#the miyas have been on my mind so much

[iwaasfairy]

tw incest, coercion, jealousy

thinking about osamu and how much he likes leaving you a shaking little mess on his cock, definitely osamu nii who rubs it in atsumu's face that you sleep in his bed and hold his hand and will sit down on his lap at the end of a long day

big strong osamu who makes you push your thighs around his cock as he fucks into them from below, and osamu who slides his long fingers into your little pussy when he's showering with you and almost making your knees give out, and osamu who taught you how to kiss and how fun it is to slide your big brother's thick cock down your throat until you're lightheaded and crying

osamu who's wanted to be a husband and a big strong man ever since he understood what it was and makes you giggle by pecking your cheeks and pulling you behind his body when other men look at you and that same osamu who wants nothing more than to see your lips glossy and falling open with desperate whines when he fucks the raw head of his cock into you for hours until you can't even stay awake

atsumu can keep his girlfriends and flings. because he's so obviously jealous when you 'niichan, niichan' him into submission, but you can't help but return to osamu's strong arms and little coos of his love, or when you call yourself samu nii's wife just like he spent years training you to accept <333

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little white lies

summary: miya atsumu needs to find a date for his cousin’s wedding, or risk getting hounded by all his relatives prying into his business. unless said business is you—in which case, he’s all for it. maybe he can work up the courage to ask you out for real while he’s at it.

⇢ pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers au, fake dating au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy were made ⇢ word count: 9.2k ⇢ warnings: profanity, one (1) scene where atsumu is shirtless

Miya Atsumu acknowledges the fact that he has made several stupid decisions throughout the course of his life. 

There was the time he decided that dipping waffles in hot sauce would make for a tasty food combination. (It did not, and he ended up lying in bed with a stomach ache for three days with a grumbling Osamu looking after him). Then there was that incident where he proudly claimed he could crush an entire watermelon with his bare hands. (He could not, and Suna had laughed his ass off when Aran easily demonstrated the same feat). 

And then, there was the time he tried to comfort you after you watched Hachiko Monogatari together. You’d been sniffling quietly, your eyes red and puffy, when he awkwardly handed you a tissue and said, “‘S okay. The dog’s probably acted in better movies.”  

You’d stared at him, horrified, before bursting into tears. Osamu had walked in just in time to witness you chuck a pillow at Atsumu’s head, calling him an emotionally inept moron; he’d laughed so hard, he dropped the tub of ice cream he was holding and got mint chocolate chip all over the carpet. Atsumu still cringes whenever he thinks of it.

Nothing much has changed in Atsumu’s life. He still has a massive crush on you, and he still makes stupid decisions.

What transpired in the Miya twins’ childhood home’s sitting room fifteen minutes ago is a testament to this tragic fact.

When the Miya brothers’ cousin, Shohei, called them up to invite them to his wedding taking place in two weeks, Atsumu and Osamu were nothing short of elated. Shohei video-called them, and for a good five minutes, all Atsumu did was scream incoherently when he announced that the wedding date had been fixed. Osamu promised to close Onigiri Miya on the Saturday two weeks hence, and Atsumu made a mental note to ask Meian if he could take the weekend off.

Shohei then turned the phone to their grandmother, sitting on her favourite armchair with the pink satin cushion, wrinkles by the corners of her eyes and sagging skin by her cheeks. Atsumu’s heart lifted at the sight of her—he was her favourite grandson, after all—and when she smiled at the twins, her lips were slightly puckered because she didn’t have her dentures in yet. 

But that wasn’t the important bit. It shouldn’t have been what Atsumu focused on most, as he opened his mouth to tease her. He should have been focusing on the knowing, youthful gleam in the Miya household’s matriarch’s eyes—a gleam that spelled trouble when she set her gaze straight at him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Grandma Miya herself,” Atsumu drawled.

“Grandma Miya won’t be living for much longer,” she retorted, not one to be outdone by her own grandson.

Osamu had frowned. “Don’t say things like that, Grandma. It’s superstitious.”

Shohei had sighed dramatically, making a face at Osamu. “She does it all the time now. You should hear her go on and on. It’s good that you’re getting married, Shohei. This old woman won’t live for much longer, but at least I can see one of my grandsons getting married. Shame on the twins for making me live in suspense!” He said the last bit with an imitation of Grandma Miya’s toothless drawl, and it drew out a giggle from Atsumu and a swat on the shoulder to Shohei from the woman herself.

“Maybe I do have a girl in mind, Grandma,” Atsumu said on instinct, waggling his eyebrows. “I just haven’t told anyone yet.”

Grandma Miya’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is she nice?”

“The best,” he had promised. “You’ll love her.”

Beside him, Osamu had gone very still. Even Shohei quietened down, letting Atsumu and their grandmother talk. In hindsight, Atsumu probably should have realised what a horrific blunder he was making, but he had a habit of letting his mouth run loose and this was one of those times.

Grandma Miya’s eyes had lit up. She had lifted the corners of her mouth into such a wide, hopeful smile, that Atsumu felt a twinge of guilt deep in his chest for lying to her. He couldn’t take back his words, however, because Grandma Miya excitedly clasped her fingers together and said, “You’ll bring her along to Shohei’s wedding, won’t you? She must meet the rest of the family. It’ll be nice for Sakura to meet her, too.”

Shohei nodded. Sakura was his future wife, a beautiful and kind lady who complemented Atsumu’s cousin perfectly. “Sakura would love to meet someone that’s going to be part of our family.”

Osamu didn’t say anything. When Atsumu looked at him, he had his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Uh—” he began.

“No hesitating,” Grandma Miya had said firmly. “Tell her to come along. It will be fun.”

Atsumu couldn’t deny that; events that took place within the Miya family were always fun. But he couldn’t exactly create a girlfriend out of nothing, could he? Belatedly, Atsumu felt the guilt and horror of his words seep into his brain. He flashed a panicked look at his brother, but Osamu only shook his head and didn’t say anything. 

He looked back into his phone screen, at his grandmother’s happy expression. If there was one thing Atsumu hated, it was letting down the people important to him.

Meekly, he nodded and forced a smile to his face. “Of course, Grandma. Don’t say I don’t do things for you.”

“Silly child,” said Grandma Miya affectionately, and that had been that.

Atsumu has since paced in front of the living room couch exactly eight times after Osamu pressed end on the call. He twirls in his spot, ready for his ninth walk around the living room. His brother sits on the sofa with one leg thrown up, watching him amusedly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Okay,” Osamu interjects. “Swearing isn’t gon’ help your situation.”

“What else can I do?” Atsumu wails pathetically, flopping onto the sofa next to his brother. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Glad to know you’re aware.”

“Samu, what do I do?” Atsumu leans his elbows on his knees and holds his hand in his hands. “‘m so screwed.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to get Grandma’s hopes up for nothin’.”

Atsumu huffs, annoyed at both himself and his brother for being so unhelpful. “I know that, asshole. I jus’ meant— What the fuck do I do about it now?”

Osamu pats his brother on the shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. “Tsumu, I can think of only one solution.”

“What?”

“You need to find yourself a girlfriend.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose when you wave a bottle of some sort of bubbly, green-coloured concoction at his face. It looks disgusting even through the translucent plastic, and he has no doubt that it’ll taste twice as bad.

“Eugh. What’s that?”

“Wow. It’s so nice to see you too, Atsumu. I’ve only just flown back from halfway across the world after two weeks. No big deal at all,” you deadpan, staring at him.

“Yeah, I’m so happy you’re back, but what is that, and is it for me?”

Atsumu is glad you’re back—you’d gone overseas on your first ever business trip at the company you work at, and he’d missed your presence at the Tokyo apartment right next to his. He tries to verbalise it, but truthfully, his attention is solely fixed on the green muck you’re holding out to him.

“It is, actually,” you reply, shoving it into his waiting hands so he can scrutinise it better. You turn back and rummage through your open suitcase, pulling out an identical bottle—only this one is filled with something that looks like a cross between a squashed pumpkin and a gruesome shade of brown he doesn’t want to define. “And this one’s for Osamu. Can you give it to him the next time you go back to Hyogo?”

He lets out a sound of disgust, puffing out his cheeks and blowing a raspberry at you. “You couldn’t have gotten us somethin’ more… eatable?”

“Edible, Atsumu,” you correct, walking around the luggage strewn about your living room and plopping down on your sofa with a grunt. “This is what’s popular everywhere now. Apparently.”

“That doesn’t sound very optimistic,” he points out, sitting down next to you. Atsumu holds the drink bottle close to his face and squints at the ingredients printed on the back in a tiny font. “Is that… spinach?”

“Yeah.”

“And…” he continues, “kale? What’s a kale?”

“It’s some kind of leaf? Kinda like spinach,” you say, shrugging. 

“Oh, wonderful. This is a cocktail for cows.”

You huff out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking with the movement. Atsumu grins, pleased that he’s made you smile. 

“It’s supposed to be healthy, Tsumu. And you’re a professional volleyball player so I figured you’d drink stuff like this.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Atsumu shudders, but pockets the bottle anyway. It bulges out of the side of his cargo pants and he might look a little silly, but it’s really the thought that counts; the fact that you’d bought this drink with him in mind makes his heart rate spike. He nods at the muddy orange drink you left on the floor, meant for Osamu. “What’s in that one?”

“Carrot and squash, if I remember correctly.”

Atsumu gags. “Did’ya pick the worst flavours or somethin’? You say this is popular?”

You nod, a little embarrassed. “They were selling it everywhere I went!” you defend. “I just figured it was, like, the thing, or whatever.”

“If me and the team promoted this, it’d be sold out in no time,” he says thoughtfully. “Even if it tastes like a gourmet meal for goats.”

“So humble.” You roll your eyes, letting your head fall back on the couch cushion. 

Your airport clothes—a hoodie and jeans—stick uncomfortably to your skin after hours of being airborne, and you scratch your elbow. Atsumu thinks it must be annoying; you must be itching to peel off your clothes and take a warm shower.

But first, Miya Atsumu needs to ask you out.

He tries not to let the wording mess with his head. He’s doing this for his grandmother, and most certainly not because of the self-indulgent fantasies his mind conjures up for him when he’s asleep. Dreams of holding your hand, walking through the cherry blossoms together, kissing your cheek and taking in your delighted gasp—they haunt him even in his waking moments, and Atsumu aches to make them turn into a reality.

He acknowledges that he is a coward in some ways. This is one of them.

“Hey…” he begins, and then trails off, unsure.

“Hm?”

“That bottle of muck you got for Osamu—” Atsumu gulps, ignoring the hammering of his heart inside his chest. “Think he’d like it more if you gave it to him yourself.”

You sigh. “I would love to, Atsumu, but I don’t know when I’ll be going to Hyogo next. I don’t want that milkshake to stay rotting in my fridge for, like, six months.”

“Well… I’m goin’ there next Saturday. Wanna come with?”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon. It’s Shohei’s wedding. You can’t miss it. Grandma Miya specifically told me to tell you to get your ass down there.”

It’s a lie that slips easily through his teeth, but he’s not exactly wrong, is he? Just—bending the truth a little. Grandma Miya did tell him to bring his girlfriend with him, and if he thinks about it, you are his girl friend, aren’t you? With a space in between the two words, but that’s just semantics. Atsumu ignores the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he’s coming up with excuses that he used to think of when he was in elementary school. 

“I’ll think about it—”

“You have to,” Atsumu implores, briefly letting go of his pride in favour of convincing you to come with him to his hometown. “It’ll be a nice break. You can meet Samu and Shohei. Have fun at a wedding—you know how fun Miya weddings are. Get dressed up, dance around a bit. And Grandma would be ecstatic if you came.”

“Ecstatic…” you echo, an amused smile flickering on your face. “Did Osamu teach you that word?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “But that’s not the point! The point is, I want your company for Shohei’s wedding.”

Atsumu waits for his words to sink in. He notices your sharp inhale when he emphasises on the fact that he wants you there. This one is the truth, and nothing but; there is no one else he would rather go to his cousin’s wedding with. 

For all the lies he’s spouted out this afternoon, some part of Miya Atsumu wants you to recognise that he’s not lying this time.

“So, please,” he continues quietly, “will you come with me to Shohei’s wedding?”

You look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. A moment later, you nod.

“...Fine. But you’re paying for the train tickets.”

Atsumu’s exhale is both relieved and anticipatory.

It takes exactly two hours and forty-six minutes to get to Hyogo from Tokyo by train. Atsumu purchases the tickets, partly because you’d asked him to, but mostly because of the steady feeling of guilt gnawing at his chest. He even purchases tickets for the first-class coach, because he wants you to be as comfortable as possible, even going so far as to give up the window seat for the aisle one.

“You’re being weirdly nice,” you note suspiciously, as he hefts your suitcase onto the rack above. 

Atsumu grunts with exertion, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He takes in the small bob of your throat at the sight with a gleeful sense of pride. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I’m always nice.”

Luggage secured successfully, he rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans and settles down into the seat next to you. The plush cushion is soft and velvety to the touch, a dark shade of blue that’s soothing to the eye. As he looks around, he can’t help but notice that the rest of the passengers consist of old people—senior citizens, with wobbly knees and wrinkled skin. Old and married, they must be on their way back to their hometown after visiting their children and grandchildren in Tokyo. As far as he can tell, you and Atsumu are the only two people here who don’t have a relationship beyond the platonic. There’s the occasional family of four: a tired husband, an even more tired wife, and two boisterous children. One child, no more than four years old, with her hair done up in two pigtails, points a chubby finger at him.

“Mama, look! That man looks like Pikachu!” she exclaims loudly.

You giggle at the chagrined look on Atsumu’s face, and his heart lifts slightly at the sound.

“Komi! Shhh. It’s rude to point at people.” Her mother pulls her hand down, giving Atsumu an apologetic bow of her head.

