#but usually that still doesn't stop me. I'll buy like 5 packages and eat them in one go

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Berries are the best frickin thing in the world man

[liibrii]

fem!Miya!Reader & Miya family

Part of the Third Miya Series

Synopsis: Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for kindergarten.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: baby Miyas, the ultimate serotonin providers 🙃 if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Mrs Miya has always trusted her gut feeling and in that moment it was telling her the bathroom was down the corridor, last door on the left, and, just as Mr Miya had told her that morning, eating leftover curry for breakfast was a dreadful idea.

Doctor repeats her words and Mrs Miya's neck becomes completely stiff. If it wouldn't she'd perhaps be able to look at her husband whose face turned ashen pale. “Triplets?“

Well, this will take buy one get one for free jokes on a whole new level.

Doctor's words are just buzzing and the soon to be Miya parents nod and smile and nod and hold on each others' hand as if there's no tomorrow. They're silent on the way out.

Mr Miya turns to his wife. “Do they even sell strollers for three kids?”

Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for daycare.

You all wear the same colours because Atsumu would throw a tantrum if your jumper wasn't the same colour as his and you would throw a tantrum when yours was a different colour than Osamu's, who in turn would throw a tantrum because his jumper was now the same colour as Atsumu's.

Mrs Miya had read advices that one should always dress their twins (or, in this case, triplets) differently as it is good for their personality development; which is all well and good and a great advice, except that whoever wrote it forgot to take into account that two and a half out of her three children saw being dressed differently as their siblings as a horrific violation of their toddler rights.

Your parents tell themselves one day you'll grow out of this phase, but till then mom stitches little numbers one, two, and three on the edges of your clothes. She did start stitching your names, but with only two pairs of hands in the house and three little sprouts in constant need of attention there was never enough time to finish them.

“One,“ says Mr Miya and Atsumu raises his hands.

“Ichi!“ he proudly chimes.

“Two,“ Mr Miya grabs you before you'd crawl out of the reach of his arms.

“Ni!“ like his brother Osamu too raises his chubby fists, but only halfway.

“And three!”

“San!“ You hug your dad's neck, perhaps hoping that will get you out of having to wear socks.

And heaven forbid they ever messed up which jumper belonged to whom. It was beyond your parents' wisdom how you could tell the number stitched on the edge was not the same they said when counting your heads, but you could.

“Must be yer superpower,“ jokes Mr Miya while changing your sweater that has the wrong number on the edge. He barely pulls it off when Atsumu's chubby hands already grab it and begin pulling it over his head. He screams when his father offers to help, pouting even if he's completely lost between the left sleeve and the opening for the head.

“Alright buddy,“ muses Mr Miya and turns his attention to Osamu who already pulled his socks off so, naturally, now you've mysteriously lost one of your socks too. Mr Miya sighs. Maybe it's time to let his boss know he's going to be late.

Three is an enormous number, when the three in question are a feverish toddler in your arms and two more running around doctor's office. Perhaps it was time to ask the daycare to put you three into different groups. That will cause an outrage, oh ever since the 'One child, one pillow' incident Mrs Miya is well aware of that. But then again, better that than all of you throwing a tantrum when only one got to leave the daycare early.

“One, two, three,“ she counts your heads under her breath, then hurries over to where you just picked up a very interesting small stone that probably fell from the soles of someone's shoes, “San! I mean y/n, sweetie, that's a stone. See, it's rough and cold.“ You whine when she takes the treasure from you but still  listen closely to her words that spark Atsumu's interest too, and he trots closer to see what is happening. Thankfully feverish Osamu has fallen asleep in her arms. Really, the last thing she needs is his firm conviction the stone is just greyish candy. Mrs Miya still lets Atsumu take the stone in his hands. “No,“ she grabs his hand when he lifts it towards his mouth that is already curving into a grimace. “Hey, hey, no need to cry over it sweetie. Yer gonna wake up yer brother and he needs sleep right now.“

“Is he sick?” your tiny voice chimes in. Mrs Miya nods. “Because he ate melon seeds,“ you nod with all the wisdom of a 3 year old. “He's growin' melons in his tum-tum,“ you tell Atsumu whose wide eyes blink twice before he bursts into tears.

“One, two, three,“ Mrs Miya counts your heads while you play around the house. If you hide from her sight sooner or later screaming and crying alerts her something happened. A moment later Mr Miya returns to the living room with a very much red faced and screaming Atsumu in his arms.

“What happened?“ she asks, crouching down to console you, also crying because there's no way you'd let your brother scream his lungs out by himself.

“Ah the usual,“ he places the scissors on the counter, “wouldn't let him shred his shirt. Osamu, no!“ He quickly grabs his other son who also starts crying, shocked that his own father would take the lost sock from him before he got the chance to find out how it tastes.

Ah, just another Sunday.

The good thing about three children running around is they're never lonely. There are always games to play, fights to win, faces to colour. Most of the days all of you exhaust yours (sometimes apparently infinite) supplies of energy by the time evening falls. Mr Miya puts you to bed (one bed, because trying to make you sleep in separate cribs is apparently a disgusting violation of Toddler convention) before he collapses beside his wife.

“Asleep?“ she asks.

