#atsumu is also there

[maitanii]

i have to make a tough decision... who's going to be my next pfp 🤧

[plagalkey]

late night takeout (street racing au)

[cottonlemonade]

Thinking about how Atsumu is the type of guy to never use your name again once you’re in a relationship.

From the moment you accept his confession, it’s pet names galore ranging from classics like “baby”, “princess” (if he feels spicy (or condescending)), and “love” all the way to absurdities he brings out when he is in a great mood such as “my plump little dumplin’ supreme”, “main squeeze”, “schmoopy” or his personal favorite, born out of a night drinking with his team, “babelicious”. You had him sleep on the couch for the crime of using that last one.

But as soon - and I mean as soon - as he gets a ring on your finger it’s always “my wife”, “me and the wife” and “wifey”.

“What am I doin’ this weekend? Oh, ya know, me and the wife are gonna hit the farmer’s market.”

“Hang out tonight? Can’t, wifey asked me to pick up some groceries for dinner.”

And god help the poor soul whoever asks about how you are doing because Atsumu will pull out a three-page essay, put up a slide projector, and dim the lights to tell that person all about what his wife is up to.

(tbf you’re not much better because you loooove saying “my husband”)

[rkgknno]

Hello friends this is a formal invitation to welcome you to onigiri miya for tomorrow's group field trip. we will be meeting at 8AM sharp in front of the nearest 7-11. those of you who are unable to make it due to circumstances will be provided with a number to call to request their immaculate delivery service. thank you very much for your participation and i hope you will employ our services again.

[haztory]

['sex' by the 1975]

⤷ atsumu miya x f!reader; best friends, references to infidelity, pining, sexual content (w.c 3.1k)

“it’s not sex.” he insists between mouthfuls. a drop of mustard dots the corner of his mouth. you stare incredulously.

“are you joking?” you ask. atsumu just shrugs his shoulder, intense focus saved for the burger held in his hands. practically inhaling a third of it in one bite as he brings it up to his mouth.

“‘s not like it’s the real thing.” he bobs his head side to side in consideration of the sandwich before he’s grabbing at the fries in your lap, “can i haf some.”

the carton lays practically emptied from his pilfering next to your abandoned chicken nuggets. three remaining, absent of consumption in favor of a bewildered stare at the man seated beside you on his bed. 

“fingering is penetration, that’s sex.” you say simply.

atsumu raises a brow, “yer gyno having sex with ya?”

“that’s different.” you level a stare at him, one that’s serious and fierce and that communicates everything you mean in the single look alone. he meets it with one of his own, familiarity and uncommunicated languages all the rage between the two of you. “she doesn't make me cum.”

“neither does yer boyfriend.” he shrugs, taking another large bite of his burger as you screech in offense. your hand meets his bicep with a sharp slap and he grabs at it in pain. “ow! ya were the one that told me that!”

”some people take a minute to figure it out.”

”sounds like its taking a lot longer than a minute.” he mutters to himself. “look, its a lost cause. just dump the guy before it gets anywhere. ya haven’t had sex yet, he’s got a weird face, dude cant tell a fake orgasm from a real one. why are ya fighting me on this?”

“fingering is sex! your body count would be zero if fingering didnt count.” you insist loudly and atsumu rolls his eyes. he crumples the foil his burger came in and throws it across the room, cheering loudly when it makes it into the bin in the corner of his room. 

his room is much the same since the last time you visited. photos of passing years sit framed on the desk— an image of he and osamu with their arms wrapped around each other, taken right before atsumu left for the olympics. another of you and atsumu placed right next to it, you leaning over his shoulder and him laughing loudly, beer bottles held deftly in hands and drunken flushes decorating your faces. momentos of faded high school memories, interspersed with flashes of young adult realities. 