“She has a point, I guess,” you whisper to your friend, nudging his shoulder.

“The point being…?”

“You do look like Pikachu.”

“Huh?”

“Your hair, Tsumu.” You grin mischievously. “It’s yellow. You’re practically halfway to having electric powers.”

Atsumu flushes. He runs a hand through his dyed-blond hair self-consciously. “That bad, eh?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, shrugging. “Your fans seem to like it.”

“And you?” he asks softly. “You’ve never told me what you think.”

You hum and look away, fiddling with your phone case. “If you like it, then I like it.”

“That’s not even an answer.” Still, Atsumu will admit that your reply makes him happy.

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s—”

“You both argue like Mama an’ Papa.”

Startled, you and Atsumu look in front of you. Komi pokes her head out from the seat in front of you, a wide grin on her lips. You stifle a laugh; it turns out Komi and her brother have occupied the seats in front of you and him. The tips of Atsumu’s ears turn crimson—whether with embarrassment at being caught bickering by a four-year-old, or at Komi’s previous comment about his hair, he isn’t sure.

“Hello, there,” you greet the small girl with a grin as wide as hers. “Komi, isn’t it?”

She nods, her pigtails rocking with the movement. “‘m Komi! An’ my brother is Kento!”

“It’s very nice to meet you both, Komi and Kento,” you say, solemnly holding out a hand for her to shake. Although you haven’t met her brother, you can hear his excited babbles from his location on his mother’s lap. “I’m ____, and this is my friend, Atsumu.”

“But you can call me Tsum,” Atsumu supplies, knowing it must be hard for the little one to pronounce his name properly.

Komi shakes your hand with the sort of vigour that one only has at the young age of four, and then glances expectantly at Atsumu. He holds out his hand as well, and the little girl grips it with all the strength she can muster. Her soft palm is sticky; once she releases it, he tries to discreetly rub his own palm on the seat in front of him, garnering a frown from you.

Slowly, the train begins to chug forward.

“Tsum and ____,” Komi says, “are you both like Mama an’ Papa?”

“Like… Mama and Papa?” you repeat, tilting your head.

“Yeah! Like, sleepin’ in the same room an’ givin’ each other kissies while cooking dinner!”

Atsumu gapes at the child. He feels his face heat up at the insinuation—if Komi thought his hair was like Pikachu earlier, then now she’d surely think his entire face was akin to Charmeleon, or something of that sort. Unable to answer, he glances at you.

Your face settles in an expression that he can only describe as pained amusement. Your lips twitch up, finding the whole situation funny, but you pick at your cuticles at the same time. A chuckle forces its way out of his mouth.

“That’s right, Komi,” Atsumu says. “Except we aren’t… married yet.”

The girl tilts her head, confused. “Wha’s that mean?”

“It means” —Atsumu pauses, just enough to notice the stupefied glower you give him— “that we haven’t promised each other what your Mama and Papa promised each other.”

“Oh!” Komi gasps, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She grips the seat with her tiny hands, clearly thrilled at his words. “Like a pinkie promise?”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Atsumu scolds himself yet again for letting his mouth run loose all the damn time. How is he supposed to break this poor, innocent girl’s heart by telling her that you and Atsumu aren’t married? Heck, you aren’t even dating, and he doesn’t even know if you want to get married to someone eventually. He wishes he could blabber about his feelings for you directly to you—but it appears that he is tongue-tied only around you, as well. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Regardless, he cannot take back his words now, which means he must plough on.

Ignoring your pointed glare, he nods. “Exactly. You’re very smart, aren’t you, Komi?”

“‘m the third in my class!” The girl beams proudly.

“Really?” Atsumu gasps. “I was only fifth!”

“From the bottom,” you interject, seemingly having finally found your voice.

“Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just trying to make me look stupid.”

Komi giggles. “Papa says that’s a bad word.”

“And Papa is right.” Atsumu nods. “Idiot is also a bad word.”

“You’re so brilliant, Tsumu,” you mutter. “Teaching her bad words by saying they’re bad. Genius.”

“See, Komi, now what ____ did is something called sarchasm—”

You let out an odd noise, something in between an exasperated sigh and an amused giggle.

“...And now she’s laughin’ at me,” Atsumu finishes, staring at Komi and shaking his head ruefully. “Can’t believe I’m payin’ for this one’s train tickets.”

Komi’s curious gaze darts between you and Atsumu, a little confused but wholly entertained. “Stop, stop, stop!” She holds her palms out as though she’s a judge imparting all her four-years worth of knowledge to pass her verdict. “Both of you need to make a pinkie promise.”

You blink. “What for, Komi?”

“To always love each other. Forever an’ ever, until you both die!” she declares seriously.

Atsumu’s smile turns soft around the edges. Ah, the child-like innocence that vanishes so quickly. He doesn’t remember much of his own childhood—it’s mostly just a blur of juvenile volleyball and fistfights with Osamu and Aran, and playdates where you would come over with your mother and the three of you would romp around with the twins’ toy dinosaurs—but he hopes he had the same sort of faith in the world that little Komi so proudly presents to him. 

He turns to you, fingers already twitching with the urge to wrap his little finger around yours. “I think you have a point, Komi. Whaddya say?”

“I agree,” you say quietly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Atsumu gently takes your hand in his, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. Your skin is soft, a little bit clammy, but so is his. He swallows thickly, nervous for no reason at all, and says:

“____, I promise to love you forever and ever, until we both die.”

“I, um” —you inhale shakily— “I promise to do the same.”

He squeezes lightly and then lets go, letting his hand drop down to his lap. It was only a brief moment of contact—barely thirty seconds—but Atsumu’s finger twitches again; he aches to prolong the contact, to hold not just your finger but your entire palm, encase it within his hand’s confines, and never let you go.

“No, you didn’ do it properly!” Komi whines, her chubby fingers tightening around the headrest. 

The volleyball player’s gaze snaps back to his small friend’s face. Gruffly, still wary, he asks, “What did we do wrong, Komi?”

“Mama an’ Papa always make me an’ Kento kiss after we fight! You should do the same!”

“But we haven’t fought, Komi,” you try to gently persuade her from exacerbating your situation. 

It doesn’t work. Komi is adamant, as most children are, and Atsumu senses the beginning of a tantrum. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Komi and Kento’s parents napping in their seats, probably taking a well-deserved break from handling two kids. He doesn’t want to wake them up, all because he couldn’t satisfy their daughter’s harmless demands.

“All right, all right,” he says, flashing Komi a winning smile. “We’ll kiss to seal the deal, ‘kay?”

Next to him, he hears your sharp intake of breath. Atsumu’s heart thuds in his chest, a marching band of his own. The words just slipped out—as they always do. It is his fatal flaw.

Before he can turn towards you, he freezes. 

You kiss him on his cheek. 

You kissed him.

He can feel remnants of your lip balm on his skin, a slightly oily residue that he doesn’t bother wiping away. His brain feels like it’s a laptop with the Blue Screen Of Death causing it to cease all functions; blood rushes to his ears.

“There,” you tell Komi with an air of finality. “Pinkie promise made properly.”

The girl giggles and claps her hands, but he can tell she’s getting tired as well. With one last parting smile, she turns back around, presumably to nap for the one hour of travel left.

Atsumu’s cheek tingles at the spot where you kissed him. He resists the urge to brush his fingers against it, conscious of the fact that you might find it weird. Instead, he forces down the giddy smile that threatens to overcome his face and joins you in silently observing the countryside whip past him through the window.

Jealousy is an emotion Miya Atsumu grapples with rather frequently, and it’s no exception when he sees his brother tackle you into a hug as soon as he lays eyes upon you both.

Meanwhile, he’s left standing at the genkan, carrying both your bags and suitcases. Osamu doesn’t even spare him a look. Atsumu scowls; is this what their brotherly love has been reduced to?

“Don’ mind me,” he announces, toeing off his shoes and socks. “‘m just a luggage carrier.”

“Guest room’s all yours,” his brother says, arm still wrapped around your shoulder. 

You snicker at Atsumu’s disgruntled expression and he rolls his eyes. Hefting a bag on his shoulder, he smirks and shoots back, “Someone’s gotta be the useful one. Cookin’ isn’t gonna save your life.”

“Dinner’s on you, Tsumu,” Osamu calls out to his retreating back. “And then we’ll see who survives after eatin’ your food.”

Atsumu blanches, but he sees the amused tilt of your head and flashes a winning grin at you instead, trying to quell the envy that bubbles in his chest when he sees Osamu whisper something into your ear and you giggle. 

After depositing your bags in the guest room, Atsumu heads upstairs to put his own luggage away and wash up a little. He can hear the sounds of you and Osamu talking and laughing downstairs, taking the time to catch up on everything you’d missed in Hyogo district—about the twins’ mother and her little circle of friends, the news about when one of their neighbours threatened to cut down another person’s apple tree—and your delighted laugh sends a ripple of something warm down his spine. 

He knows he’s well and truly fucked when he thinks about how much he wishes he could be the one to draw those elated sounds out of your mouth.

Downstairs, you’re doubled over with laughter as Osamu regales you with the story of their Grandma Miya accidentally crashing the wrong knitting circle and not realising until three meetings in that they were discussing trashy romance webnovels instead of actually knitting. Atsumu lingers at the top of the stairs, listening to your guffaws. You snort, once, and it sends you and Osamu into peals of laughter again. His fingers curl around the bannister.

The volleyball player steels himself, plastering on a confident smile as he saunters down the stairs.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he drawls. “Ya laughin’ without me now?”

“Just tellin’ her about Grandma’s new knitting club,” Osamu says. “She’s startin’ to think she can direct a romantic drama now.”

“I mean, she probably could,” you agree, smiling. “From what I know of her, your grandmother is a force.”

Atsumu scoffs, dropping into the armchair closest to you. He mutters, “A force that guilt-tripped me into bringin’ a date to the wedding.”

Osamu snickers. You tilt your head, curious. “A date for Shohei’s wedding?”

“Yeah. And if I show up without one, I’m doomed. Grandma’ll start parading me around to every eligible bachelorette she’s ever met—the neighbours, the cashier at the konbini I said looks cute, random strangers on the street.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe you’ll find someone perfect.”

Atsumu swallows down a groan. The last thing he needs is for you to think he’s taking his grandmother’s matchmaking seriously. “Nah, it’s a nightmare waiting to happen. Imagine Grandma introducin’ me to that one lady who brought natto salad to her friend’s birthday party.”

Osamu barks out a laugh. “Everyone ended up with really bad diarrhea that day,” he explains to you. “Guess Tsumu will hafta rely on me for cookin’ unless he wants bowel problems by the time he’s thirty.”

“As if,” Atsumu says quickly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Point is, I need someone to save me from this circus.”

“Hm, better start polishing your flirtin’ skills, Atsumu.” You give him a teasing smile.

His eyes lock with yours for a fraction of a second longer than he intends, and the words sit heavy on his tongue. You’re my date. I was thinkin’ of asking you. But his throat tightens; instead, he tosses a pillow at his twin brother to cover his nerves.

“You busy, Samu? Wanna be my date?” he jokes, deflecting easily.

Osamu catches the pillow without missing a beat, and then shudders. “Not a chance. The second they see me with you, they’ll think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Hasn’t he already?” you pipe up. 

Atsumu clutches his chest dramatically. “Even you, ____? Betrayed in my own home!”

“Technically, it’s Samu’s home.”

Osamu grins triumphantly. Atsumu sneers.

“Well, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “I’ll find someone. Real classy. Someone who’ll shut Grandma up for a whole year.”

His brother rolls his eyes. “Sure you will, Tsumu.”

You glance at Atsumu again, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s something indecipherable in your eyes, the way your forehead is creased ever-so slightly. Before he can say anything, Osamu’s phone rings. He excuses himself to take the call, leaving the two of you alone.

“Who’s the lucky fake date?” you ask after a beat. You don’t meet his gaze.

He rubs the back of his neck, debating his next move. His heart pounds as he tries to muster some semblance of courage, but all he manages is a lopsided grin and a shrug.

“Dunno. Guess I’ll know when I see her.”

“We have a problem.”

“We do?” Atsumu has only just woken up. His brain is still struggling to catch up with the rest of him; he blinks once, twice, waiting for your statement to sink in. 

“Get up, loser,” you say, walking into his bedroom like you own the place. You flick his duvet off of his body. “We’re going shopping.”

Atsumu sits up, pressing his palms to his face and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The duvet slips further down.

“Fuck!” you yelp, immediately turning around. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see anythin’.”

A shiver ripples through his body. Without the warmth of his blanket cocooning his body, the cold of the morning seeps into his skin. He’s trying to figure out why, exactly, he’s being presented with a marvellous view of your back, and what you’re apologising for, when the chill makes him shiver again.

Oh. He looks down at himself. 

Atsumu didn’t wear a shirt to bed.

His cheeks flood with heat, the back of his neck prickling with embarrassment. “Er. I’m wearin’ pants,” he says, like that’s going to be of any help.

“I’m, um, going to leave,” you say. Your voice sounds stilted—likely due to being similarly embarrassed by Atsumu’s bare-chestedness. Atsumu grunts in agreement. You walk out slowly, gingerly tip-toeing over a discarded pair of sweatpants he left lying on the floor.

You shut the door behind you, face lowered, and exaggeratedly twist the doorknob until it lets out a click sound, as though you’re showing him that you have not seen anything indecent. As though his abs have personally offended you. Like you’re a National Geographic narrator documenting a rare, disgruntled creature in the wild. 

The shirtless Miya Atsumu, with its ruffled plumage and tragic morning breath, appears to challenge the peace of its habitat.

Ha. Wouldn’t that be a hoot.

To his credit, Atsumu gives himself five minutes before he flops onto his stomach and screams into his pillow. Then, he rises and rummages through his closet for a shirt—he settles for a grey one that he probably stole from Osamu’s closet during high school—and, still mortified, slips out of his bedroom and heads downstairs to see if breakfast is ready.

