#also all of adler's “off-duty” clothes are blue in my eyes

[godsfavoritelitlesilly]

Fuck Perseus, gotta get gains

[ahtsumu]

atsumu: 1, kevin: 0 ; miya atsumu

↳ pairing: miya atsumu x professional women’s volleyball player!reader

↳ synopsis: miya atsumu realises that he’s tired of keeping your relationship “low-key” with a little help from an overzealous fanboy.

↳ genre(s): fluff, humour!!

↳ warning(s): profanity

↳ length: 1.5k words

↳ a/n: surprise!!! lol i have way too many wips rn especially with requests but i wrote this as a little break from all the angst and stuff hence the cheesiness ☺️ enjoy!!

Miya Atsumu was caught in a kerfuffle.

Earlier that day, the twenty-three-year-old setter for the MSBY Black Jackals made the executive decision to come to watch you–– his Mario Kart player number two, his houseplant co-parent, the air-guitarist to his air-drummer, the Karaoke Night pink-lyric-singer to his blue–– kick some volleyball ass in the V. League Division 1 Women's Volleyball Tournament finals. 

The problem?

You played wing spiker for the Schweiden Falkes. 

There was nothing problematic about being a wing spiker on a Division One volleyball team. What was problematic, however, was that the Schweiden Falkes was the sister team of the Black Jackals’ sworn enemy, the Schweiden Adlers. To rub more salt in the wound, the Adlers had won every single game against the Jackals since Atsumu joined (not that they hadn’t prior to his arrival). And to make matters even worse, as one of the nation’s most sought-after athletes, he had to “appeal to both investors and the general population”. Miya Atsumu was supposed to be a marketable bachelor. And he was not.

Miya Atsumu was also not supposed to be at the finals of the women’s volleyball tournament. 

That was the biggest problem of them all. So maybe, actually, Miya Atsumu was mildly ensnared in a few kerfuffles.

The two of you had agreed to keep your relationship low-key from the start and were nearing two years of private, domestic bliss. Questions about each other in interviews were responded to with short and nondescript replies. Outings in public were conducted without physical contact. And despite how Twitter was almost a diary to Atsumu, he’d never once tweeted your name in his life. But as dull as your relationship seemed in public, the two of you were a different story in private. In private, he would find any way to touch you–– a hand in your back pocket, your legs draped atop his thighs, soft lips trailing up from the neck to each other. In private, sweet nothings were proclaimed and not whispered, laughter bubbled like a stream that never ran dry, and Atsumu said your name over and over again like it was habit.

But that didn’t change the fact that, right now, Miya Atsumu was not supposed to be in the nosebleeds of the Sendai City Gymnasium, even if he was hundreds of meters away from the nearest camera.

All the bigger kerfuffles fell quickly to the back of his mind, however, when a smaller and more irritating one presented itself to him. 

A snotty voice declared one row behind Atsumu’s hooded head, “Oi, you’re in the way of the view, jerk.”

Normally, Atsumu would have turned around with an equally cocky sneer on his chiselled features, “the fuck did you just call me?” locked and loaded behind clenched teeth. But when he turned around ready to deliver that exact line, he saw through his black shades that the owner of said snotty voice was none other than a scrawny prepubescent boy.

And that boy (along with the two equally snot-faced twerps beside him) was wearing your jersey number. Suddenly, all the irritation left Atsumu’s face. Was this your little fan club? A wicked cackle threatened to leap out his mouth. They were so annoying. But also, he mused, kinda cute.

“Was I?” he asked with an innocent expression on his face. It was the same one he used when Osamu would accuse him of stealing his clothes (he totally had), or when you would accuse him of eating the last slice of cake in the fridge (he totally did). “I hadn’t realised.” He really hadn’t. He just wanted to milk this for as long as he could.

“Yeah, you were.” The kid crossed his arms, glaring down at the shady guy one row below. “I can’t see the game anymore.”

“Oops–– my bad.”

“Shut up, Kevin, you were watching Y/N!” one of the brats exclaimed, punching Kevin’s shoulder.

Oh? “Yer a fan of Y/N, hmmm?”

“She’s pretty,” Kevin said immediately, shrugging. He just said it out loud like that? So easily? With a subtle wince, Atsumu thought back to the ridiculously long time before he’d admitted his ‘smidge of a crush’ on you. Yeah, unlike you, stupid. “I’m gonna marry her someday.”

At that, Atsumu’s competitive streak jolted awake. He felt himself sober up a little. Not if I marry her first, you little shit.