its more sophisticated than it once was. minimal in furniture, and of the items that decorate the room they’re the perfect reflection of a twenty-four year old athlete. his closet is lined with designer gifted clothes, but his desk chair remains stacked with undone laundry, the basics of his everyday life found in the plush cushion more than on the hangers. the jacket you’re currently wearing was stolen from the top of that pile just after delivering a pointed comment at how cold he keeps his apartment. 

its a far cry from the bedroom he used to share with his brother, the one you remember at the dusk of previous memories. it was cramped and contained, lines between the two boys constantly blurred and you having to learn rather quickly where to step and when. but even now, as he lives on his own in a city a bit further from you than you’re comfortable with, not much has changed. you still sit on the left side of the bed and he takes the right; you still eat burgers on his bed and steal his jackets, and he throws papers into trash bins and insists he could’ve made it professional were he not already in volleyball; you still moan and complain about the woes of daily life and he still listens to them endlessly, interjecting the same amount of dumb enthusiasm as you know him to have. 

there is still much in common that remains between he and you. trusted familiarity, endless comfort; a bubble that remains whole and precious, unaltered despite life dealing its hand to you. you’re convinced there’s no one else in the world that gets you quite like atsumu does. 

there’s also no one in the world that works you up, quite like atsumu does.

atsumu stands from the bed, retrieving your own trash from your lap and chucking the rest of it in the bin. lithe and lean, he moves with a body that is sculpted to perfection as he turns off the overhead light and instead turns on the desk lamp, submerging the room in the lowly warmth of its glow. days are shorter now and the sun has just made it return home, leaving you to the dim luster of a pleasant comfort. 

its quiet, intimate. words entirely inappropriate to describe the weekly hangout with your best friend of seven years. 

pushing thoughts aside, you fight to remember what the whole point of the conversation was about. a boyfriend, right. your boyfriend.

right. 

“and he does not have a weird face, he’s just… interesting. it’s what i liked about him.” 

“revolting. i’m this close to spiking a ball in his face. it would be plastic surgery for the dud.”

“you’re being mean.” you tell him. 

atsumu scoffs loudly, “and yer being stupid! yer the one that’s complaining to me about it. yer really gonna date a guy who can’t figure it out when he fingers ya? what happens when ya actually have sex with the bozo?”

“it takes practice. i don’t blame him for not being able to get me there on the first try. i see him later tonight so i’ll talk to him about it. it’s hard to figure out how to turn someone on and then try to, you know, get me there—“

“woahwoahwoah—timeout.” atsumu hold his hands perpendicular to one another, forming a ‘t’. his eyebrows practically touch the hairline of his bleached hair. “he doesn't even turn you on?”

“not everyone is good at everything, like you.” you mean it sarcastically, but it comes out short and meek. it’s embarrassing to have to cover for the misgivings of your current beau, but there’s an obligation to. a point to make, especially to the man in front of you. 

you’ve met the ex-girlfriends, heard their feedback for the man before you. an average of six out of ten in boyfriend material, but he knocks the ball out of the park when it comes to the bed—or so you’ve heard. 

(aya, the most recent girl to have made her grand exit, followed you on instagram and asked you to not be a stranger. whether that was so she could have her in for atsumu or because she really wanted to be friends is still up for debate, but the gesture ended with a message in your directs.

[9:17] it sucks, he’ll always be more in love with volleyball than any girl he could ever date. and even if he didn’t, you’re his number two anyway, so there’s really no way i can win.

[9:20] i’m super sorry, aya. if it’s any consolation, i really liked you two together. he’s just slow, i’m sure you guys will figure it out.

[9:20] you were our biggest argument. 

[9:20] so no, i don’t think we will.

[9:21] i’ll miss that dick tho, best orgasm of my life. rip

there’s not much you can say to a message like that. there’s not much you can say to the surge of smugness that courses through you either, so you don’t.

you don’t tell atsumu about it.)