He finds his mother and you sitting side-by-side on cushions by the chabudai. It’s the usual motherly nonsense she always spouts whenever you come over—gushing over your job, asking about your parents, and, of course, wondering if you have a boyfriend yet.

“Not yet, Miya-san,” you reply politely, though Atsumu can tell you’re a little embarrassed. Your eyebrows furrow just slightly, and it’s always a tic you’ve had, Atsumu’s discovered.

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” his mother says. “Beautiful girls like you should have boys tripping over their own two feet to date you.”

Atsumu is sure he’s tripped over his own two feet in front of you enough times by now for him to be able to date you. He clears his throat and puts a little swagger to his step when he sits down opposite you. “Missed me, Ma?”

“Slightly lesser than how much I missed ____,” she says.

“Just adopt her already, why don’t you?” Atsumu quips, rolling his eyes.

His mother actually seems to consider this, as she presses her lips together. “Marry one of the twins, ____. You know I would love to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

Your eyes widen, and you flounder, beseechingly locking eyes with Atsumu and begging him to help you out. He smiles a little. He remembers why he brought you here in the first place. His smile gets wiped out in an instant.

It’s not as though Miya Atsumu doesn’t want to spend time with you. He knows Shohei would love to have you at his wedding, and Hyogo is a beautiful place to be at this time of the year. But the thought that he needs you to be a scapegoat to appease Grandma Miya niggles at the back of his mind, unforgiving. He really should tell you, he thinks.

Thankfully, you’re saved from his mother’s matchmaking attempts by Osamu, who walks in balancing bowls of rice and miso soup. He sets them down on the table expertly—Onigiri Miya has trained him well—and plops down on a cushion next to his brother. 

“Sorry for bein’ late,” he says gruffly. “Forgot to add salt in the miso.”

It smells delicious. Atsumu has to admit that he’s missed his brother’s cooking. After surviving on a majority of meals that were either konbini snacks or cheap ramen in Tokyo, home-cooked food makes his stomach grumble in a good way.

The four of you chorus your gratitude for the meal with bowed heads and folded palms, and then dig in. Atsumu slurps up the miso soup, chewing on a piece of tofu. It’s heavenly—it really is, and he nudges his brother’s side with his elbow to convey it. Osamu nudges back, and the table is silent for some time.

“Oh, by the way,” his mother says, “we need to get your suits from the dry cleaners. I have to go help your aunt out with last-minute wedding preparations, so I need one of you to do it.”

“Not me,” Osamu says. “I’ve got a restaurant to run.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Osamu,” she continues, giving him a small smile. “That’s why I asked ____ to wake up Atsumu early today. Both of you still have the same build, so Atsumu can go to the tailor’s to see if it fits or if he needs any adjustments.”

“Oh,” says Atsumu. You don’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t know we had actual work to do today.”

“I also offered to buy ____ a dress, but she refused.” His mother casts a quick, affectionate glance at you. “So, Atsumu, I need you to buy her one, all right? Get her a gorgeous one.”

“O’course I will,” he says, quietly.

Osamu looks curiously between you both. “Didn’t ____ tell you all this when she came to wake you up, Tsumu?”

A wad of rice gets lodged in Atsumu’s throat. You accidentally inhale miso soup through your nose. Both of you cough and splutter.

Osamu frantically pats Atsumu’s back, while you, eyes watering, accept a glass of water from the twins’ mother. Something unfurls inside Atsumu’s chest at the thought of spending the whole day with you, getting his suit tailored and buying you a dress.  

It’s almost like you’re actually his date for his cousin’s wedding.

Is it weird that Miya Atsumu wants to see your reaction to him wearing a suit? Is he being presumptuous in the way he lifts his chin and puffs out his chest so that the tuxedo fits him better? What are your thoughts about men wearing tuxedos and ties, in general? Should he buy a tie that matches your dress?

This, and other such mysteries of life, are what the volleyball player ponders over in the tiny fitting room while one of the seamsters kneels in front of him and measures the length of his leg with measuring tape. 

Atsumu has to constantly remind himself that you don’t know he’s your date yet. The wedding is tomorrow. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to stick it out until then. 

“All done,” the seamster announces, getting back to his feet. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be able to alter this to the right size.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles, pulling back the curtain and heading outside. 

You’re sitting on one of the couches they’ve kept by the corner of the shop, scrolling through something on your phone. The bag with your new dress—his mother’s gift to you—is placed on the floor by your feet. He doesn’t know what the dress looks like; you’d insisted on buying it secretly because it was, apparently, embarrassing to go dress-shopping with a close friend who happens to be a well-built, devilishly handsome, popular, famous pro-volleyball player. 

Not that you said those words exactly, but Atsumu can fill in the blanks.

He plops down next to you, leaning back and circling his head to get rid of the cricks in his neck. You put your phone away and glance at him.

“Take a picture,” Atsumu says, not looking back at you. “Lasts longer.”

“If only your face actually looked good in photos.”

“My face looks excellent. Haven’t ya seen me and Bokuto in the Calpis advertisement?” It was a small gig they’d gotten right after the Olympics season. Kuroo had said it would make for good PR, and Atsumu and Bokuto jumped at the chance to have their small five minutes of fame. Shouyou had sulked about not being a part of it for two weeks straight afterwards.

“I have, actually,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know I wouldn’t ever miss out on that. I’m surprised no one here’s recognised you yet.”

“Livin’ under a rock, the whole lot of them,” Atsumu mutters.

You laugh softly. “The fame’s gone to your head, Atsumu. Don’t forget me when you and the team go gallivanting across the country.”

“You know I wouldn’t ever be able to forget you,” he says, after a beat. “You’re, like, a part of me now.”

You blink. “That’s kind of weird.”

Atsumu’s cheeks burn. How is it that he always, always fumbles so much in front of you? It’s like his brain sees you and immediately decides to unplug itself for maintenance. He gulps, thinking of ways to salvage whatever dignity he has left.

“‘S not weird,” he forces out. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. I think you spent more time at our house durin’ elementary school than you did at your own.”

“Fair enough,” you acquiesce. Shifting slightly, you eye the bit of fabric from your dress that pokes out of the paper bag. “Still can’t believe your mom insisted on getting me a dress,” you murmur, lightly brushing your fingertips against the edge of the bag. “It’s a bit over-the-top, don’t you think?”

“She just likes you a lot,” he responds. “Honestly, I’m startin’ the think she likes you more than me or Osamu.”

“That’s not a very high bar.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no malice in the action. “But it’s probably ‘cause I didn’t dunk her favourite teapot into the toilet when I was seven.”

“That was an accident! And I apologised more than a hundred times!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure the apology totally made up for the fact that you made Osamu stick his hand down there and fish it out for you.”

“Why d’you always take his side?” Atsumu grumbles. “Can’t ever catch a break with both of you around, I swear.”

You lean back, shoulder brushing against his. Atsumu can feel your gaze roving over his face; he bites the inside of his cheek, feeling strangely self-conscious.

“Maybe,” you say, “I just enjoy making fun of you. You always make fun of me back. It’s nice.”

Atsumu swallows hard, trying to focus on anything else—the tacky wallpaper, the sound of pop music blaring from the shop next door. Anything but the way your words make his heart somersault, or the way your smile lingers for a second more than usual. 

“That’s cruel, yaknow,” he manages to say. “Gangin’ up on me all the time. Makes a guy feel unloved.”

You stay quiet, thoughtfully steepling your fingers under your chin. Atsumu glances at you from the corner of his eye. Your expression doesn’t betray anything, until you reach out and gently grasp his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “Didn’t realise you didn’t like it.”

Miya Atsumu is certain—not for the first time in his life—that he’s utterly doomed. It’s a little bit pathetic, really. It started back in middle school, and still, somehow, he’s unable to move on. You’ve consumed him. Your thumb brushes over the veins on his wrist; he wonders if you can feel his pulse racing.

“Don’t stop,” he says, because what else does a fool in love say?

“Atsumu, I—”

You’re interrupted by the seamster, who calls Atsumu over to the register to finish his billing. He grits his teeth. This is the worst sort of interruption ever. He turns to face you properly, because maybe if he pretends he didn’t hear the tailor, you’ll tell him what you were about to say. 

But your face is carefully blank, your lips pressed together. “Go on,” you tell him. “Don’t forget to collect Osamu’s tux, too.”

“Yeah, okay.” Atsumu nods once, twice. He gently extricates his hand from your grasp, as much as he dislikes it. “I’ll, uh, go do that, then.”

“Okay.”

Atsumu hates this. He’s not sure if he even wants to attend the wedding anymore. All his relatives are going to heckle him about his love life—and that’s fine, he can deal with them. He just doesn’t want his grandmother’s face to crumple with disappointment on finding out her grandson’s whole “relationship” was a farce. Feeling sick to his stomach, he pays for the alterations done to his and his brother’s outfits, and gestures for you to accompany him outside. 

You don’t meet his eyes the entire way back home.

It’s the eve of the wedding reception, and Miya Atsumu can’t find you anywhere.

The reception hall is lovely. Golden lanterns hang from the ceiling, enveloping everyone in a soft, warm glow. Vases of peonies and cherry blossoms, intertwined with sprigs of baby’s breath, are placed on top of the soft linen covering each table. The delicate strains of a koto and shamisen ensemble weave through the air. The centerpiece stage, framed by cascading fairy lights and flowing silk, bear the names of the bride and the groom, written in exquisite calligraphy. An array of traditional Japanese sweets and cups of sake are placed on a long table by the corner of the hall.

Shohei and Sakura sit by the shintaku, looking resplendent in their outfits, surrounded by family members and friends. He’s already congratulated them, clapping his cousin on the back and winking proudly at Sakura. You’re nowhere near them, so he tries the snack table instead.

Atsumu hides his mounting worry by shoving a piece of mochi into his mouth. He racks his brain, trying to think of other possible hideouts where he can find you. It’s not like you to disappear like this—and it’s a shame, really, because all he wants is to be by your side this evening. Osamu is posing for a group photo with his second cousins and his mother is helping his aunt with the gift bags, but you’re not anywhere near them either.

He knows you won’t be at the smoking area where his uncle has held court all evening, but he decides to check anyway. Atsumu gives the area a cursory glance, confirming that you’re not among them, before hastily walking out. He curses under his breath, his usual confidence giving way to an unfamiliar, gnawing unease.

You’re supposed to be here. You said you’d be here.

He adjusts the lapels of his tailored suit and forces himself to think rationally. You’re probably just outside, he tells himself, getting some air or hiding from the relentless matchmaking attempts of meddlesome aunts. It’s probably fine. It has to be.

Atsumu’s footsteps turn towards the garden doors. His urgency is masked by the cocky, practiced demeanour he wears like a second skin.

“Atsumu, boy, where d’you think you’re running off to now?”

The volleyball player freezes mid-step. He exhales slowly and drags a hand through his meticulously styled hair before turning around.

Grandma Miya stands by the hall’s entrance, wearing a lavender kimono that glows under the warm lights. Her lacquered cane gleams as she taps it softly against the polished floor. Despite her diminutive frame, his grandmother commands the space effortlessly. Sharp eyes—so like his own—pin him in place.

“‘M not runnin’ anywhere, Grandma,” Atsumu says, summoning a sheepish smile that he hopes will placate her. “Just, uh, checkin’ on something.”

Her eyebrows lift, arching in a way that shows she’s wholly unconvinced. “Checking on something or someone?”

Atsumu opens his mouth, an excuse perched on the tip of his tongue, but she raises a hand and continues before he can say anything. “Thought you ought to know—there’s a pretty girl standing outside in the garden cussin’ out your name like she’s auditioning for a sailor’s choir. Care to explain why?”

“Wait—outside?”

“So you do know her,” Grandma Miya states.

“Um. Yeah—I— She’s—” The grin he’s worn like armour falters under the Miya matriarch’s scrutinising gaze.

“Out with it, Tsumu,” she prompts, tapping her cane once on the floor. “Who is she?”

“She’s my… date,” Atsumu admits. The words tumble out awkwardly, and he can’t deny the way it sounds both weirdly foreign but strangely right at the same time. “For the wedding.”

His grandmother’s eyes narrow. “And why is she out there cursing you to Hell and back all alone in the cold?”

“I didn’t—” He stops, shoulders slumping. He knows there’s no point in lying—not to her. Grandma Miya has always been able to see right through him, as though his thoughts are scrawled across his face.

“She’s not really my date,” Atsumu mutters, gaze downcast. “I mean, she is, but she doesn’t… know that she is.”

Grandma Miya blinks, and then lets out a short huff of laughter. “Atsumu, are you tellin’ me you brought this poor girl here, told everyone she’s your date, but didn’t think to inform her of that little detail?”

“I didn’t forget,” Atsumu protests, though his words sound weak to his own ears. “I just didn’t have the chance to tell her.”

“Why would you go and do something so spectacularly foolish?”

He hesitates, avoiding her eyes. “‘Cause I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he says quietly, the admission dragging itself out of his throat.

His grandmother’s smile fades, and without it, her wrinkles look more and more pronounced. “Disappoint me?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu whispers. “You’re always askin’ me when I’m gonna bring someone home. You want to see me and Osamu get married, too, before you—” His voice catches. “Before. Um. I just wanted to make you happy, ‘s all.”

There’s a long pause, and when Grandma Miya speaks again, her voice is sadder than he expects. Classic Atsumu, he thinks bitterly. Always findin’ a way to mess things up for everyone.

“Atsumu, you daft boy,” his grandma says, “I don’t care if you bring someone or not. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Atsumu swallows, her words entering his chest and settling down with a warmth that wraps around his body. When he looks up, he finds her observing him not with judgement, but with quiet understanding.

“Are you happy?” she asks. 

