn’t seem to get that. Guys like him think they can just talk to you like that without knowing a thing about you.”

You looked up at him, slightly confused. “And you think you’re any different?”

Atsumu didn’t miss a beat. “I’m just a guy trying to make sure you don’t get annoyed by random people who don’t know how to back off.”

You felt the subtle tension building, but you didn’t want to let him see you react to his words. Instead, you straightened up, trying to keep things neutral.

“Well, it’s not like you’re doing this because you care, right?” You kept your voice even, not giving too much away. “You’re just doing it because it’s your job to make sure I don’t get distracted by ‘random guys.’”

He didn’t immediately respond. There was a pause as he looked at you, the playful edge in his eyes dulling slightly. It wasn’t his usual cocky grin, but something closer to a quiet acknowledgment.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his voice softer than you expected. “It’s part of the job. But, I mean... I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have to deal with guys like that every day. It’s annoying.”

You shifted in your seat, feeling an unexpected warmth creeping up your neck. “I’m fine, really. He wasn’t that bad.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I saw the way you looked at him. Not impressed at all.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I wasn’t impressed because I’m not interested. He just doesn’t get that.”

His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual. His smirk returned, but it was tempered by something deeper—something real.

“Well,” he said, standing up straight again, “I’ll just be here making sure no more guys try to talk to you. Just in case.” His tone was light again, but you could see the shift in the way he moved now. He wasn’t just being a cocky teammate; there was something more to it.

You couldn’t quite place it, but it left a flicker of something in your chest.

“Thanks,” you said, standing up as well, your tone still cool. “But you don’t have to—”

Before you could finish, Atsumu was already walking away, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “I know. But I want to.”

As he walked off toward the elevator, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest buzz of confusion running through you. What was that?

__________________________________________________________________________

The following day, things were a little different. Atsumu had been quieter than usual, his attention shifting from one thing to another, though his eyes would often linger on you, a strange sort of nervous energy hovering around him.

You were sitting in the hotel lobby again, sipping your coffee—alone this time, as you’d gotten there early—and glancing over your notes for the upcoming press conference. Atsumu, after all, wasn’t exactly the best at staying on schedule.

Suddenly, he appeared in front of you, this time without his usual cocky swagger. Instead, he seemed almost... unsure?

“Hey,” he said, his voice strangely soft. “I’ve been thinking...”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your coffee down. “What about?”

He shifted on his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, I figured maybe I should step up a little.” He gave you a hesitant smile, as if trying to seem casual. “Maybe I should learn a bit of the local language, y’know? That way I can talk to you without needing you to translate everything.”

You were taken aback, not expecting him to care about this at all. "Atsumu, you don't need to do that."

But Atsumu was insistent. “I want to. I’ve got this, uh... friend, who’s teaching me. So… I learned something.” His face flushed, a little unsure of himself as he pulled out his phone, tapping something quickly. “You’re gonna like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

Atsumu cleared his throat, a bit of determination in his voice. “I like you,” he said, trying to sound confident, but his words were strained. He said it in the local language, but his pronunciation was... off.

It came out as something closer to “Ai… lke... yu” instead of anything even remotely coherent.

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. The moment was awkward, and his face turned an even deeper shade of red as he realized how badly he’d messed up.

“Oh God, I... I didn’t mean to—” Atsumu stammered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I was trying to say it properly... but, uh... guess I didn’t really nail it, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a real laugh this time, as you placed a hand on your forehead. “Atsumu… You really butchered that.”

He sighed, looking absolutely mortified. “Well, I tried. You know, I thought it would be a nice gesture...”

You smiled, a little softer now, but you were still amused. “Maybe next time, you could leave the language lessons to me.”

He scratched his head sheepishly. “Yeah… I’ll stick to the basics. Like ‘hello’ and ‘thank you.’”

“You know,” you teased, “That might be for the best.”

Atsumu chuckled nervously, his usual cocky grin returning, but now with a little more sincerity behind it. “Guess I’ll just have to earn the real words, huh?”

The playful energy between you two shifted, but in a way that felt more comfortable, more real. Atsumu wasn’t perfect—but it seemed like he was trying. And maybe that was all that mattered.

__________________________________________________________________________

The next day, the press events and interviews were already in full swing. It had been a busy morning, and you were grateful to have a brief moment of peace to collect your thoughts in a quieter corner of the hotel lobby. The day before had felt weird—and not just because of Atsumu’s botched attempt to speak the local language. Something about him helping you with that annoying guy felt... different.

