#but also. centre court and n.1 court are THE best stadiums no that is not up for discussion

[bisexualbaldingbulgarian]

not to be insane but wimbledons getting me so excited yall✋🏼😭seeing everybody transition to the all whites and the beautiful, beautiful green grass and rediscovering how gorgeous the grounds are yall don't understand I am IN LOVE with this tournament💚

[seokiloquy]

Mind Boggling Pt 2 - Miya Atsumu

Soulmate AU: At particular times (Once a year/ certain age/ hours/ or randomly) soulmates swap bodies for some time. (Specifics vary from story to story but I love this au wholeheartedly)

You guys wanted a part two and I forgot. Manga spoilers ahead.

Word Count: 2K

Pt 1 | Pt 2

It was loud in the gym. The Black Jackals were split into two teams in the centre court of their official gym. Coaches Foster and Sato were at the side of the court. Foster stood atop the metal platform attached to the nets pole, whistle in mouth, ready to make calls for the scrimmage. Sato held a pen and binder, taking notes as he wandered along the sides of the court listening whenever Headcoach Foster had something to add from his higher viewpoint.

A point went to the B team and the blue and yellow ball rolled under the net. It weaved between the various players’ feet, to Atsumu who was waving in a silent request. Scooping the ball into his arms and making his way to the backline. He turned around, twisting the ball in his hands for a moment, before becoming still. The team waited for a moment, expecting him to start his ritualistic steps in preparation for one of his jump serves.

"Tsum-Tsum, if you don't serve the ball goes to the other team."

"I know, but I can't!"

The player’s head tilted and shoulders slumped forward. “What do you mean you can’t? You’re a volleyball player.”

Atsumu glared at the freshly snow bleached player, "Damn it, Koutarou. I don't know how to serve. How do you expect me to do anything?"

The wing spiker wore a blank look, eyes unfocused as he stared past the blond’s head at the gym's white wall. His eyebrows and jaw began to push in opposite directions. Flopping his head over his shoulder he waved over to the team's coach, who looked a bit more than peeved that the practice match wasn't progressing.

"Hey, coach! (Y/N)'s here!"

Still holding the ball you sent the older man a meek wave. His head drooped. After taking a quick look at the binder in his assistant’s arm he called over you and one of the players on the other side of the net. Once both of you got to Foster’s side he yelled at the team to keep playing. You quickly tossed the ball to Koutarou.

"Okay, Sakusa. For now, until the end of practice, you're going to join coach Sato and teach (L/N) how to play. Luckily due to Miya's muscle memory, it'll hopefully be easier than teaching an absolute amateur. So get to it."

Foster silently asked Sato for his binder and pen to continue notes as he was gone. The younger coach handed it over with no complaints and set forward in the direction of one of the other courts in the large room. Kiyoomi gave you a nod. You watched as the dark-haired player bent his wrists so his fingers touched the bruised inside of his arm. They cracked, making you wince. Looking away from the flexible joints of Atsumu’s teammate, you gave a final look towards the other players before following the silent man and coach to begin your individual practice.

Sato had made a quick stop to the side of the room where his bag seemed to be and pulled out another folder. It was smaller in size, probably meant to be used as a backup copy or just had information that didn't have to be altered over time. He also grabbed a ball from the square basket and gave it an underhand toss to Kiyoomi. 

“So, (L/N). This is a bit new, isn’t it?” Sato laughed, “well as you should know, Miya plays in the setter position. Meaning he is usually the second player to handle the ball. He is a well-rounded player but his best strengths relate to his strategy and sense for the game. He-”

“Coach Sato?” You interjected, receiving a quick hum and look of approval from the man. “As much as I enjoy hearing your praises for my boyfriend, I already know most of this.”

The coach nodded quickly, “Right, right. You’re absolutely right. You’ve probably watched him play for years.”

The man fumbled over his words. It made you laugh but elicited no reaction from Kiyoomi, who was rubbing his hands together.

“It’s alright, but it might be better to get started before practice ends.”

Sato nodded and set down the black folder. You noticed that it had the BJ’s logo and player stats printed on the front. “Let’s start with bumping then.”

Practice progressed for a bit over an hour until Foster yelled at everyone to hit the showers because we ‘all smelled like fat pigs after a run through a mud pile mixed with onions.’ Throughout the available time, you had managed to get bumping down rather easily, and although you could execute on a lot of the other skills needed to play, you didn’t have the same game sense that Atsumu had to put any strength behind your movements. You were slow. Getting to the ball was easy (until they sent an ace serve your way), you quickly learned every movent and how to complete it (until you had to move fast and tripped), and you understood the rules (until they asked you what they were.) You were doing great.

Home felt like a safe haven in comparison to the cold gym of the Black Jackals training facility. You couldn’t wait to walk into your house and crash onto the deep couch that sat in the middle of the living room. Getting out of Atsumu’s car to walk up to the front door of the house was a chore. Tired arms and legs make it hard to pull out his key and get the door unlocked, but relaxing on the couch would be worth it.