Something about the way she says it is tinged with hope, and it makes his heart lift. The truth lodges in his throat, too big to swallow, too heavy to speak.

“I like her,” he blurts out finally. “A lot. But she doesn’t—she doesn’t know that either.”

Grandma Miya’s lips lift up in a grin—the same smile that passed on to his mother, and then to him and his brother. “Then go find her. Tell her the truth.”

“But what if—”

“No,” she says firmly. “Life’s too short for all that nonsense. If you care about her, you owe her the truth and an apology. Go on, now. Dinner’s starting soon.”

Atsumu nods, the corners of his lips twitching up in a small, grateful smile. She waves him off with her cane, before turning around and bellowing to Osamu to get her another cup of sake. He heads out to the garden.

The cool night air fills his lungs when he steps out of the ornate doors. He catches sight of you pacing near the koi pond; your movements are tight with frustration. The moonlight shimmers on the water, and dances across your face. The ends of your dress billow out because of the wind and Atsumu swears he forgets how to breathe.

It’s not until he climbs down the steps and comes to a standstill in front of you that you finally acknowledge Atsumu. Even then, it’s with flaring nostrils and flashing eyes, and he knows he’s fucked up really badly this time.

“Atsumu,” you say, voice taut. “What the Hell is going on?”

He winces. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain everything. He tries to speak, but no words come out, and all he can do is watch helplessly as you curl your fingers into your palm with anger.

“Why the fuck did you tell your entire family that I’m your girlfriend?” you snap, when it becomes apparent he isn’t going to say anything. “What did you think was going to happen?”

A dozen half-baked excuses fly over his head, but none of them feel right. Grandma Miya was right—he owes you the truth—but first, he needs to find a way to calm you down.

“Do you realise how messed up that is?” you continue. Your voice increases in pitch, garnering the attention of a few wedding-goers milling about. “You didn’t ask me. You didn’t tell me anything. Do you know how embarrassing it was to get bombarded by all your relatives asking me how long we’ve been dating? They think we’re something that we’re not—fuck it all, they think I’m something I’m not.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Atsumu pleads, finally having found his voice. “I just—”

“Just what?! Just thought it would be easier? Just wanted to impress your family?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I just—shit, I dunno—I didn’t want my grandma to think I was screwing around. I didn’t want my relatives to look at me with pity ‘cause I can’t even stay in a decent relationship for longer than three weeks!”

Atsumu searches your face for something—some sort of reaction to his words. But you’re silent, and he can’t read your face. He can’t tell if you’re angry, hurt, both, or something else entirely, and it’s making him feel even more out of his depth.

“What were you thinking, Atsumu?” you ask softly. Your teeth worry your bottom lip, and he resists the urge to give in and kiss you silly.

“I wasn’t thinkin’,” he says, hoarsely. “I didn’t think about how it would make you feel. I should have.”

You don’t say anything for a long while; Atsumu thinks he’s said too much. But then, you speak and the bite in your voice has reduced.

“You didn’t think about me. You didn’t think ‘bout how I’d feel being that person for you.” 

Your words ring hollow in his ears. The hurt in your voice makes his stomach twist with guilt. He wants to defend himself, but what could he possibly say? Instead, he looks at you quietly, hoping against all hope that somehow you will understand.

“Fuck,” Atsumu mutters under his breath, more to himself than you. He takes a tentative step forward, but you hold up a hand.

“You don’t—” Your voice trembles. “You don’t get to just walk over to me and give me some half-assed apology, Atsumu.”

Atsumu stops, letting silence blanket you both once more. He stares at you for a moment, at your beautiful face and your beautiful dress, and without thinking, he steps closer, his hand reaching out.

You don’t pull away—not immediately.

He’s close enough now that he can see his reflection in your eyes, the small tremor in your lips. Something inside him shifts, something urgent, something that makes his head spin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until it’s too late. 

He curls his hand around your waist and pulls you in, crashing your lips with his. He feels you stiffen at first—but then you kiss him back, hard and sharp, and everything in him unwinds.

It isn’t gentle or sweet. It isn’t tender, the way Atsumu had always imagined his first kiss with you would be like. It’s angry—you are angry at him, and he is angry at himself. 

It’s over far too quickly. Atsumu’s chest heaves with each breath he takes. You gawk at him, wide-eyed and breathless; a mirror to the expression on his own face, most likely. 

“I—” Atsumu starts, but the sentence gets lost somewhere in his brain when you take a step back.

“I’m not some… prop to your little charade, Atsumu,” you say. “So unless this means something to you—like it does for me—don’t do things you’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” Atsumu promises. His voice is gruff, his heartbeat a rapid staccato against his rib cage. “I could never. I like you too much for that.”

You look at him like he looked at you earlier—like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, like you’re drinking in the sight of him and trying to commit him to memory. It comes out as a whisper when you say, “What?”

“God, ____, I like you. I like you so much I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re around.” He owes you the truth, and so the truth is what you will get. He’s not very good with words—you know this, and he’s sure you will recognise this for what it is: he’s laying his heart bare for you to take and keep safely for him.

“Me too,” you say. “Me too, Atsumu. Me too.”

He kisses you again, gentle and tender and sweet, his hand placed on the curve of your neck and your hands clutching the front of his shirt. 

Osamu finds him and you later, curled into each other’s sides. Atsumu’s cheeks colour when his brother shoots him an impressed look.

“Finally,” he says. “Been waitin’ forever for this buffoon to get his head out of his ass and make a move.”

Atsumu doesn’t deny it, and you laugh softly. “Been waitin’ for him myself,” you say, squeezing his arm affectionately.

“Anyways,” says Osamu. “Grandma Miya’s lookin’ for Tsumu. She says she can’t wait to meet his new girlfriend.”

Atsumu’s mouth splits into a grin. “Tell her we’ll be right there,” he says.

[noosayog]

002 get him back!

✧ wc: 4k

✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.

“Well you dated me didn’t you?!” 

“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly. 

You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile? 

–

“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says. 

“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble. 

“True. But he is an idiot.” 

You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale. 

“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.” 

You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter. 

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.

“Huh?” 

“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?” 

Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Why not?” 

He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it. 

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you. 

And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl. 

“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently. 

You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in. 

“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.” 

Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps. 

The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating. 

“So, found a guy to take you out?” 

“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have. 

“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.” 

You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this: 

“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases. 

“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both. 

“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?” 

With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation. 

When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim. 

It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant. 

When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child. 

“Now yer turn. What was that about?”

“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!” 

“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”

You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently. 

“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.” 

That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice. 

“‘Samu…” 

“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.” 

It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you. 

–

Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted. 

He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight. 

At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.

And it goes on. 

As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular. 

–

When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter. 

You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.” 

He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before. 

Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.” 

“Dude, nice try,” you had said. 

But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night. 

He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break. 

“I’ll walk with ya.” 

“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit. 

Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time. 

You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight. 

As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway. 

“I’m onto ya,” he starts. 

You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.” 

It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.

“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you. 

“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.  

Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face. 

It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself. 

It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had. 

His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway. 

Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 

He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs. 

“Why do ya let him get to you like that?” 

You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes. 

“Who?” you mumble. 

But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air. 

“I don’t know… I just…” 

“Are ya still in love with my brother?” 

“No,” you answer honestly. 

Osamu raises his brows. 

“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.” 

“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?” 

“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off. 

He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin. 

“I wanna get him back,” you admit. 

Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.

“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!” 

“Huh?” 

“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-” 

“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.” 

You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation. 

“Osamu…” 

“Am I wrong?” 

He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before. 

But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used. 

His question goes unanswered. 

– 

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu. 

It doesn’t make you miss him any less. 

You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around. 

The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.

And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision. 

That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock. 

The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth. 

“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?” 

There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.

“Uh,” you stutter. 

“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-” 

“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say. 

“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”

“Just wait a minute, okay-” 

“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”

“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu. 

You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.

You instantly feel the panic rise in your system. 

“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone. 

Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.” 

Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks. 

You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.

Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act. 

When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory. 

Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do. 

“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-” 

Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out. 

“Hey, ‘Samu!” 

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face. 

Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope. 

He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy. 

“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you. 

He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly. 

“You just…?” he prompts. 

The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself. 

Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.” 

His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?” 

His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him. 

“Missed you,” you whisper. 

Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you. 

“And I like you so much, Osamu.” 

He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap. 

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?” 

He stops stroking your hair. 

“What, ya don’t like it?” 

You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk. 

He’s teasing, you realize.

You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him. 

You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time. 

“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?” 

You nod shyly. 

“I need to hear it, sweetheart.” 

“I want it.” 

“Alright. C’mere then.” 

You oblige. 

“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck. 

You nod. 

“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?” 

It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle. 

“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 

It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.” 

You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth. 

He’s nonchalant when he shrugs. 

“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”

[weneeya]

Can I request Sakusa or Atsumu accidentally revealing they have an s/o during an interview or something.

Like they’ve been in a relationship for quite a while, but both of them want to keep things private. But during an interview the question leads to a slip-up where they reveal they have an s/o. And they feel really bad for that, but in the end their s/o isn’t really mad about it

secret revealed w/ atsumu, sakusa, hinata, bokuto m.list | rules

note. omg thank you for your request i love the idea so much!! as i really wanted to do both sakusa and atsumu, i decided to do it with the msby quatuor, hope you don't mind <3 please don't hesitate to request!

Miya Atsumu

If it would have been him alone, Atsumu would never have you hidden from the cameras. Not that he wanted you to be known by everyone especially ; but he was a proud man and he wanted to show you off to the world. You were amazing and he loved absolutely everything about you. But you wanted to keep it low, so he respected this. Doing anything that would make you uncomfortable was the last thing he wanted ever. 

It was a simple interview, nothing different from the usual. He was used to their questions, especially those about his private life. Atsmu was good at lying so acting like you didn’t exist was not something so difficult for him ; even if he hated it. He was sitting next to one of his teammates, when he glanced at the backstages, thinking about his answer. 

And what he saw ruined every plan he had in mind. He saw you there, waiting for him like you did it from time to time. But what was weird was that you were generally waiting outside to avoid the questions. Except that today, you were inside, and this guy from the sound was clearly hitting on you. Atsumu trusted you, obviously, but it still made him react almost right now. 

He turned his head to look at the journalist, and a bitter smile appeared on his lips. “I have a girlfriend, yeah. She’s right here yer know, waiting for me.” He said before glancing back at you, waving at little. It caught you off guard, and you looked at your boyfriend with wide eyes. The poor guy who was trying something previously felt terribly stupid, and he quickly moved away from you, understanding the message. 

After the interview, you were walking outside, arms crossed and not answering the poor Atsumu who was almost begging you to look at him. “I’m sorry, please!” He was almost falling on your back, trying to force you to acknowledge his presence. You glanced at him and he had this adorable pout over his lips. You rolled your eyes, before a sigh left your lips. 

“You’re an idiot,” you started, and a smirk appeared on his face at the sound of your voice. “Yer idiot.” He left a kiss on your cheek and you couldn’t restrain the smile that got on the corner of your lips. Surely he was your idiot, yes.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Sakusa Kiyoomi was a discrete man, especially when it came to his private life. He didn’t like to talk about himself in general, but when it came to you, the one he loved, it was even worse. He knew how people could be when they were a fan of someone, and seeing you hurt because of this was the last thing he wanted. So after talking about it together, you decided to not announce anything officially and to be careful. 

He was supposed to spend today with you but there was a sudden change of schedule and he had to go to an interview. Not only was he annoyed because he hated interviews, but even more because he had to cancel his peaceful day with you. He sat there, and everyone could understand that Sakusa was in a bad mood. 

The interview got on, and the questions about his private life quickly arrived. Soon or later, the journalist was asking him about his lovelife more particularly. Even if Sakusa was usually so cautious about it, today was different because he couldn’t see you as much as he wanted, so the words slipped out of his mouth. “Yes, I have someone in my life. And if it wasn’t for this, I would have been with her right now.” 

His tone was harsh and cold, and it quickly ended all the discussions about his private life. When he left the building, he simply got back to your place in no time. A long sigh left his lips when he finally got rid of his shoes, joining the kitchen where he saw the light. You turned around to look at him, and the smile he saw on your lips eased his heart so easily. 

“I may have made a mistake,” he started, and it made your eyebrows rise slowly. He explained to you, and your only reaction was to chuckle gently. It caught him off guard, because he didn’t expect such a reaction. Weren’t you angry that he revealed your secret? You looked back at his eyes, smiling once again. “People needed to know one day, so it’s fine.” 

Sakusa nodded slowly, leaving a soft kiss against your temple. You were right, you couldn’t keep it to yourself forever. He would have wanted to show you to the world differently, because you deserved better, but at least he wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

Hinata Shouyou

You didn’t really care about being known as Hinata’s girlfriend, but the boy was less enthusiastic than you. Knowing that he met you during his time in Brazil, and knowing how his country was, he was just scared that people would say anything bad about you. Even if he was a real sunshine, he would never accept any bad remarks towards the person he loved the most in his entire life. This is why both of you decided to keep your relationship private. 

But Hinata Shouyou was not really good at hiding things, especially not when you were making him so happy. It wasn’t his own interview ; actually it was Kageyama who was getting interviewed after their match against Hinata’s team. He was answering some questions with his usual awkwardness when a voice came from behind. It was Hinata yelling at him. 

“Hey, Kageyama! Look, she’s here!” Hinata pointed at you before waving with a huge smile, and Kageyama simply offered you a little wave. Obviously, the interviewer asked about who you were, and Tobio was as much of an idiot as Hinata, so he simply told the truth. “It’s his girlfriend,” he said, and Hinata quickly arrived behind him, giggling like it was nothing. “Isn’t she pretty?” 