You still couldn’t shake the feeling of his presence, his voice defending you in a way that was... well, not what you expected. Normally, you’d brush off any form of attention like that, especially from someone like him. But there was a quiet satisfaction in the way he’d just swooped in and handled the situation. It felt good. Too good.

You sat down, trying to focus on the papers in front of you, but your mind kept wandering back to that moment—how his words had softened ever so slightly when he asked if you were okay, how he hadn’t hesitated to step in and handle things with that guy.

Stop it, you told yourself firmly. You can’t let yourself get all worked up over something so... stupid.

But the truth was, you were secretly pleased that he’d done it. That’s what you get for letting your guard down, you thought. You wanted to blame it on the fact that you’d been working nonstop, and maybe you were just exhausted, but it was hard to ignore how your heart had skipped just a little when he had defended you.

Before you could dwell on it further, you saw him.

Atsumu walked into the lobby from the elevator, his usual loud footsteps echoing in the otherwise quiet space. He was wearing his hoodie, headphones around his neck, a half-smile already on his face as he caught your eye. His usual cocky air was back, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your chest tighten just a bit.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, sitting down across from you, his eyes scanning the paperwork in front of you.

You gave him a small, neutral smile. “Hey.”

“Busy?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. He had that relaxed, easy-going vibe, as if he’d just come from a relaxing morning, when in reality, you both knew he’d probably just woken up.

“A little,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. You didn’t want him to think you were distracted, even though part of you felt strangely aware of how close he was.

Atsumu leaned forward, the playful grin on his face as he shifted the conversation. “You’re staring at that paper like it’s the most complicated thing in the world. You’ve been doing this long enough to know what’s going on.”

You shot him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just organizing things for the next press event. Not everything is as easy as you think.”

His smirk never left. “Easy? Nah, I don’t think I’ve ever thought that about anything you do. You’re pretty damn good at what you do.”

You didn’t know why, but hearing him say that made your heart skip a beat, and you immediately looked away, trying to focus on your work again. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

Atsumu, ever the persistent one, leaned closer and nudged your foot with his. “I don’t get it,” he said lightly. “Why are you always so... cold toward me? What did I do, huh?”

You met his gaze again, biting back the words that almost slipped out. Because you're a pain in the ass, Atsumu.

But instead, you kept it professional, brushing him off. “I’m not cold. I’m just busy.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Uh-huh. So, if I were to tell you I helped you out yesterday because I’m just really good at helping people, you wouldn’t be... thankful?”

You froze. He did notice, huh?

You avoided his gaze again, trying to act nonchalant. “You didn’t have to step in, you know. I could’ve handled it.”

Atsumu smirked, clearly not buying it. “Oh, really? Because you didn’t seem like you were handling it too well, babe.” His voice softened just a little, teasing but with a hint of something... different. “You looked like you could’ve used a little help. Glad I was around to give it.”

Your stomach did a little flip, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. “Well, I guess I owe you one. But don’t get used to it.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not asking for anything. Just saying, you can relax a little. Not everyone’s out to get you.”

For a split second, you thought you saw something else in his eyes—something a little deeper than his usual teasing. But before you could analyze it, Atsumu leaned back in his chair again, arms behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things between you two had shifted ever so slightly. His attention, the way he had stepped in to help, even the way he was acting now—it was different. You weren’t sure what it meant, but it was clear that the boundaries between you and Atsumu were getting a little blurry.

The conversation carried on, but you couldn’t fully focus. Every now and then, you’d catch yourself thinking about how he had helped you, how he’d actually cared about how you were feeling. And when you caught him glancing at you from across the room or making a little joke to try to make you smile, you couldn’t help but feel that flutter again.

Maybe you don’t hate him as much as you think...

As you walked off to get ready for the next event, you felt that familiar heat rise in your cheeks. The thing was, Atsumu might be a pain in the ass, but somehow, he was also making you feel... something that was hard to ignore.

___________________________________________________________________________

The press conference was almost over, and you were ready to escape the suffocating spotlight. You’d been translating for Atsumu all morning, fielding questions, managing his sometimes ridiculous answers, and making sure the journalists understood him. Honestly, you were a little worn out, but the day was almost done.

But just when you thought you’d get to breathe easy, a reporter raised their hand and threw a question that made the whole room quiet.

“So, Atsumu,” the reporter began, looking over her notes, “We’ve heard a lot about your career and your international success. But fans are curious... Do you have a girlfriend? Or is there someone you’re interested in right now?”

You froze. You’d been expecting questions about his game, his training, his strategies—but this? Even though you did not wanted to translate you quietly translated it to him.