“alright. sit up then.”

his voice startles you. “what?” 

suddenly, he stands before the side of the bed, looming horribly tall over you as he peers down at you. he shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, the fabric unintentionally pulling down ever so slightly and the waistband of his black boxers peeking out in greeting. the light of the desklamp casts a halo over his silhouette.

your attention is drawn upward and it’s hard to deny the familiar pang that tends to strike through you every so often in times like this. the simple effect of being near him. atsumu is unfairly handsome, and while it’s hard to put a name to the feeling that pulses inside of you when the light catches him just right or when a smile is even more charming than usual, the ache is always the same.

it’s fleeting, you convince yourself. something you refuse to settle on for too long. contexts and suppressed hopes pushed to the back of your mind along with the other unspoken things.

“come on.” he gestures two fingers upward. “i’ll show ya how easy it is to turn a girl on.”

its curiosity that has you standing up on your knees on the comforter, nothing more. its the wonder of how exactly your best friend makes his move on women that leads you to be so close to him, chests practically touching. breaths intertwining as atsumu stares a kind of serious into you that you’ve never been in the receiving end of before.

“im gonna touch ya.” his voice is low and your heart beats erratically in your chest. you nod. 

lifting his right hand, cold fingertips run across the heated skin on the back of your arm. digits trailing upward as he paints a pathway up. and it’s nothing—just his hand on your arm, nothing new or different, and yet your breath hitches. innocent in theory, but something solidifies on atsumu’s face, the familiar signs of determination playing out on his face. it’s less babied now, more formed and angular with the growings of an adult man, but it’s the same focus in his eye, the same clench in his jaw. 

his fingers trail up then down, repeating a circular figure on your skin. the sounds of your mingling breaths the only whispers between you two. your eyes dart down to his lips, but his stay fixed on you. studying every flicker of your eye, every inhale. 

his fingers break from their pattern and trails down to your wrist, then your palm, then your own fingers. tracing them, dancing with them, intertwining them slightly only to pull them away. 

“we should stop.” you whisper after a moment of his caress.

“why?” he asks and a quick glance to his gaze reveals that he knows why. he’s just making you spell it out.

it’s unfortunate that the only reason you want to stop is out of principle, and not because you truly have any reservations about any of this. your boyfriend of three months all but an annoying buzz in your ear.

“this feels like cheating.” you tell him simply. atsumu cocks his head to the side, charming smirk pulling across his lips. 

“i’m touching yer arm. this isn’t anything, yet.”

“you shouldn’t be touching my arm like this.”

“why? cause it’s working, right?” his voice drops to a low rumble, words vibrating through you and shooting straight to your core. “see how easy it is?”

“that means this is cheating then, right?” the question is posed, but it’s obvious it’s more to convince yourself than him. because all that he’s done is touch your arm and you’ve felt the bubbling of that unnamed something heat within you. it feels the exact same as it did seven years ago when you met him; feels identical to the moment four years ago when a drunken night led to a drunken kiss that was forgotten about the next day; feels the exact same whenever he looks at you like he does now, like you're open for the taking. a pointedly very different response to the dread that comes when getting intimate with your actual boyfriend. 

and while atsumu may be doing this to prove a point, to rub it in your face that he was right and you were wrong, you don’t trust that you’ll be able to not carry this with you. to not want more than you should. 

“nah.” he says simply, knowingly. “if i kiss you then it’s a problem.”

“oh, so kissing is cheating, but fingering isn’t?”

“can you shuddup? always runnin’ that damn mouth.” he renders you quiet. 

satisfied with your silence, he brings his left hand to cup your jaw, thumb and index finger grasping your chin and tilting your head to the left, leaving your neck exposed. he leans in, nose tracing a line up the column of your neck until he meets the juncture between that and your jaw. it’s a simple movement, and yet it feels like eternity in his hands. his breath hits steadily against the expanse of your cheek as he whispers into your ear.  “does he touch ya like this?” 

the gasp you release is guttural.

the arm previously fiddling with your fingers quickly wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him. you have no choice but to embrace him with your own arms, hands cupping the back of his neck to steady yourself. it’s impulse to run them down the expanse of his back, to feel the muscles that he’s worked so hard for, but you resist. keeping yourself locked on his neck and nothing more, as though you being pliant to his ministrations wasn’t jeopardizing enough.  