You saw the camera turning in your direction, and you quickly ran away from it. You didn’t care, but you wanted to respect your boyfriend’s choice. Except that you wouldn’t run too far, Hinata grabbing you during your escape to hold you tight. This is how the whole volleyball world knew about Ninja Shouyou’s girlfriend. 

“I thought you didn’t want people to know,” you said to him while you were walking to your apartment. He giggled like only he could do it, rubbing his nose against your cheek. “I don’t care, I’ll protect you from anything.” He looked back at you with his adorable smile, and you swore you heard your heart stopping in your chest. It wasn’t even surprising anymore with Hinata.

Bokuto Koutarou

He wasn’t the type to be careful about a lot of things, except for people he loved the most. And you were probably the person he cared the most about in his whole life. You were able to keep up with his mood swings without being annoyed or anything, and he simply loved you so much. So he wanted to keep you all for himself, and as you weren’t a fan of celebrity, both of you came to the arrangement that you should keep your relationship private. 

It wasn’t a problem, and it didn’t become one until this interview. It was at the end of a match they just won, and Bokuto was over excited by the victory. He was smiling like crazy, running everywhere ; it was almost too difficult to keep him in place for the interview. So when the question about someone sharing his life arrived, he didn’t think twice. 

“I have my beautiful girlfriend waiting for me! She’s the best!” He almost yelled in the microphone, leaving everyone in shock, especially you behind your screen at home. His teammates had to calm him down before he let out too much about you, knowing well that it was supposed to be a secret. And after the interview, they had to remind Bokuto what he said. 

When he entered your apartment, he was completely down. The victory was nothing next to the idea of him disappointing you like this. He slowly walked to the couch, sitting next to you, his head almost immediately falling on your lap. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have.” 

Your fingers slowly moved to his hair, trying to ease his heart a little. How could you blame him? You knew how he was, so you were expecting this to happen one day. You smiled softly, leaving a kiss against his cheek. “It’s okay Kou, it’s fine. I’m good,” you told him, and he quickly sat back. He looked at you, eyes wide and bright. 

“Really? You’re not mad?” You chuckled slightly, before slowly shaking your head from left to right. “Of course not.” You reassure him, and in a second, Bokuto’s excitement came back like before. You would never get mad at him, and especially not for him loving you so much.

thank you!!

[leahrintarou]

✩₊˚.⋆ BABY NUMBER TWO ! - osamu miya / 10.12 / kinktober

CW: they're parents to a newborn, breeding kink, lactation, she/her pronouns, female anatomy, pet names,

Word Count: 1.4k

Author's Note: welcome to my seventh post of kinktober. i definitely stepped out of my comfort zone to write this so i hope you all enjoy. leave a like and reblog to show support.

osamu and y/n stepped out of the restaurant, the evening air cool and refreshing after the warmth inside. their date night had been perfect—good food, laughter, and moments that reminded them both why they cherished each other so much. as they walked toward the car, osamu slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close with a grin.

“you know, i had a great time tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and playful as he leaned in, brushing his lips against her ear.

y/n smiled, squeezing his hand. “me too. you really know how to spoil me, samu.”

he chuckled, leaning back to look at her, his eyes softening. “only the best for you,” he replied. as they reached the car, he paused, his hands resting lightly on her waist before sliding one hand up to her chest, a slight squeeze to her breast. but as he did, she let out a sharp hiss, pulling away slightly. osamu’s face immediately shifted from playful to concerned, his hand retracting as he looked at y/n with worry. “sorry, did that hurt?” he asked, searching her expression.

y/n gave him a small smile, swiping her hand down her arm as she nodded. “yeah, a little. i think i might be sore,” she explained, trying to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault. he reached out, gently cupping her face with his hands. “we don’t have to do anything tonight if you’re not feeling up to it,” he said softly, his thumb tracing light circles on her cheek. “i just want you to be comfortable.”

she leaned into his touch, appreciating his gentleness and understanding. “thanks, samu,” she replied, taking his hand in hers. “my pump broke this morning and kaori has already been fed.” that was the name of their three month newborn little girl. "should we pick up a new one before we go home?" 

"no, all the shops are close by now. I'll figure it out." she gave him a tired smile and he osamu gave her a wary look. "im fine, i promise." she reassured. he nodded, voice still sounding unconvinced. 

"okay, baby." 

—

“thanks for watching her for us.” y/n said to both atsumu and sakusa. they insisted on watching kaori so that she and osamu could have some sort of break. They were new parents so to say it was stressful was an understatement. “anytime.” as they walked through the front door, closing it behind them, y/n turned to same, letting out a heavy sigh. “Going to take a warm shower to try and help these.” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. 

Samu nodded, following her down the hallway and to their bedroom. He started to get undressed and a few seconds later, he heard the sound of the shower running. He felt bad for the pain that y/n was currently experiencing, but he also couldn't help the way his mind trailed off to other things. Her breasts were obviously larger and he could tell as much due to the low neckline of the dress she wore. 

He wanted to believe that it was just an innocent concern, but his thoughts of impurity drove him to take careful steps towards the bathroom. The door was left ajar so he only had to push it slightly for it to swing open. Behind the frosted glass of their shower door, he saw the silhouette of y/n standing behind it, under the showerhead and the steem from the heated water poured from the cracks of the door. 

He was only in his briefs, but he quickly discarded them and entered the shower as need enveloped his being. “Feeling better, baby?” he questioned. y/n wasn't startled by his presence and osamu figured that she might've noticed him slip in. she leaned her back against his chest as her fingers massaged circles to the top area of her breasts. The white liquid trailed down her body as the water washed it  down to the drain. Osamu pressed himself closer against her back, his hands coming around her to replace her own massaging fingers. 

A soft moan fell from her lips, the relief almost immediate. He continued this action for as long as y/n needed but she eventually turned around to face him. He gave her a questioning look and y/ only gave him a tired smile. It’s been a long day and this process of winding down felt the most enjoyable. 

He leaned down, pressing his lips to her neck, the water from the shower wetting his hair in the process. y/n’s fingers threaded through the wet strands and she soon felt the warm muscle of his tongue place a stripe against her collar bone. He moved down, his kisses now being placed where his fingers once resided just a few seconds ago when he was aiding her to relieve the pain. She let out a moan of his name and he couldn't ignore the way his length twitched at the sound. 

His tongue ran a stripe over her raised nipple and a whimper fell past her lips. “Sensitive?” he questioned, his breath fanning over that very area. “More than usual, yeah.” she confirmed. With that information, his lips latched around her nipple as his tongue ran a circle around it. y/n’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling slightly when he continued unmerciless. His free hand traveled between her thighs, slipping between them as the pad of his digit circled her bud. 

She let out a pleasurable cry at the lustful act and osamu couldn't help it, his erection grew by the second. “feeling okay, baby? If it hurts, tell me to stop, okay?” she nodded, her head thrown back just a bit as she moved to press her pack against the cold tiled walls. “Samu, I want you inside me.”

“I will be. It’s almost starting to hurt if I'm not.”

A small smile fell onto her lips, but they parted as a moan fell past them just a second later. He removed his hand from her sex, his hand gripping his length as he rubbed the tip against her bud. With the pure memory of y/n’s body, he was able to find her entrance without looking, seeming too busy with his lips and tongue teasing her nipple. “I want to see you all round with my baby again.” he muttered, his breath fanning her neck as he slowly moved back up towards the shell of her ear. “Can we make it happen, baby?” he questioned. His eyes low as he watched her nod. “I’d have to fill you more than once then huh?”

“Yeah, I want it so bad, samu.” 

“How many times? You think three’s enough?” he questioned. His length finally slipped past her entrance and osamu let out a heavy moan. The steam from the shower made his view of his surroundings hazy, but in one swift movement he gripped the underside of her thighs, making her wrap her legs around his hips. Her chest was pressed against his own and osamu trapped her between himself and the cold tiled walls before moving his hips. 

His breaths were long, drugged in a tempo of overbearing bliss. She clenched around him, tightening around his legend as the warmth of her walls took him in without reluctance. Their moans bounced off of the walls of tile and the door of glass, the steam fogging the frosted glass even more. “Spread wider for me, pretty girl.” he hated the fact that he was already reaching his limit. it hadn't even been a full five minutes, but it was with y/n and anything that had to do with her could drive him over the edge in less than a few seconds. 

All night, the thoughts kept crossing his mind but he wanted y/n to be able to relax, not tire her out with his erotic thoughts and actions. It was clear she felt the same, but her body couldn't keep up. He held her tightly against him, her only priority being to feel nothing but pleasure. “Samu, come in me please.” 

“What do you think we're doing this for, baby?” 

She could only hum against him and with only one last stroke, ribbons of white coated the inside of y/n’s sex, and leaked down his length, the water washing it down the drain. He moaned directly next to y/n’s ear and she did the same for him, the sounds of each other only aiding them in enjoying that moment of pure bliss. 

“That was one. Two more to go.” 

♤ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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[reverie-starlight]

this is my contribution to @tetzoro 's summer olympics collab! this is so late >.< but I can't wait to go look through all the other fics people have written for the collab!!

fem!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff (of course). suna and aran can't stand atsumu's antics, but what else is new? atsumu misses you and he makes it everyone else's problem.

atsumu has been staring at his phone for twenty minutes.

suna makes note of this from where he's seated in the tiny living area of their shared olympic village apartment. it irritates suna, actually, because for someone who made a such big deal of their room assignments and got a bit weepy over how it reminded him of their high school days, atsumu couldn't seem to care less about his roommates right now.

aran (the third occupant of their dorm) appears in the doorway and glances between his two juniors. "is he still on that thing?" he asks, seemingly surprised by this.

suna shrugs and snaps a picture of the blonde when he smiles at his phone, quickly sending it to osamu with a message of how much of a dork his twin is.

leave him be

he replies, making suna's eyebrow raise. osamu coming to his defence? that's new.

he's got separation issues when it comes to her, I swear. he's like a puppy.

there it is. he snorts and puts his phone away, throwing a pillow at atsumu. the setter just uses it as an arm rest and continues to ignore them.

"hey, loverboy," aran calls and finally gets his attention. "we're heading down to get some lunch, ya coming?"

atsumu's eyes widen a bit. "it's that late already? yeah, I'll be down in a minute, save me a spot."

the other two look at each other knowingly and shut the door behind them.

now normally atsumu wouldn't be so glued to his screen on the first day of the olympics, but then again- last time around they were in tokyo and his girlfriend was no more than a couple hours away at any given time.

this year, he's in paris and about a 13 hour flight away with a 7 hour time difference from his fiancée. it would still be manageable for him, of course- he's not as clingy as you or his brother make him out to be, he swears- if not for the fact that your boss denied your time off and you wouldn't be in attendance at any of his games.

as soon as he's alone, he's facetiming you and the ache of not being near you is lessened by the bright smile you pop up on his screen with.

"hi 'tsum, how's it going over there?" you're cuddled up on the couch with a blanket.

he shrugs. "there's no AC. the beds are cardboard again. but I'm rooming with rin and aran, so that's nice."

"not sakusa and meian? I thought the plan was to keep the ones who played on the same league team pre-olympics in the same room?"

he shakes his head. "we got to make room requests this time. he's rooming with ushijima this time around."

you giggle and his mind goes a little fuzzy. "I'm sure after what happened in tokyo, he'd be more than happy to be rooming with anyone other than you."

atsumu rolls his eyes. "he made it seem worse than it was. we didn't even get into that much trouble, I mean, what's a little scolding from our managers?"

you raise an eyebrow. "you almost caused the entire village to evacuate."

"anyway," he transitions to another topic before he can be reminded of that night. "what are your plans for the rest the night?"

you hum thoughtfully. "I dunno, maybe I'll watch a movie... maybe I'll rewatch that clip of you almost tripping during the opening ceremonies..." your lips stretch into a playful grin as you tease him for his blunder.

"HEY, barely anyone noticed!"

you snort. "if by barely anyone, you mean everyone watching then sure, baby. oh, what time is it for you?"

he lets your comment slide for now and addresses your question instead. "just after noon, why?"

"have you eaten yet?"

"was just about to," he shrugs.

you narrow your eyes. “miya atsumu, you’d better not be skipping lunch just to talk to me.”

he’s unable keep the guilty expression off his face when you hit him with that tone. “I wasn’t-”

“don’t even think about lying to me. as soon as I hang up you’re going to go meet your teammates for lunch and make some new friends.”

he pouts, but his heart warms at the idea that you still want to take care of him all the way across the world. although he is a little offended you think he needs to make friends. “ya sound like my ma.”

“for good reason! go eat, baby, you need to stay strong and healthy for your games. plus I’d feel so guilty if you missed out on all the fun stuff with your teammates because of me.”

he sighs, finally letting himself give into his hunger and agreeing with you. you say your goodbyes and he makes his way down to the cafeteria.

the days pass and while he’s not glued to his phone at all hours of the day anymore (thanks to practices starting up again on the olympic courts), his teammates often catch him snapping as many pictures as he can, no doubt to share them with you.

they don’t know how many texts you’ve received about how amazing the chocolate muffins are, but if it’s anywhere near the number of times they’ve had to hear him mention it in a day, they feel sorry for you.

and as the day of their first game grows closer, suna and aran can tell atsumu is more on edge than usual. he’s acting like he did in high school again, and they know it’s because he’s antsy about not having his fiancée in the stands for the first time in a while.

they’ve seen him double, triple and quadruple check the time zones to make sure he didn’t misread it. “she’ll probably be asleep…” he said when aran asked him about it one night.

they were getting a bit worried. obviously they know him well enough to understand that he’ll pull himself together in time for the game- he’d never let his feelings compromise his plays- but they’d much rather play alongside him in a good mood than a bad one.

but the problem seems to fix itself when he lights up along with his phone screen just before the game begins. suna looks over the setter’s shoulder to see a picture of you, cuddled up on the couch with your dog. your cheek has a small japanese flag painted on, and you’re wearing his MSBY jersey. it must be extremely late for you, but you’re smiling wide and holding up half a heart with your hand.

underneath the picture you sent a message wishing him luck and telling him how proud you are of him, telling him to play his absolute best.

and suna misses what your next message says, but he gets a pretty good idea based on how red atsumu’s ears get. he looks over at aran with a nod and the former inarizaki players silently thank you for your actions.

atsumu definitely wouldn’t be stepping onto the court in a bad mood now.