This was personal. How dare he to ask such a stupid question. And why where you so worked up about it? Atsumu, on the other hand, didn’t seem to flinch. He leaned back in his chair, flashing his signature cocky smile. But just as he was about to answer, he glanced over at you.

It was quick—barely a second—but it was enough to make your heart race.

You were still processing the fleeting moment when Atsumu responded, his voice smooth and confident. “Nah, no girlfriend. I’m focused on my career right now.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair casually. “I’ll let the ladies come to me when I’m ready.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little sting at the way he’d answered so dismissively. Was it because of the quick glance he’d thrown at you? Did it mean something? Or was he just being his usual cocky self?

You quickly turned your attention back to the room, your mind racing. Was it jealousy? Or just the sudden reminder that Atsumu wasn’t going to be tied down to anyone anytime soon?

After a few more questions, the press conference wrapped up, and you all stood up to leave. Atsumu’s usual carefree swagger returned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Maybe it was the look he’d given you. Maybe it was the thought of him not seeing you as someone special enough to mention, even if it was just a passing glance.

___________________________________________________________________________

The press conference was finally over, and you were just trying to make it through the rest of the day. You’d spent hours translating, dealing with the press, managing Atsumu’s antics, and now all you wanted was a few minutes of peace.

But the ride up in the elevator was anything but peaceful.

The moment the doors closed, the air between you and Atsumu was thick with tension. He was quiet, unusually so, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes staring at the floor. You could tell something had shifted after the press conference—the way he'd glanced at you before answering that question about his relationship status, the way he kept his distance now. It made you feel… unsettled.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you broke the silence. “You know, you didn’t have to answer that question like that.”

Atsumu’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something behind his usual cocky gaze. He didn’t respond immediately, but you could tell he was thinking about it.

“Why, you think I should’ve said I’ve got a girlfriend?” he shot back, his voice cool but with an edge you didn’t like.

You could feel yourself getting frustrated, the walls of your professionalism starting to crack. “No, I think you were being a jerk. And you looked at me right before you answered. What was that about?”

Atsumu’s lips curled into that all-too-familiar smirk, but there was something different about it this time. “What? You think I should’ve said I like someone? You want me to talk about my feelings?”

You could feel your heart racing, the anger and confusion bubbling to the surface. “I’m not asking for your feelings, Atsumu. I’m just saying, I don’t get why you had to make it so... dismissive.”

His smirk faltered for a second, and you could see the defensiveness in his posture. “I’m not being dismissive. I just don’t need to explain my personal life to everyone.”

The elevator slowed as it approached your floor, but neither of you moved. The tension was thick, crackling in the air between you two. Every word you spoke seemed to make the space between you smaller, and you could feel the pull in the pit of your stomach.

You took a step closer, your eyes narrowing in frustration. “Well, maybe you should learn how to answer like a grown-up then.”

Atsumu’s eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched. He was getting frustrated too. His next words were sharp. “You think you know me that well? Maybe you don’t understand how I answer to anyone.”

You both stood there, caught in a staring contest, the space between you shrinking. Your chest was tight, heart hammering as the seconds dragged on. Everything about this moment felt wrong—but you couldn’t stop it.

And then, without warning, everything exploded.

Atsumu moved fast, his hand gripping the back of your neck and pulling you toward him. There was no slow approach, no hesitation—his lips crashed into yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. The suddenness of it knocked the breath from your lungs, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

His mouth was demanding, as if he’d been holding this back for way too long. His lips pressed against yours with a force that spoke volumes—words that he hadn’t said out loud, feelings that were tangled up in that heated kiss.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as if it grounded you in the chaos of the moment. His tongue gently brushed against yours, and you responded without thinking, the kiss growing deeper, more urgent, as if everything you’d been holding back was suddenly pouring out in this one instant.

The elevator pinged, but neither of you moved, lost in the rush of emotions you hadn’t expected to feel. The kiss went on longer than either of you had intended, and when you finally pulled back, gasping for air, your foreheads rested against each other.

You were both breathless, eyes wide, as if trying to process what had just happened—what it meant.

Atsumu was the first to speak, his voice low and ragged, barely a whisper. “Tell me to stop.”

The words hung heavy in the air, trembling between a plea and a challenge. His hands were still warm against your skin, fingertips barely grazing your jaw now, but the tension in him was unmistakable—like he was holding himself back with every ounce of self-control he had.

You didn’t answer right away. Your thoughts were a mess. Your heart was a mess. But the look in his eyes wasn’t teasing for once. There was no cocky smirk. No smug arrogance. Just raw, vulnerable sincerity.