his thumb inches upward, stroking the corner of your lips sweetly. “does he take his time with ya? cause i would.” 

its then that his lips meet the skin of your neck, tingles erupting from the connection. all of its effects causing an inadvertent clench within you. “it’s not about shoving fingers inside and just doing it. its about doing it the way you like it. and i’d make ya tell me how ya like it. since yer always runnin’ that damn mouth, might as well put it to good use.”

its all-encompassing, the traitorous burn between your thighs. and yet, this is the unnamed something, all that you’ve pushed away.

“astumu—” you whine and its in that exhale of yours that he releases a sigh of his own. one that almost sounds restrained.

“tell me to stop.” he says quickly, lips mouthing against your neck as he utters the words. 

and you don’t want him to. not really. the desire is feverish, unlike anything you’ve felt before and to end this is to end the sweetness of something you’ve yet to taste. if it were to be with anyone you would want it to be with him.

you could take the teasing, the “i-told-you-so” from osamu, the obliteration of a friendship for the uncertain promise of something more. but it isn’t right. not like this. if mountains were to come to a head, you want it to happen because they were gravitated to each other, not because the earth told them to do so.

“stop.” you tell him, and it’s like a hot brand that strikes him. he’s immediately pushing away from, untangling his limbs from you and stepping back into the swath of darkness in the room. 

his breaths are deep and heavy, that much you can tell from the distance. shuttering exhales that wrack his chest. you can hardly make out his irises, only see the intensity of dark pupils. it’s hard to believe that he could be feeling the way you do, just from the simple touch alone. a quick glance down to his grey sweatpants proves otherwise. 

a moment, then two, pass by. ragged breaths filling the distance, words spoken in the silent language you’re both fluent in. 

“does this mean i’m easy then?” you ask quietly, an effort to ease the wall of tension. 

“no.” he shakes his head gently, “just means i know ya.”

he knows what he means to say, the words and all of their yearning practically knocking against his teeth to escape. it’s the long haul, almost a decade long game of carefully advanced chess pieces to get to this point. blocked, temporarily, by the appearance of the new guy. a boyfriend of yours that atsumu met once, a guy he barely attempted to learn the name of. for reasons of his own, their knowing pertinent only to him. held deeply within the urges of being seen, the desires of having you wholly, completely.

there are plenty of other ways that he could do this—probably be more eloquent about it. admit pushed away feelings when you’re not in the midst of ranting about how your boyfriend just can’t get you off. 

but the tension irks him. thick enough to cut a knife, always following the two of you in the long held stares and closeness in which you two gravitate towards each other. the answer to your boyfriend problem is standing right in front of you. he knows what he wants you to do when you see your boyfriend later tonight. 

there are certain shoes that atsumu is convinced he could fill better than your boyfriend.

your face is flushed, and the desk lamp makes you look angelic under the lowlights, and you're wearing his jacket like you always do in a way that makes him believe it was always meant for you. and he’s not entirely convinced, even without the cloud of lust that hangs over him, that you don’t want this just as bad as he does.

osamu once said that atsumu wouldn’t admit his feelings to you even if they hit him over the head. they’re here, now. settling in the distance between you two, bobbing in the capsizing waves of want. they ache to be spoken, knock repeatedly against his gritted teeth. 

but a choice is made in that moment, with you looking at him as wild as you are. atsumu will admit to the selfish and prideful part of himself, but this—you— aren’t something to just take. the taste of your neck, the feel of your body against him, it must be given to him, earned. not because he needs to make a petty point, but because you want him to. 

he cares for you too much to be reckless in how he plays his cards. even if osamu will bust his balls for it later.

you have a boyfriend. and he can’t force you to change that. it wouldn’t be right, he’s given you the taste, he hopes it will be enough.