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

I feel like this could’ve been better, and it definitely didn’t turn out how I originally wanted, but I’m still happy with how it turned out :3 hope u enjoyed !!

ty again to aims for hosting this collab and allowing me to join!!!

[clawsdevour]

hq charas confessing hcs !!

wc: 0.6k content warning: not proofread, all fluff headcanons!!

⊹͏*.◯

-the type to have false confidence in themselves to help cope with their anxiousness. they'd for sure be hyping themself up loudly in the corner of the locker room with their headphones blasting in their ears. when they do confess though, they are a complete mess. they'd confess somewhere discrete where no one else is able to see them in case they get rejected right there despite knowing that you've been liking them.

"hey... look. i kind of like you. you don't have to like me back if you don't, i totally understand if you want to stay as friends even though it could be awkward-"

charas: kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei, kenma kozume, sakusa kiyoomi

─

-the type to come completely prepared for rejection. they just can't keep all these feelings bunched up anymore to the point where it's obvious that they have this big fat crush on you, and their heart is bursting with every beat. they're willing to accept the fact that you may not like them back and they're completely fine with it. when they confess, they just let it all out.

"SO basically you probably don't know.. or well know already but I really LIKE LIKE you! you've been running around in my mind like crazy these past few weeks and I just can't keep these feelings to myself anymore.. it's completely okay with me if you want to stay as friends though!"

charas: bokuto koutaro, hinata shoyo, nishinoya yu, tanaka ryunosuke

─

-the type to be calm, cool, collected despite having all these wandering feelings rapidly evolve and take over their mind. they're prepared for the worst and the best, mainly the worst. they're stern and real with their feelings, staring into your eyes to try and read your body language waiting for a simple yes or no.

"I like you.. that's kind of all I have to say. i'm sorry for sending a letter telling you to come all the way back here just for me to confess. but i've been having these feelings building up for so long, it's just time I come clean."

charas: akaashi keiji, iwaizumi hajime, ushijima wakatoshi

─

-the type to be abolsutely fiddling their fingers before they even meet with you. they may be one of the most hard working players with immense respect to their name but at the end of the day they're human too. the growing emotions that sway their opinions on you grow much larger by the day, theres none where their mind is just blank.

"I need to confess. I can't keep up with my emotions any longer. to be short and blunt, I really like you. you're just.. I don't know how to say it but.. someone I really value and see as more than just a friend.."

charas: daichi sawamura, sugawara koshi, kita shinsuke, osamu miya

─

-the type to be highkey prepared to accept whatever your response will be. they've come to terms to let life roll at its own pace, if you said yes the spark will lit into a torch that guides the hole in their heart. they're sincere with their words in a one on one, a bit more serious than usual when confessing to show that they aren't joking or playing around because they have actual interest in you.

"this is gonna be kind of embarrassing on my part but listen, I have these serious feelings for you that won't stop changing. I like you, okay? you don't have to respond to me immediately.. i'll even wait for your response because you truly do matter to me."

charas: kuroo tetsuro, oikawa tooru, yaku morisuke, atsumu miya, suna rintaro

masterlist here

[ladybyakuya]

| SIDE EFFECTS + SAKUSA KIYOOMI.

+cw. — fem!reader, established relationship, ( domestic ) fluff, love & comfort, slight angst, mature language, atsumu being atsumu, mention of hinata and bokuto. beta-read by my beloved ray.

+wc. — 1.2k 

+syn.—  Sakusa has gotten used to you pretty quick ever since he started living with you but now that he has known the bliss, he does not want to go back to living alone.

+notes. — this is for flufftober ‘fond moments’ collab event for a prompt: quality time hosted by @spookuna. mdni cuz im eighteen plus blog.| redirect to blog navigation. & tagging @tetzoro for poking my pineal glad with a question that became a inspo for this <3

For almost a month, Kiyoomi has had an odd extension of routine that starts after his matches. It starts with going straight home ( to you ), and eating the dishes you made for him which was suggested by a dietitian of course! and then wait at least one hour before hitting the shower, and that too, a cold one since right after he is done drying himself he jumps into bed just to hold you amongst his chest like a hot bag; this . . .this particular moment is what he has been looking forward to for months and now it has finally become a part of his life, and if things do not go south then it might just last for the rest of his life. Just barely thinking of it gets him wide awake. If life was a sleepless dream, then he would not mind sleeping forever at the end of it with you.

Today, however, everything turned upside down. He came home a little late, just a little; ate silently without talking much. Generally, he turns into a yapper right when he sees you. He has so much to talk about yet even with all that bubbling enthusiasm he still does not forget to ask, “Babe, how was your day?”, “Aw, babe that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”, “What? Need me to scare the manager? Because I can.” he says while flexing his muscles wearing nothing but a towel around his torso but you know he won’t do that since he has the confidence that you can handle anything all by yourself. After all, you scared the shit out of Miya when you first met him and he will not accept but, indeed, Miya is not easily scared, especially by girls. However, this evening his responses were full of— “umm.” and “umhm” — nods and sneaking glances. The Kiyoomi that is reserved for the world has come home to you today. 

And that one-hour gap, between his dinner and shower, which is generally filled with listening to you as you roam around the house and work and he follows you like a puppy is filled with frequent calls, messages, and screen time today. It sure makes you worry if not disappointed or angry. It has been a month since you two started living together, so this one hour has always been filled with making this small apartment a place that you both could call “home.” Things were slowly falling into place, turning this place into a home. You were happy, and Kiyoomi? He was the happiest man in the world. 

However, crest-fallen.

Sakusa came out of the bathroom freshly showered when you were folding his clothes. Now that he can see your back properly without any thoughts lingering in his mind you look tired, sad, and perhaps. . . a little annoyed. Maybe it is not a good time to tell you the news after all but what else he can do, he does not have much time left either. He tip-toes his way towards you, slowly.

“C’mon out with it, omi. What’s up?” You say and turn towards him with a bunch of his clothes in your hand only to face a half-naked Sakusa, a pink towel wrapped around his torso, his hands in the air branching out in a form of embrace. You chuckle as you walk off to his closet but his stance remains intact just his head following you; 

his jaw drops as he enquires with utmost curiosity, “How do you always know?” which earns him just an endearing glance from you. You keep the stack of his clothes on the shelf, one by one as he finally says what has been bothering him. “I have to move out. . .to Osaka.” You had to pause before keeping the last t-shirt on the stack of clothes. Your hand is still on the edge of the closet wooden frame since you know the moment you close it— is the moment you have to face such a warped reality where you would be alone in this newly bought apartment, with no omi to wait for, cook for, or take care of. . . 

As if he could read your thoughts he mumbles sharply. “Babe, turn around.” He must be still in that pink towel. The air conditioner is on but it seems that he does not mind the cold today. You slowly turn around closing the cupboard with your hands at the back biting your lower lip in anticipation thinking if Kiyoomi had to tell you about moving out to you, then he must have tried all the possibilities of either staying here with you or taking you with him yet none of them must have worked because if it had, you two would not be standing so apart like two curtains drawn apart. 

“Oh dear God,” Kiyoomi groans as he clutches your wrist pulling you into himself. He makes you sit on the edge of the bed while he sits on the floor, legs folded keeping his head on your lap as he draws lazy patterns on the side of your thighs with both hands, simultaneously. “I never thought I’d fall in love even though I’ve planned it in my notebook ever since I was a kid.” He turns his head up, “Now that my love is here I want to keep it, safe, forever.” The water from his hair has left spots on your long tee. You run your nails through his scalp and he lets out a low even groan saying, “So, I took a week off to spend time with you and of course to get the packing done.” He has to rake his eyes open since the exhaustion blended with being sleepy along with your tender touch is too tempting not to give in.

“What?” You ask, surprised. “You did it for me?”

“Yeah. ‘course. Why wouldn’t I?”

A black pup tip-toes its way into the room and both of you watch it walk till it halts right at your feet wagging its tail, tongue hanging out of its mouth. Both of you look at each other, and then a familiar voice turns up, “We’re here love birds.” Sakusa rolls his eyes before turning around and grabbing your bathrobe to wrap himself up probably because now his senses are back enough to let him know how chill the temperature of the room is. You put your palms over your cheeks, it has become warm again, as you look at the pup. 

Just when you crouched down to pat the pup, Atsumu, Hinata, and Bokuto followed into your shared bedroom. 

“So, what’re you gonna name him?” Miya asks with a big grin plastering on his face.

“Kiyo!”

“Heyyyyy.” Naturally, Sakusa protests. Bokuto and Hinata share a look holding back their laughter. 

“Well, I call you Omi when I need something from you, or when I’m angry with you and I call you Mr. sakusa when we—you struggle to put your thoughts out in words so Atsumu interjects. 

“ —fuck.” He is still grinning. What’s he so happy about?

“Yeah. that.” you point at him while keeping your eyes still on Kiyoomi. “So, I don’t see a problem calling him Kiyo.”

[asunflowerana]

𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭

summary: usual grocery day with your husband

with: bokuto koutaro, oikawa tooru, sakusa kyoomi and osamu miya.

n/a: brought this one from my old blog, one of my favorites. I'm thinking about making a part 2 with more hq boys, I personally enjoy imagining them dealing with grocery with me 😂. hope you guys enjoy!

⊛ bokuto koutaro

a child inside a full-grow 190cm male body, that's what he is. The fact that he still pouts whenever you remind him that "no, you can't get inside the cart baby, you won't fit" proves the point. But besides his childish mood, he can turn your time shopping a lot funnier.

he does cart races, searches for lower prices like hunting a treasure, throw his hands in the air when he finds his favorite snacks and cackles at every single brand with a silly name. He's a total dork, but his excitement is so endearing that you cannot help but absorb it. It's actually sweet, the way he lightly takes a domestic duty. He's also helpful, willingly carrying the bags to the car, and storing the groceries later at home.

he yearns to stay close to you, so even if his both hands are grabbing the cart handle, at least some arm-brushing will happen. He'll feel pretty lost if you both need to part ways through the market, but it's cute how he beams when you guys find each other later.

favorite section: breakfast food section (he's addicted to cereal), and meat section.

what you usually hear from him: "babe, can we buy this?"

⊛ oikawa tooru

if there's something Tooru doesn't look forward to, is grocery day. He even tried to wipe it off the fridge calendar a few times before, but you're too good to be fooled. "the Santos already ordered by delivery, why can't we do the same?" and he always uses the neighbor's card to try to convince you, whining like his teenager version would.

but one way or another, you always get him to go. If he's in a bad mood, he'll probably sulk in the beginning, lazily riding the cart while sighing every two minutes 'cause this is a total "waste of time". But as the shopping proceeds, he gets used to it, even forgetting what he was so grumpy about when a product catches his attention. With some subtle kisses and a small treat, you can even get a smile out of him. 

He likes to wrap his arm around your back or keep you close by the waist. Not having you there with him it's the worst thing it could happen, so he needs to make sure you stay by his side (also because he simply likes holding you).

favorite section: checkouts (not a surprise), and cosmetics section (he can spend a good amount of time selecting body products).

what you usually hear from him: "are we done?"; "baby, I need your help. This one, or this one?".

⊛ sakusa kiyoomi

He's the one looking forward to this day. He gets uneasy when things run out in the house, so going shopping is almost necessary for his peace of mind. What he doesn't look forward to, though, is dealing with people at the supermarket. Most precisely, the lines, but let's not talk about it to not ruin the mood.

he's very selective, taking whatever time he has to inspect and be sure of the products, in case it isn't a common choice of yours. He appreciates being aware of what you are consuming, not only for being an athlete but because he cares about your health. He likes to share what he's been learning from the team's nutritionist, but he is not a dictator: if you want to treat yourself to some tasty sweets or snacks, he won't get in the way. He'll even join the party.

He'll offer his arm for you to wrap your own, or hold hands. He's grateful to have your company, so he'll cherish it as much as he can. He's also very protective if the place or the lines are too crowned, keeping you by his side and holding you close with his arm.

favorite section: cleaning products (you have no idea how relieved he gets when he goes there).

what you usually hear from him: "I know you want it. Go ahead, put in the cart"; "tsc, they always put the gloves way back there"; "these stupid lines. Again."

⊛ osamu miya

The king of groceries. He's used to doing this two, or three times a week, and it never gets boring. The experience has made him smarter about where and when it is best to buy, plus he has a good eye when it comes to product quality and price. So yeah, you have almost nothing to worry about when Osamu Miya is your grocery partner. Almost.

He's very chill and helpful while shopping, but you better keep a good eye on the cart: it'll get filled to the brim in one minute. When Osamu likes something, he makes a point of buying as much as he can. Once, he filled almost three entire carts, and half of one was just from rice bags. Someone might think you have a whole volleyball team as a family with the amount of food he wants to take home.

Hands on your back, shoulder, waist, any free space he has to keep you close to him – and he'll keep it there the whole time. Touch is one of his love languages, so there's no way he won't keep in contact with you.

favorite section: fruit and vegetables section, and bakery section (he loves the smell of fresh ingredients).

what you usually hear from him: "sweetheart, just one more. It'll be the last, I promise"; "hope Tsum doesn't visit us today"

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[dearru]

notes in the margins | o.miya

-> rq: established relationship scenario where the reader is a lot smarter than Osamu and tutors him

-> pairing: miya osamu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: cursing, maybe a lil ooc idk tho, osamu is flirty asf but ur into it | genre: fluff | wc: 890 | mlist

“Damn…” Osamu huffs, twirling a pencil in his hand and staring down at the paper in front of him like if he looks at it long enough, the work will magically get done through sheer force of will. As capable of a person as he may appear, everybody has their fatal weaknesses. For Superman, it’s Kryptonite, and for your boyfriend– it’s math. 