Your body was already on the couch, eating away at a large pizza. The tv was on, playing compilations of volleyball moves and techniques from various angles and teams.

“Tsumu. Please stop using my body to pig out on food. I need to be healthy too.”

Hearing Atsumu whine through your own mouth made you cringe, it always sounded higher than you were used to.

“It’s our body (Y/N)! Let’s enjoy it.”

Letting out an amused scoff, you dropped his sports bag next to the plush couch before flopping onto it, next to him. You grabbed a slice and took a large bite before he could stop you.

“Hey don’t do that! I need to stay healthy!”

“So do I, you hypocrite!’ You took another bit before lightly slapping your body’s hand away.

A moment of silence passed and both of your bodies settled back into the couch.

“So, practice?”

You sighed, taking another bite, “You’re going to need to teach me how to play, should the switch happen during a game.”

He smiled, “Really?”

Letting out a low groan (which you were happy to hear as it came out of Atsumu’s mouth), “I don’t want it, though. Today was enough.”

“Nope. Coach’s orders. Come on, we’re getting started.”

As he jumped up from his seat, the large shirt you were wearing rolled upward, exposing a small line of your stomach. You glared for a moment, it has been a while since you’ve exercised. At least you wouldn’t be feeling the pain at the moment, maybe tomorrow when you got switched off. That wasn’t what had caught your eye though.

“Tsumu, did you take my bra off?

The morning following that late-night practice in the backyard you told Atsumu that he had to work out whenever he was in your body. You were sore, extremely so, but at least Atsumu could push himself and you’d only need to deal with the after-effects. He wasn’t a fan of the idea though, preferring his original plans to lounge and eat junk all the time. A quick glare and glance got him to agree. 

Learning volleyball was harder in your own body, it had gotten easier over time, but you still didn’t like having to work extra. Atsumu would often make it unbearable with his boasting.

“Come on. You love me.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not making you a giant onigiri.”

“Come on, Samu!”

The second twin chuckled before sliding a regular sized snack your way. Despite the disappointing size of the rice ball, you smiled thankfully. It was your favourite kind. 

“Shouldn’t you be in the stands watching the game?”

You waved a hand dismissively as you pulled your bit away from the tasty rise ball. You wanted to take another bit right there.

“Ah, there’s a tv right there, and I wanted to give you and your workers some company. And besides,” you took another bite, “He won’t even know I’m- Fuck.”

“Bring it to me!”

Off your fingertips, the ball soared through the air. Directly in your line of sight, you watched its direction get interrupted by the carrot-headed wing spiker. Shoyo, bubbly as ever, landed from his towering jump and bounded toward you to give you a high five.

“Tsumu! Great toss!”

“Thank you Shoyo, but it’s not Tsumu.”

The stadium was loud, too loud. You had spent the majority of the final set with Osamu, eating food and watching the live broadcast going on through the rim of the stadium. Getting back into position for the other team’s serve, you gave a quick thought to what Atsumu might be thinking. You couldn’t dwell on his likely dejected attitude for long though because in under a second that ball was flying right over your head and into Inunaki’s arms.

Hopping on your toes you made a quick sidestep to get underneath the rapidly falling ball. You listened for the squeaking footsteps behind you. Tilting your head back while looking up, your fingers made contact with the ball. They bent, creating a cushion and with a light flick of the wrist and push from the tips of Atsumu’s fingers, you sent the ball flying into Koutarou’s palm.

It went out.

Sighing, you sent him an apologetic wave to which he pouted. 

Rallys were stressful. But after a couple of minutes and an amazing spike from Kiyoomi, you had been rotated into serving. 

You breathed in deeply, spinning the ball in the palm of your hand. The chant’s of the Black Jackal’s fans roared behind you, lifting your fist in the air, you copied Atsumu’s movement’s and waited for them to go silent.

There was a loud yell.

“Do it (Y/N)!”

Atsumu, I swear to god.

Flipping a look over your shoulder, you saw your own body jumping around at the edge of the bleachers. Atsumu seemed to be in his own world, forgetting all the rules he set up for himself in the game until one of the band members told him to quiet down. None of the fans should be able to recognize you immediately. Romance isn’t used to advertise sports. But knowing the dedication of some people, it wouldn’t take long for them to realize the predicament both of you were in. Most people’s soulmate type was common knowledge, especially celebrities. 

You didn’t have time for this. Sending a glare Atsumu’s way, you quickly began your serve. It was weak for a pro, and people definitely noticed, but it got the job done.

27-25.

After the game, when Atsumu found out outside the change rooms, you berated him. Mildly amused glares were sent between the two of you. When you tried to get into the change room he held you back.

“You did a good job for your first game.”

You huffed, “That’s a lie. You’re just trying to not let me wash your sweaty body in the showers with the rest of the team.”

The inability to hold down a blush was something you struggled with and had learned to dampen over time. Seeing it happen from Atsumu’s perspective was entertaining, though. 

This isn’t great but oh well. 30 minutes after writing this I gave myself light bangs. - Bacon

Posted: 02/07/2020