“like that.” he says after a moment, pushing down his pride and long held desires for you. “tell him ya like it like that.”

a/n: why is it that whenever i stop writing for kuroo, the one i always want to write for is atsumu. also big ups for my beta who entertains me and proofreads me at all hours of the day. i love you sanju!!!!!!

[newttxt]

happy bday to the two smiles only ojiro aran could love

[cten0phora]

kiyoomi spends enough time around atsumu to sometimes accidentally use words in atsumu’s dialect and the first time he does it he like slaps a hand over his mouth and is like ‘what the fuck was that’

[brotato-chibs]

I wanted some #osakita but also some osasuna interactions so---

"established OSKT with OSSN that used to date in high school but are still good bros"

w extra dooble from my friend

[plagalkey]

atsumu makes me go insane haha.. oikage's property..

[emmyrosee]

“Daddy, Uncle Shi-Shi called you a news-ance.”

From underneath the cabinet, Atsumu’s head slammed into the wood above him, whatever he was doing suddenly not mattering. Rintaro, who was holding the tools, now was absolutely cackling at the entire scene. The now wounded blonde slowly pulls his head out of the cabinet, a massive hand cradling his head and a look of betrayal on his face.

“He what!”

“Well, when you called Uncle Shi-Shi after lunch to tell me to come home, ‘nd he asked if you were done, ‘nd you said no, he got mad when he hung up and called you a complete news-ance.”

Rintaro’s cackling reached new levels as Hisako looks quizzically between them, hand smacking his knee and gasping for breath he cannot seem to catch.

Uncle Shinsuke, who was just supposed to have Hisako for the day while Atsumu fixed the sink- right, that’s what he was doing, pre-slander and concussion- but when the job became too much, Atsumu figured he’d have Hisako dropped back off at home to have some lunch and her nap, so Kita could go about his day; no matter how much Kita adores Hisako, it can be hard to balance errands with a four year old.

So much for being courteous.

“Daddy, Uncle ‘Taro, what’s a news-ance?”

“It means your dad’s annoying,” Sunarin ungraciously explains, leaning against the counter. Hisako tips her head in confusion, and Atsumu gives him a glare.

“It means,” Atsumu sighs, “that Uncle Shi-Shi got mad that I was busy but still wanted you home. He didn’t think it was a good idea.” Then, under his breath, he mumbles a quick “didn’t stop him from dropping you off, though.”

“Oh…” Hisako seems to ponder this before she nods, letting Atsumu duck his head back under the sink. “Well I don’t think you’re ‘noying!”

Atsumu groans as his child picks up Suna’s description of a nuisance, “I’m glad baby; why don’t you go put on paw patrol, I’ll bring you lunch in a minute?”

“Okay daddy!”

Tiny feet toddle off, and from above the cabinet, Atsumu hears Rin stifle a laugh. “Damn, she’s funny.”

“Don’t encourage her, she turns every single uncle of hers against me.”

“Pretty sure you do that to yourself, my guy.”

“Give me the pliers and stay quiet.”

A few moments later, a small voice comes back into Atsumu’s earshot again, this time directed mostly at Suna.

“Uncle ‘Taro?”

“What’s up, lean cuisine?”

“How come Uncle Shi-Shi uses those big words, but mommy just says daddy’s ‘noying?”

His head slams back into the cabinet, once again whining in pain, and Suna’s laughter of betrayal once again filling the Miya home. A trip to the ER would have to wait; this is far more important.

“She WHAT?”

[gigili-jiggly]

pov: you told them a funny joke 🤓😛

[emotional-moss]

have some hq posts

[orenji-iro-no-sora]

We all know that haikyuu is packed with life lessons, especially about growth and competition but one of the things that brought me so much comfort in life is the story of Miya twins. Both Osamu and Atsumu were hard workers but what differentiated them when it comes to volleyball prowess was their priorities. Osamu being a naturally gifted athlete was a major push in Atsumu's life; they made each other better (and worse in some ways). But it was Atsumu's choice to become a professional player and a great setter that pulled him ahead. Atsumu was dedicated to it and if Osamu wanted he could've reached the same skill level (or maybe even more).