From what he’s told you, the numbers float off the page and morph into strange shapes that taunt him with their absurdity. You’ve tried to explain that the “strange shapes” are just the Greek alphabet, but he wouldn’t hear it. Though, as helpless as he may be, he is your boyfriend, so you do your best to hold him accountable through weekend study sessions. It doesn’t hurt that he has this mind-numbingly adorable quirk where he twitches his nose when deep in thought (which he often had to be in to do math). 

You glance from your assignment to him in mild amusement and smile. “You good?” 

“‘M good,” He mutters, but the wrinkle in his forehead and clenched jaw suggest otherwise. 

You laugh softly and promptly get up to put him out of his misery. Leaning over his shoulder, you peek at his work and frown, “You’ve hardly made any progress!” 

He shrugs, unapologetic, “‘S not my fault math’s borin’.” Lolling his head sideways to look at you, he yawns, “Let’s take a snack break.” 

“You’ve had, like, ten snack breaks, ‘Samu.” You sigh, gently using your hand to press his gaping mouth closed.

Sometimes, when he gets like this, you remember that while he is your sweet boyfriend, he’s still a Miya— a notoriously annoying family lineage to come from. You bite back a remark about how, if he keeps going at this rate, his twin brother will end up with better grades than him. 

“I’d pay much better attention with a break,” He reasons, face blank, “‘Specially if I can take one with my cute tutor.” 

You feel your cheeks warm at his remark, in awe of how he can flirt so nonchalantly. “I’m being serious,” You say, patting his shoulder encouragingly. The firm feeling of the muscular ridge weighs heavy in your palm, “Just try. I’m sure you can figure it out.” 

He groans, “‘S easy for ya to say ‘cause yer in the smarty-pants class. Normal folk like me gotta suffer through rememberin’ how to do all this shit.” 

A rush of satisfaction at his compliment washes over you. Clearing your throat, you push the feeling aside, “You’re far from normal,” You remind him, rolling your eyes. After a beat, you add, “ And I’m only doing good in class ‘cause I pay attention. If you did the same, you’d probably retain the information.” 

“Guess I need an incentive,” He says simply, leaning back in his chair, eyes boring into yours. 

Averting your gaze from his piercing stare, you glance at his paper again, scoffing at the numbers on the page. Taking the pencil from his hand, you start to correct the mistakes on his homework. “You gotta check your work,” You mutter, scribbling in the margins. “How many times do I have to say that?”  

He only hums in reply. 

“You didn’t even finish this one!” You whine, turning to look up at him from the paper, only to find he’s been staring at you this whole time. Your faces are seemingly millimeters apart. His warm breath brushes against you and makes your heart stutter. “C’mon,” You exclaim, trying to hide your flusteredness, “You’re better than th–” 

“Ya got real pretty handwriting, y’know,” he interrupts, eyes flickering down to your lips. As if that’s what matters right now. 

“Are you even listening to me?” You ask pointedly, heat rising in your cheeks, stomach flipping. 

“I’m listenin’,” He assures you, voice low with a hint of amusement, no doubt in response to your failed attempts at masking your current state. 

You clear your throat again, trying to maintain eye contact, “I’m serious. Finish the assignment. I wrote down all the steps for you. It can’t be that hard.” 

Osamu shifts in his chair, still looking at you rather intently, “We can’t all be smart like you.” 

The words sink in, and it takes all of your willpower to not let the flattery get to you. Maybe if you kissed him long enough, you’d transfer your knowledge straight to his head? 

“You are smart,” You tease, tilting your head at him, “Just lazy.”

“Maybe so,” He says, and you can tell, based on the way his shoulders straighten, that your attempts at faking nonchalance aren’t working anymore. You may as well be looking at him with hearts in your eyes. 

You swallow. Hard. 

You let the palpable tension hang in the air for a moment before you can’t take it anymore. Relenting, you give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Okay, if you finish this worksheet, maybe we can talk about an incentive.” 

At the sound of your compromise and the feeling of your lips on his skin, your usually expressionless boyfriend’s lips quirk up into a subtle grin. Once you pull away, he starts to diligently work on a problem for the first time all night, ears twinged with a slight pink, “Don’t hav’ta tell me twice.” 

God, you love him.

—a/n: i fear im never beating the osamu lover allegations

[illuminiscentboba]

are you wearing my merch?!

synopsis: they walk in on you trying their volleyball merch but you guys haven't confessed...yet(?)

featuring: atsumu, akaashi and matsukawa

ATSUMU:

he ended up walking in on you trying on their merch. "Y/N?!" his loud yell startled you and your quick to cover your atsumu miya headband. "is that...my merch?" he says incredulously. you consider denying it but his eyes are fixed on the font of his name on your shirt. oh no...you forgot to cover that too. "yeah." your embarrassed that he found out you were interested in him this way. but him on the other hand, his jaw is still on the floor, everything and nothing running through his mind. you? wearing his merch? he dreamed of this moment, in fact he was already planning to ask you to cheer for his team, cheer for him but did you think about him too? you started to unravel the headband. "noooo, don't take it off!!!!" he takes it from your hands, shifting your hair, concentrating as he tried to retie it. you find his struggling rather cute, trying to stand still as he fumbles with the knot. "you better wear this at my next match...I'll look for you in the crowd, you hear me?" "theres no way you'll find me with all those fans." you laugh, but he's serious. "i'll have you know, I have great eyesight! theres no way i would miss your cute smile and your cheering!" "he's right." osamu adds and you two jump at the sight of him leaning against the doorway. "theres no way he doesn't know all the details of your face with all the staring he does." "'SAMU!!!!" he sticks his tongue out at his brother who is swinging at him. it wasn't osamu's fault that atsumu has chickened out on confessing to you for what has been the 10th time. at the rate atsumu was moving you would be old and wrinkly before he even got to confess his feelings. "well" the twins still, both anxiously awaiting your response "I think its only fair that you owe me a date if i have to wear your merch don't you think?" they had a practice match to get to unfortunately and so you couldn't keep them for long. "a date?! wait...you like me back?? 'samu!!!! oh my god she likes me back!!" "I heard her the first time, dumbass." "wheres my phone!! i've got to resave your phone number as girlfriend!!!" "here we go..." osamu drags his whining brother away, you know how kita gets when they're late.

AKAASHI

he's apologetic, with the way your hands freeze gripping the shirt around your body its clear that you were changing. "oh, sorry about that. I'll close the door." he's quick to step backwards, already closing the door. "wait!" you panic. how are you supposed to explain the fukurodani headband and worse, the go akaashi go t-shirt you were sporting. did he think it was weird? did it make him uncomfortable? he paused, poking his head in. now he's got a better look at you, finally making out the lettering of the headband and his name on your chest. "is that for me?" he asks the obvious, was there another akaashi you knew of? the fukurodani headband makes him see logic. "that is for me." he corrects himself, inviting himself inside. up until now hes been pining for you, and even the team knew it with how much he accidentally brought you up or the way his eyes would wander to you. he spots another go akaashi ribbon, proving it wasn't an accident. you follow his eyes, laughing sheepishly at the display. "yeah...i told my friend that i thought your setting was cool and she got me all this merch." he smiles at the compliment "you should wear that at the match, it'll make my setting even better" he suggests, giddy at the idea of you in his merch and your cute laugh at his suggestion. "actually..." he gets an idea, slipping off his freshly washed jersey. you yelp as he pulls it over his head, a peek at his muscles and now ruffled dark locks of hair. he holds it out to you. "would you rather try on the real deal?" you try it on, posing in front of the mirror. "it suits you more than me" he admits, slapping a hand over his mouth at the accidental revelation. "maybe i should wear it more often then?" he blushes "maybe."

MATSUKAWA

matsukawa is too smug when he sees you walk out of the volleyball unofficially official 'fanroom', sporting a shirt with not oikawa's name, not iwaizumi's either but his name. he doesn't remember if he had even bids his teamates goodbye before rushing over. "nice shirt you've got there y/n." you flinch, your hands going up to cover the lettering. "what do you mean? this is a regular shirt." obviously no one is convinced, and your bothered by how cute you find his toothy grin and the lift of his eyebrows at your embarassment, he wants to push your buttons even further, "so you're saying that you didn't look for a shirt with my name on it specifically?" every time you turn away from him he comes closer, prying your hands from his face. "yeah, they ran out of oikawa shirts." you lie. you don't miss the way his smile drops and the disappointed slump of his shoulders. "did they really? were lying to make me feel better?" "No!! I...I lied, I was fighting for my life to get my hands on this. you have quite a lot of fans of your own actually." you wince at the memory, rubbing your shoulders that many people were bumping to get the merch. you almost wish you stood on the lie because why was he giving the cheshire cat a run for its money? "Oh? it sounds like you've got competition" "don't make me go back and return the shirt" "fine, fine." he gives in, struggling to keep his hands to himself. "wear that at our next match please." "whats in it for me?" he ponders for a moment, "would a fan be interested in...a date?" "deal." "...wait....wait a second?! WHAT!!! Y/N???" "don't be late." "HELLO?! IS THIS A CONFESSION?!"

[narizaki]

bad habits   suna rintaro x reader

―   tags   gender neutral reader,   fluff,   childhood friends to lovers

―   notes   wc is around 1.2k,   maybe ooc suna,   thank you for 100 followers, here's my gift to you <3

rintaro has many bad habits.

he’s well aware of them — so much so that he has a mental list of them. number 5 on the list is how he gets lazy during volleyball matches whenever he knows his team is in the lead. number 4 is how he never bothers to even attempt to mediate fights. though, he figures that one hardly counts as a bad habit, seeing as it’s the result of spending years around the miya twins. they would rather die than let anyone but kita or their mother get in between of their debacles. 

“tell me a secret, rin,” you hum into the phone.

you and rintaro have ingrained late-night phone calls into your routines after graduating high school and separating your own ways. with him working as a professional volleyball player, you hardly see each other anymore. he's always too busy with traveling and training, despite the fact you still live in the same city. although he knows you’d never tell him, he’s aware that you were upset when he began to have less and less time to talk to you. after all, he hadn’t spent the majority of his life with you to not know what makes you tick.

so, even though he’s stumbling over his own feet walking home, he’s still on the phone with you. he vaguely understands what you say before spouting out the first thing he thinks of — another bad habit of his.

number 3: he loses his filter when he’s tired. 

rintaro never had much of a filter to begin with, but his reserved nature essentially acted as one. he was certainly less blunt than people like kita and atsumu. as the years passed, though, it was made apparent to him that he became more curt with his words when in dire need of rest. he surmises that it’s something that happens to everybody, though, so he forgives himself for it.

“you know, i used to like you when we were kids,” he mumbles. “actually, it lasted until high school.”

you sputter on the other end, choking on your water. rintaro laughs at your incessant coughing.

“that was not funny! and, what? suna rintaro, are you drunk right now?” you yell into the receiver. the volume of your voice makes him wince, forcing him to tug his phone away from his ear. regardless, he laughs a little harder.

“full name? what happened to rin?” he almost whines, kicking a rock. you grumble on the other line. “and i’m not drunk.”

“rin,” you sigh, and he smiles at the nickname. “i know you like to fuck around with people, or whatever, but this isn’t something to joke about.” your tone is serious, almost scolding. rintaro only frowns. he’s not lying. he wouldn’t lie about something like this. he couldn’t, especially to you.

“i’m not joking, i swear. i did like you… or, still do?” he thinks aloud, questioning himself. rintaro is barely registering what he’s saying — mind fuzzy from the harsh day. his coach was particularly unforgiving today, leaving him sore and tired as he drags his feet back to his apartment. still, he continues. “yeah, still do, actually.”

“rin,” you say, exasperated, “you like me? as a friend, you mean?” 

even in his slightly delirious state, rintaro can tell you’re trying to save face — for you or for him, he’s unsure. what he does know is that you’d never thought he’d see you in a romantic light. it was his fault, really — you’d always been a hopeless romantic, but rintaro knew you’d considered him off-limits. aside from your long-term friendship, there was also his disinterested approach to dating. 

if only you knew how wrong you were.

he was never uninterested in dating — he just always had his eyes on you. that was where another bad habit of his shone through — number 2: he never tells anyone, anything. that, mixed with his hard-to-read demeanor, meant that nobody truly knew how he felt about you. of course, those around him could tell that you were close. everybody knew that you and rintaro had grown up together, so it was only a matter of time until people started assuming that the two of you had something more. while rintaro never gave those people the time of day, you’d always nervously deny their pries.

atsumu and osamu would always tease him (and sometimes, you) about it, but they quickly learned to give up once they saw his feigned indifference toward the subject and your immediate rejection to their statements. his default response was to brush them off — he’d rather die than give the twins out of all people anything to use against him, especially if it was about you. he’d never see the light of day again if miya atsumu was found teasing rintaro about something.

“rin? hello?” your voice echoes throughout his head, forcing rintaro into reality. 

“yeah, sorry,” he mumbles. he’s considering taking his word back — telling you that yeah, he does mean it as a friend. but he decides that he’s already too deep in and fuck it, he’s going to tell you. 

“i do like you…more than a friend. i have for a while, and i know it’s my fault that you had no idea, but i guess i’m telling you now?” rintaro grimaces at the uncertainty in his own voice. he’d always been so sure of himself — or, at least put effort into appearing as such. you’ve always been the exception to that, though, and he supposes that’s a fact that’ll never change. 

a beat of silence passes until you reply. 