You swallowed. “Why?”

He blinked, surprised at your question. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kiss you again. And this time, I won’t be able to pretend it doesn’t mean something.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to tell him this was too fast, too reckless, too something. But nothing came out. Because somewhere in the back of your mind, despite all your earlier resistance, despite telling yourself he was a pain in the ass, that you wanted this job to be over quickly—you hadn’t moved.

You were still here. Still close. Still wanting.

So instead of answering, you leaned in again—just slightly. Barely an inch.

Atsumu didn’t wait for a clearer sign. His lips were on yours again, firmer this time, less chaotic, but still laced with that fire you hadn’t realized had been building for days. Weeks, maybe. His hand slipped behind your neck again, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and your hands clenched the fabric of his jacket like you couldn’t stand the idea of him pulling away.

There were no thoughts now. No logical explanations. Just the feel of his mouth on yours, the way his breath caught when you nipped his bottom lip, the way he groaned low in his throat when you pressed your body closer to his.

He kissed you like he was memorizing it. Like he’d wanted to do this from the moment you first rolled your eyes at him.

When you finally broke apart again, this time it was slower. Less breathless, but just as charged. You didn’t rest your forehead against his—this time you stepped back, just slightly, enough to make space to think.

Atsumu looked down at you, his lips still parted, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a sprint. “Well…” he muttered, voice hoarse and uneven, “that didn’t exactly help keep things professional, did it?”

You gave a quiet laugh under your breath—more like a sharp exhale than real amusement. “No. Definitely didn’t.”

A beat of silence stretched between you. The elevator doors were still open, but the hallway was thankfully empty.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes avoiding his. “This doesn’t change anything about the job,” you said, forcing the words out carefully. “We still have two more weeks of interviews. Events. Media stuff. We have to stay focused.”

Atsumu nodded slowly, licking his lips like he was still trying to taste the moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Then he glanced at you with a softer version of that familiar grin. “But it’s gonna be really hard not to kiss you again.”

You shot him a look—half warning, half flustered—and stepped out of the elevator, trying to collect what was left of your composure. He followed behind a second later, hands in his pockets, lips still twitching at the corners.

Neither of you said anything as you walked down the hall. But the air between you was buzzing. Changed.

__________________________________________________________________________

The door clicked shut behind you, the soft snick of the lock echoing in the dim quiet of Atsumu’s hotel room.

You weren’t even sure how it happened. One second you were both standing in the hallway, silent, charged with unspoken things… and the next, you were being pulled inside by the collar of your jacket, your back pressing into the wall beside the door as his mouth found yours again.

This kiss was different. Still hungry—but not rushed. It was like he was finally letting himself feel what he’d been holding back, and it poured out of him like it couldn’t wait a second longer.

His hands framed your face as he kissed you, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. You melted into him, letting your fingers twist in the hem of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer.

He pulled away just far enough to breathe against your lips. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he murmured, voice low and breathless. His eyes searched yours, and even though he looked wrecked from the kiss, there was honesty swimming in his gaze. “Way too much.”

You barely had time to react before he kissed you again—deeper this time. His tongue slid against yours, and you let out a quiet sound, your hand curling into his chest as he pressed you more firmly into the wall.

“I thought it was just ‘cause you were around all the time,” he whispered against your mouth, catching his breath between kisses. “But it’s not. It’s not that at all.”

You shivered at the rawness in his voice. At the way he kissed you like he needed to, like it was the only way he could get the words out.

His hands dropped to your waist, strong fingers gripping you just tight enough to make your breath catch. And then, without warning, he lifted you—effortlessly—making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you deeper into the room, lips never leaving yours.

He laid you down onto the edge of the bed with a soft thump, hovering over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still holding your waist.

You looked up at him, a little breathless, flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses. “You’re not usually this... serious,” you murmured.

He let out a short laugh, kissing you again, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. “Yeah, well,” he said, barely pulling away, “I wasn’t planning on liking my translator.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop kissing him.

Atsumu growled low in his throat, deep and hoarse, as his mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, lips trailing heat against your skin. “And that guy yesterday?” he muttered, voice darker now, breath hot against your collarbone. “The one who couldn’t take a hint?”

You tensed slightly, remembering the uncomfortable encounter in the lobby. But Atsumu only kissed you harder. “He looked at you way to wanting,” he murmured. “His eyes on you like he had the right. Like you were his to bother.”

He pulled back, just barely—his eyes now sharp with that cocky edge you’d come to know, but there was a possessive gleam there that made your stomach twist.