Bidding the trio goodbye with a bright grin, he turned around and strolled out of the stands. But he didn’t stop there. He stepped into the elevator and rode it straight down to ground level, sailed through the athlete’s entrance with a swipe of his card, and jogged his way to the side of your team bench, making it just in time to see you spike the setpoint past one of their player’s outstretched arms. 

It landed straight on the baseline.

The roar of the stadium scattered into hushed whispers. No one moved. “In,” Atsumu growled under his breath, tapping his feet against the floor. “In in in in in––” He clenched his hands into fists. If they don’t count that as in… 

Finally, the line judge pointed her arms down. The referee nodded.

And all around him, the crowd erupted into cheers.

As confetti fell from above and the Falkes’ victory song began to play, you ran from the court and into a celebratory team hug, screaming ecstatically in each other’s faces. Atsumu, beaming, ducked out of view, not wanting to steal that glorious feeling of a victory hard-earned from you or your teammates. But when the cheering died down, when the hug dispersed, when the television crews started slithering in your direction, he returned to his position behind the bench. And suddenly regretted all the decisions that had led him to that very spot.

Admittedly, Atsumu hadn’t considered the possibility that you wouldn’t want him at your game, but now, standing just metres away from you, he did. His hands suddenly felt very cold and equally moist.

As if on cue, your teary gaze landed on his figure. Your eyes were narrowed in what seemed like a warning. (Really, you were just trying to see better through your tears.)

Oh, no.

Atsumu spun around to make a run for it. At that moment, however, one of the coach’s assistants who’d been sent away to run an errand returned, barrelling through the same door he was heading towards. 

Colliding in a spectacularly embarrassing fashion, Atsumu’s sunglasses flew from his face and his hood blew off from the force of the impact. Disguise in tatters, he could only turn around sheepishly around his hands stretched out, palms up like a magician at the end of a trick.

“Surprise?”

Maybe it was the rush of victory still fresh in your bloodstream or maybe it was simply your brain going haywire, but with complete disregard for you and Atsumu’s original agreement, you ran towards him and leaped into his arms.

“Woah,” he wheezed, instinctively pulling you closer into his chest. “Was not expectin’ that.”

“You’re so stupid,” you murmured, nuzzling your face into his neck. “What are you up to, ‘Tsumu?”

“Unkerfufflin’ myself,” was all he said before gently setting you down. His eyes darted over to the place where Kevin and his gremlins had been and, when he realised that spotting them from here would be useless, lazily flapped a hand in their general direction.

“Some brat said he was gonna marry ya,” Atsumu explained after seeing your brows crease. “I felt I had the duty to save ya from that disaster.”

“By?”

Atsumu blanked. “Er, I, uh, hadn’t thought of that part, actually. I didn’t think you’d be happy to see me here, y’know, considerin’ our agreement and that look on yer face ya had earlie––”

Rolling your eyes, you yanked on his hood, bringing his lips down to yours. His arms snaked around your waist as he deepened the kiss–– he couldn’t help it, it was a knee-jerk reaction by now–– without so much as a second's consideration for the reporters that had swarmed around you like ants to honey. 

You pulled away just a few beats later, both breathless.

“What was that for?” he asked with his forehead pressed against yours. Despite being doused in the blinding flash of cameras and deafened by the barrage of questions shot in your direction, the two of you continued to speak as if you were in your own little world.

“You were about to word-vomit on camera and give Osamu a lifetime’s supply of blackmail,” you replied, giggling. “I thought I’d save you from that disaster.”

Hearing his words come out from your mouth, Atsumu’s eyes waned into little moons. “Consider me saved, doll.”

The noise around you grew louder. You sighed, knowing that the two of you would have a lot to deal with later. As if reading your mind, Atsumu intertwined your hands. I got you. And the unease receded. You’d figure it out together.

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you pregnant?”

“Y/N! Atsumu! When are you two getting married?”

“Can you tell us anything about that steamy kiss?!”

A shit-eating grin crawled onto Atsumu’s face as he grabbed the microphone from that last reporter. “Gladly,” he said, looking into the camera.

“How’s that for bein’ in yer way, Kevin?”

And for the next few hours that the world spent having a meltdown over Kevin’s identity, you and Atsumu remained blissfully tucked away in the comfort of your apartment, playing Mario Kart, baking celebratory cookies to the High School Musical soundtrack, falling asleep to the sound of each other’s heartbeats.