Basically as long as you love and want something enough, despite there being "better" people out there, you'll reach greatness in your own right. And I think it's beautiful that consistent effort, even if it takes longer than "natural talent" (which is a topic for another day), will get you where you want to be.

Also, you can be good at something and even have potential to be greater and yet not choose it. You don't HAVE TO pursue anything just because it's expected or even possibly the most natural course for you to take. What matters is what you love.

[osamiiya]

“But that one’s obvious”

Atsumu x reader

warnings // very suggestive! postcotial discussions. mention of alcohol

summary: Atsumu keeps a bucket list of things he would like to experience in his life.

notes: stares and blinks.

— — —

Atsumu is entirely ungraceful as he flops onto the bed next to you, skin damp with sweat as his chest heaves.

It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds in the room heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock in your kitchen.

When you realized your crush on the MSBY setter, you hadn’t anticipated his reciprocation, much less the admission that he’s liked you pretty much since you met.

The hookup had also been a spur of the moment thing, the two of you were together at a charity event MSBY was invited to, and you tagged along as his plus-one. The two of you spend the night laughing while sipping cups of water as Bokuto and Hinata made tipsy fools of themselves.

One surprisingly deep conversation later, you found yourself cupping his jaw affectionately and his eyes seemed to flutter shut as you leaned in.

It’s a blur of confessions and clothes and kissing before you find yourself staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving.

“Crossed that off the bucket list.” Atsumu huffs from next to you.

You turn your head to give him a confused look, hair mussing slightly.

“..What?” Your voice is slightly scratchy from your previous activities.

“Making a hot person scream my name in bed.” Atsumu sends a shit eating grin as he wipes at his forehead.

“You’re impossible.” You laugh, head shaking in disbelief.

Atsumu just grins as he goes to collect a rag from your bathroom to clean up with.

“Everyone has one.” He hums as he returns.

His hands are gentle as he cleans you up, eyebrows knitted in concentration as the rag brushes over the panes of your body.

“What’s on it?” You sigh out, relishing in the feeling of being taken care of.

He doesn’t respond as he pulls on his boxers, and finds something for you to wear before flopping next to you on the bed.

“What’s on what?” Atsumu grins, he’s clearly getting a kick out of this. He doesn’t tease further as he lists off some more… intimate, items on his bucket list.

“Are they all sexual?” You snort, pushing him away as he inches further to kiss at your neck.

“Why? Did you want to cross some more off tonight?” You can feel his teeth against your neck as he smiles, laughing slightly.

“Absolutely not, keep your hands off me.”

Atsumu whines dramatically as he places one last kiss on your neck before gathering you in his arms as best he can from his angle.

“I want to try skydiving.” He hums, “And going to the olympics.”

He’s surprisingly thoughtful as he lists off various items on his bucket list, along with a short explanation when you press him for more details. Atsumu’s hand finds yours to hold loosely, thumb drawing languid circles as the two of you just talk.

It’s comfortable, you’ve been friends longer than you’ve been dating. Considering the series of confessions that had only happened earlier that evening.

You can tell Atsumus nearing the end of his mental bucket list when he hesitates and looks you shyly in the face.

“And confessing to you, but I checked that one off.” He hums thoughtfully, he chews on his bottom list as he lists off one last one.

“And treating you well. Dating you for a long time, spending as much time as I can with you.” He smiles fondly, eyes softening.

“But that one’s obvious.” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

It’s as if the air in your lungs has been sucked out of your body as he speaks, and there’s no stopping the smile that creeps onto your lips.

“That one’s obvious.” You echo softly, eyes searching his.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

sometimes i think about how suna just casually glances over at the miyas while they're doing something stupid in an exclusive miya-twins way and is then struck with the horrifying realization that they're his best friends

[khlowewei]

GUESS WHOS BACK FROM HER HIATUS!!!!!!!!