Mr Miya hums. “For now.“

The moment they turn the lights off slide door across the hallway open. Light steps cross the dangerous waters of the dark hallway, enter the bedroom and climb over Mr Miya to the safe haven between the parents.

“Bad dreams?“ asks Mrs Miya. In response Osamu sniffles and snuggles closer. Not a minute passes when two more pairs of legs pass through the darkness of the hallway and climb to be beside their brother. You shriek when Atsumu pushes his cold feet on your back, but dad's stern word makes you stop. A few moments later you're all asleep.  

“One, two, three,“ sleepily mumbles Mrs Miya, patting each of your heads.

“Four,“ says Mr Miya and his wife giggles.

Three is the number of band-aid packages your parents buy per month. Ever since you've grown for about a chopstick taller, well you only grew for about three thirds of a chopstick because nature thought it would be funny if you got outgrown by your brothers at the tender age of 5, it turned out the tall tree in the park could in fact be climbed, if you climbed on someone's shoulders and then pull them on the lowest branch. Sadly the branches aren't big fans of being climbed on but no amount of scratches and falls could stop you from trying.

“A champignon never stops tryin'!“ proclaims Atsumu after the failed attempt that left bark in his hair and Osamu laughing on the branch.

“What's a champignon?“ you ask.

“It's the person who's the best! It's what I'll be one day!“

Osamu snorts, firmly grabbing on the thin branch he's sitting on. “Champignon's a mushroom.“

“No it ain't!“

A mushroom, you make a little note in your memory, because no matter how much Atsumu protests you're more inclined to believe Osamu when it comes to mushrooms.

Your heads turn when you hear mom calling and waving, waiting for Osamu to climb down before running over to her.

“I win!“ announces Atsumu despite Osamu reaching her first.

“Why, because yer a champignon?“

“Are we all here?“ loudly asks Mr Miya before his boys could jump into each other's hair, “identify yerselves!“

“One!“ calls Atsumu.

“Two!“ calls Osamu, louder.

“Three!“ you call and jump, because being louder than them was never an option.

Four heads turn to Mrs Miya. “Mom,“ she raises her hand.

“Excellent!“ proclaims Mr Miya as three small voices cheer. “Then we can get goin'!“

“Where to?“ you ask.

Mr Miya picks up a stick and starts drawing lines in the sand covering the path. “It's a secret but maybe ya can guess, we'll go down this path-“

“A treasure hunt!”

“Almost. At the fountain we'll turn left, and what lies down the fountain path?“

“Pigeons?“ you try guessing.

Osamu bumps his fist on the open palm. “Ice cream stand!“

Mr Miya nods.

“Last one there's a loser!“ shouts Atsumu who starts running before even finishing the sentence. Osamu immediately follows, both ignoring your shouts to wait up.

Three is a funny number. It only works when the two and one have the third , because otherwise it's just one and two. Like a clover that got munched on by a picky rabbit that tried a leaf and then decided it doesn't fit its taste.

Volleyball sort of became the rabbit munching on the clover. One day teachers simply decided you're not allowed to play on the same team as your brothers anymore. And no amount of crying, screaming and sulking could convince the rabbit to give the leaf back.

“Maybe we can sneak ya in,“ suggests Atsumu one night, “all ya hafta do is wear our clothes. No one will know!“

So you try that and funnily enough, people do notice when one and two together make a three, and what surprises children even more is that parents also notice when they return late from school because they had to stay in detention. And as if cleaning the school hallways for a month wasn't enough, now they have to clean the house too.

It is however enough to discourage you from trying to sneak into practice again, so you stick with only coming to games and waiting for their practice to end so you can walk home together. From time to time some of their teammates stop to say hello or to complain to you about their shenanigans, but that's knowledge you hold to yourself, since you never knew when blackmail material might come in handy.

It's only when Osamu teases they get to go to a volleyball workshop and you don't that you get envious.

“It sounds stupid anyway,“ you try pretending you couldn't care less.

“It would be perfect for ya then,“ Osamu shots back and sprints away as you dive after him.

Maybe you are just a teensy bit envious, still as long as you get to play with them when they are home it's not that bad. After returning from their workshops you don't even let them take their shoes off before dragging them to the volleyball net dad set up in the garden. You stand where you always stand, by the net so you can throw balls for them to hit over.

Atsumu pushes you away. “No, this is my position now. I wanna be a setter.“

You don' mind, and throw the ball towards Atsumu who sends it back into a bit of an awkward place and you end up not even hitting it.

Osamu bursts into laughter. “Ya suck.“ He jumps to avoid the kick aimed at his knee. “We play with good players now so yer gonna hafta practice more. There was this tall player with a cool name! Right, Tsumu?“

“Tsumu?“ you repeat.

“Tsumu and Samu. It's our names but they sound way cooler now!“ proudly declares Atsumu.

Your eyes widen in admiration. “I want that too! What should I call myself?“

“Yer always copyin' us,“ complains Osamu but he gets ignored as the first name Atsumu suggests earns him a ball to the face.

“Oh I know!“ You bump your fist on your open palm. “I'll be San!“

Atsumu thinks it over with the same expression Osamu has when trying to decide which udon toppings to order. “San,... Y/n... San,... It sounds so cool! Whaddaja think Samu?“

Osamu shrugs. “San, let me show ya how to spike the ball properly.“

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