“That made me so fuckin’ mad,” he admitted. “How dare he be close to what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your chest. “Yours?”

Atsumu smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was something darker. Deeper. “You think I’d learn how to say ‘I like you’ in your language if I didn’t mean it?”

You blinked, stunned—but before you could say anything, he was kissing you again, stealing your words, swallowing your breath. His hands slid beneath your shirt now, fingers grazing your bare skin, but not rushing—just touching like he couldn’t stop himself.

You moaned softly against his mouth, your arms tightening around his shoulders, anchoring yourself to the moment as he leaned in closer, settling his weight over you, hips pressing flush against yours.

“I meant it,” he whispered into your skin, trailing kisses down your throat. “I like you. You drive me crazy. But I like you.”

You were dizzy from the heat of it all—from his kisses, from his voice in your ear, from the way his hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

And in that moment, you didn’t want him to.

You pulled him down again, lips colliding in another deep, lingering kiss that said everything you couldn’t. The walls you’d tried to keep up were already crumbling—and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind anymore.

___________________________________________________________________________

Years later:

The room was buzzing—cameras clicking, reporters murmuring, flashes of light blinking in intervals as Atsumu adjusted the mic in front of him. His hair was slightly longer now, styled with less care than he used to bother with. His face had the sharpened edge of a man who’d grown out of the boyish charm—but not lost it entirely.

He smiled easily as the press fired off questions, toggling between serious and lighthearted topics. It was a domestic press event for Japan’s national team, and he was still very much a fan favorite.

Then someone raised their hand and spoke with a bit more curiosity than formality.

“Miya-san, this one’s a little off-topic—but the fans would kill us if we didn’t ask.”

He tilted his head. “Hmm? Hit me with it.”

“How did you meet your wife?”

The room chuckled softly. Everyone knew Atsumu had married a foreigner—pictures of the two of you had circled the internet after the wedding. Elegant and lowkey. A mix of cultures. Him in a sharp, dark suit, and you glowing beside him.

He leaned back in his chair, grinning in that way that said ah, this one’s gonna get me soft.

“Damn. You’re gonna make me say it out loud, huh?”

Laughter again. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Well,” he began, eyes glinting with nostalgia. “It started on a tour overseas—back when I was still cocky as hell. I mean, I still am, but it was worse then.”

More chuckles. He glanced down at the table for a second, smile softening.

“She was my translator. I was doing an international media tour, lots of press, lots of interviews... and there she was. Completely unimpressed with me. Like, zero interest.” He laughed quietly, remembering. “Everyone else wanted autographs and selfies, and she just wanted me to shut up and behave.”

A reporter leaned in. “So it wasn’t love at first sight?”

Atsumu scoffed. “For her? Absolutely not.” He grinned wider now. “For me? Maybe. She had this way of looking at me like I was the biggest pain in the ass she’d ever met—and I kinda loved it.”

The reporters laughed again, and Atsumu shook his head, thoughtful now.

“I tried flirting with her. It didn’t work. I tried annoying her. That definitely worked. But somewhere between the interviews and the chaos, I realized I was... thinking about her a lot. Too much.” He paused, then added more quietly, “She made me want to speak her language better—so I could tell her I liked her without subtitles.”

A quiet murmur ran through the room, a few audible awws slipping out.

“And one day,” he said, eyes distant, “I just kissed her in an elevator. No warning. We were fighting—because of course we were—and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.”

“Did she slap you?” someone joked.

Atsumu laughed, head thrown back. “Nah. She kissed me back. Hard. I think that was the moment I knew I was in real trouble.”

The room was quiet for a beat too long, everyone just soaking in the way he spoke about you.

“Was it hard, being long distance at first?” another asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. But she didn’t make it feel far. She flew out to Japan when she could. I stayed behind in her country after my matches ended just to see her for one more day. And when it got too hard, we made a decision.”

“You proposed?”

“No,” he said, grinning. “She proposed.”

That got a collective gasp from the room.

“Swear to God. At a stupid coffee shop. Told me if I wanted to keep kissing her, I better marry her. I said yes before she could change her mind.”

He laughed again, fond and full. Then he glanced at the camera like he knew you were watching from somewhere.

“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And she still tells me I’m a pain in the ass.”

He smirked.

“And she’s still right.”

[kawoala]

— atsumu miya ⋮ 03 / 13 / 25. ❝ 𝓜𝑰𝑺𝑺 𝓨𝑶𝑼 ❞

content warnings ⨾ msby!atsumu. profanity. pet names - baby. atsumu calls his mother ma. “that’s what she said” joke. surprises. word count ⨾ n/a.