“yeah. it is your fault.” you breathe. 

suddenly, all the air is gone from rintaro’s lungs. it forces him to stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shoes skidding against the concrete. his grip on his phone tightens, and he’s considering mumbling out some half-assed excuse about how he is, in fact, drunk. he’ll pray that you believe him, so he can run back to his apartment and maybe actually get drunk before pretending that everything is okay.

thousands of thoughts run through his head. some of them are about how he’s going to play this off, while others are about where you stand with him now. is this what being a setter feels like? having to go through hundreds of different situations to decide what will bring the best outcome? how shitty. he vaguely feels sympathy for atsumu. 

that is, until your laugh fills the air around him. 

“but you’ve told me now, so i think you should turn around.” 

he spins on his heel, coming face-to-face with you. your appearance is disheveled, looking as if you just ran to him — which, you did, based on the harsh breaths you’re taking — and you only have a thin t-shirt and sweatpants on. your phone is still by your ear, grinning at him. it’s childish and hopeful, reminding rintaro of the smiles you would send his way when the two of you would play on the swings during recess. he adored them just as much then as he does now.

rintaro has many bad habits. he’s aware of them, and despite what others may say, he’s come to terms with them.

but as he rushes forward and cups your face into his hands, he knows what he’d say if someone were to ask him what his worst habit was.

number 1: he can never say no to you.

[slut4msby]

hq boys & twitter porn <3

+ tags & warnings; fem!reader, smut

+ a/n; surprise!! im back, did yall miss me? but hey yes im back to posting probably a bit more irregularly than before but im here!! ive been lurking tumblr but this is my first post in like forever so yipee :3! also this is like my first attempt at writing anything remotely smutty so enjoy!

he knows this could ruin his career, he knows that if he’s caught he would be in so much trouble but he just cant help it! not when you look so pretty under him, begging to have him inside of you as he teases your pretty little cunt.

“missed you so much” you mumble a blabbering mess. you couldn’t even comprehend the words leaving your mouth nor did you care at this point, you only had one thing on your mind, him.  “want you so bad, please” you whimper staring into his eyes.

his phone camera was facing your pussy in all its glory, wet and needy practically begging to be filled by your boyfriend. he made sure not to get either of your faces in it as tempting as it is for him to watch when he is away, when he craves his pretty little girlfriend the most.

he was teasing you and you were well aware of this fact as he slowly rubbed your clit in circles forcing moans and whimpers to leave your mouth as you laid there, your craving for his cock growing unbearable.

“good girl” he says reassuringly, “love those pretty little noises baby.”

“wanna cum on your cock, please” you moan out, as you pull your boyfriend closer to you, “just want you inside me.”

“so needy,” he teases pulling his hand away and slowly inserting his thick cock inside of you. he stops recording, discarding his phone away, “don’t think we need that anymore, i wanna fuck you freely pretty girl.”

and that he does, with his full attention on you & only intention of making you feel pleasure.

+ bonus

the next morning you wake up beside your boyfriend, sun shining over his perfectly sculpted body adorned with scratches and marks from the activities from the previous night as he lays there his phone in his hand, his eyes glued to the screen.

when he notices you have woken up, he shows you your shared twitter page with the video from last night pinned.

“look baby! we’re going viral, always knew you were a model” he says placing a light kiss on your forehead.  as you lay under your boyfriend watching his hands toy with your bundle of nerves, you notice a singular frame of your nightstand, in the background decorated with the photo of the two of you.

this is gonna be a hard one to explain.

©slut4msby.

oikawa tooru, kuroo tetsuro, MIYA ATSUMU, suna rintaro, sugawara koushi, semi eita & ur fav <3

[bokutosbabe]

Having His Baby

a/n — osamu brainrot is actually insane. not proofread so for sure horrible i wrote this on a whim 🫶🏼

content — nsfw, 18+, osamu x fem! reader, breeding kink, goes back and forth between high school and time skip, reader and osamu are high school sweethearts, reader and osamu are married, mating press, cursing, talk of a pregnancy scare, nicknames(pretty girl, nasty girl, baby, maybe more i forgot), daddy kink if you squint, i think that’s it! lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis — in high school osamu miya knew you were meant to be a mom, but seven years later he’d finally decided he would make you one himself.

✿.｡.“ screaming but daddy i love him! ”.｡.✿

Osamu always knew you’d be a good mom. From the moment he'd met you in the nurse's office during his first year, you simply radiated that aura. Always so willing to help him every time he and atsumu got in a fight or he got hurt in volleyball — you would drop everything to come help him in the nurse's office.

Sure, it wasn't exactly smart to skip the classes that Osamu needed you in, but that was your job. You were the nurse's student assistant after all.

You hadn't gotten the courage to actually speak to him until his fourth appearance in there, yes you'd given him your number just so he could text if he needed help, but the two of you only texted when he was hurt. (you had no idea how many “you up?” texts he had wanted to send to you to see if you'd respond)

It was an accident really, saying your first real words to him. They were simply out of shock as you saw his lip cut open and his jaw already beginning to bruise, "what happened to you?” you had asked, hand slightly grazing the boy's, now bruised, jaw.

That was a million years ago in Osamu’s mind, while it really had only been seven. So much had changed since he first met you, you started dating not soon after, and then he'd married you, he’d opened his own onigiri business, and it all led here — to the two of you cooking in the kitchen. " ‘samu, can you get me a bowl? There's none in the drying rack and my hands are dirty.” your cute voice broke him out of the weird trance he was under as he watched you work. “Anything for you baby.” he cooed as he reached over your head and grabbed a clean bowl for you.

Everything was always clean in your shared home, which shouldn't have been a bad thing— except it was to Osamu. As a kid, he remembered him and Atsumu making various messes whether it be with liquids or even drawing on the walls- their home was very rarely clean. Osamu loved and appreciated everything you did for the house, but the ache to have kids that would make simple messes prodded at him more often than he would've liked to admit. He remembered the first time he brought kids up to you in high school during second year.

“ ya ever think about havin' kids? ” he asked as the both of you lay in his bed, his TV just droning on as background noise since the two of you had been talking the entire time. “Hmm…sometimes. I have dreams that we have kids- twins actually,” you admitted. Your raw and honest confession shouldn't have had his cock stirring in his pants the way it did, “Really?” he asked as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, imagining your stomach all round with his children, not one child, but twins. “Yeah, and they look like you,” you said simply, hands finding their way to his dyed locs and running through them. That conversation made Osamu Miya realize that he would rather die than not have kids with you. (and that he had a breeding kink but he found that far too embarrassing to tell you)

When you press the spoon to Osamus's mouth is when he suddenly comes back to the present, “Open samu, need my favorite person to make sure it tastes good.” you smiled as the man opened his mouth and allowed you to feed him— which only made him think of you feeding a baby - your baby. The male nodded as he pulled away from the spoon, “tastes good baby.” He wasn’t lying, it did taste good- but maybe the thought of you feeding a child made his mind a bit fuzzy. “thank goodness, it’s a new recipe, so I was really worried.” you gave your husband a smile as you turned back around, grabbing the bowl osamu had gotten you.

Maybe it was the high school memories coming back to him, or maybe it was him thinking about how the house was always spotless, hell— perhaps it was because you just looked so cute right now with your apron around your waist and spoon in hand. Whatever it was, Osamu couldn’t help the ache he felt in his pants, coming behind you and placing his hands on your stomach. “ ‘Yer so cute…”

“mhm, thank you, baby. you’re real cute too.” you smiled as you tilted your head up, giving him a quick peck on the chin. As you returned to what you were doing, filling bowls with the soup you had made for dinner, Osamu pressed himself against you, his hard-on very prominent. As much as you could’ve tried to ignore him, your husband always got his way when it came to you, “ ‘Samu dinners ready…” you said as you pressed your back into his chest- face beginning to heat up.

“ it can wait…need you right now-” usually your husband was a kind, patient man (except when he ‘had’ to fuck you in the back room of onigiri miya when you brought him some lunch) “You’d be such a good mommy…so good to our babies.” the male muttered against your hair, grabbing your waist and grinding against your clothed cunt. a small moan fell from your lips, “ ‘s-samu! it’ll get cold-”

It wasn’t like you were oblivious to Osamu's want for kids, in your third year you and Osamu had had a pregnancy scare. While many other 18-year-old boys would’ve probably been relieved seeing that one line on the pregnancy test, Osamu felt some strange emptiness and disappointment. sure, it wasn’t ideal to be teen parents, but he couldn’t figure out why he so badly wanted you to have his baby. It was on that same day that he figured out he didn’t want a professional volleyball career, no he wanted to have a true career that let him be home with you as often as he could be (so he could knock you up.) ever since that day, every time you passed the baby section in a store- his eyes would glaze over and he’d mention how tiny the shoes and clothes were, and you’d talked about kids- but never were you guys actually ‘trying’ for a baby.

“ jus’ reheat it,” Osamu mumbled as he picked you up, strong hands that still hold proof of his years of playing volleyball and now being a professional chef digging into the underside of your thighs. Your house wasn’t large in the slightest, but the minute it took for him to carry you felt like it took an eternity. The second Osamu’s foot crossed over the barrier of your shared bedroom- his lips were on yours. The kiss was downright disgusting, spit being shared as his tongue invaded your mouth, leaving you gasping for air when he finally pulled away. “ so pretty…” he mumbled as he carried you over to the bed, using one of his hands to untie the apron that hugged your waist in a way that turned his brain to mush.

Osamu groaned as he pulled off your shirt, seeing that you had no bra on, “you knew this was gon’ happen didn’t ya pretty?” he asked as skillfully he pulled his gray shirt off with one hand, making you squirm under his intense gaze. “n-no I just-” but Osamu didn’t want to hear your excuses, there was no need for them now. his hand quickly pushed you down to where your back met the mattress, lips puckering around one of your nipples as he played with your other one. he wasn’t much of a boob man, much rather enjoying your ass, but even he couldn’t stop the images of your tits full of milk from invading his mind. he let out a groan as he looked up at you, hand covering your mouth as you watched him- face flushed in arousal and maybe some embarrassment. “let me hear you pretty girl.” he came up and caught your lips in another kiss, hand sneaking down to the waistband of your his shorts and pulling them off of your legs in one quick movement. if there was one thing about Osamu Miya, it was that he knew how to get you undressed in a matter of seconds.

You instinctively tried closing your legs, but Osamu knew you too well, his knee already finding solace between your legs as he pulled away from the kiss, a string of spit connecting the two of you as he looked down at you. “fuck baby…look at how wet you are,” you let out a small moan as he ran a finger over your clothed cunt, your panties becoming insanely wet as you reached down and grabbed his wrist. “please ‘samu, need you…” you begged as you shook your head. “want you in me-”

Now usually your husband wasn’t the type to fuck you without fingering you or (his favorite) eating you out, but right now his cock was begging to be freed from the confines of his jeans. “my pretty girl…”he mumbled as he pulled off your panties, a string of arousal connecting to you, making him let out a groan. “need to fuck ya right now…” and Osamu made good on his word, quickly getting rid of his jeans and boxers, cock springing to life- making you moan as you saw it. it didn’t matter how many times you’d seen Osamu in his bare glory, it always made you want to thank whatever gods decided you were good enough for him.

You remembered in high school when the two of you had first had sex, both inexperienced as you tried figuring out what position worked for the both of you and accidentally breaking his bed— something atsumu never lets you forget.

Osamu groaned as his tip met your entrance, staring at you with those bedroom eyes that were like a remedy to any problem you ever had,chest heaving as he stopped himself from shoving into you- wanting you to be ready for him. “please samu…need it so bad-” you cried out as you reached up to his neck, moaning as you brought him down for another kiss. osamu miya was nothing if not a gentleman who listened to his wife, pushing into your hole and bottoming out almost immediately, groaning against your lips,“still so tight fa me, huh baby?” the moan you let out was almost pornographic, back arching into your husband,“ fuck! S-samu!” you cried out, legs wrapping around his waist.

Sure, Osamu could’ve been nice and given you time to adjust to him like he usually did, but who had time for that when he needed to get you pregnant tonight? The male groaned as he took your legs and pushed them to where your knees were pressed against your chest, making him feel extra deep, “s-samu!” you cried out as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “yer so pretty, baby, my pretty girl…”osamu mumbled to himself. he didn’t even give you a warning before pulling out and slamming back into you, letting out his own moan as your nails scratched into his back.

You’d always been sensitive when it came to osamu, but never had you felt him this deep inside of you before, gasps and moans leaving your mouth. “feel me, baby? gonna get you pregnant, full of my cum.”osamu pressed down on your stomach as he thrust in and out of you in a rhythm you knew all too well. you tried answering him, truly you did, but even two seconds with Osamu into your cunt made you brain dead. “mhm-” was the only word you could make, giving your husband a small laugh as he looked down at you.

“Fucked ya dumb already pretty girl? C'mon, know ya got more in ya-” The teasing tone in his voice made you want to cry, but some sick sort of enjoyment of being embarrassed held back those tears. you looked so pretty under Osamu, your wedding ring adorning your finger as your hair was messily sprawled out beneath you with your knees pushed to your chest. Osamu thought he could take a mental picture and have enough spank bank material for three months, at least.

“Gonna cum- ah samu!” you whined out, nails scratching down your husband's back. Osamu let out a groan, maybe he should give you more money to get your nails done, because the short acrylics you have on scraping down his back made him want to short circuit. “cum for me baby, gonna look so good filled with my cum.” Osamu was on the brink of his release, groaning as he brought a hand down to finally rub your clit, giving you the final push to let go. you moaned out his name over and over, even slipping a small ‘daddy’ in the chant of words. With that one word, you made Osamu want to blow his load- feeling his hips stutter before stilling inside of you and releasing his cum. you whined as you felt him fill you up, your husband had always came a lot- but something about right now- this singular moment- made him give you everything he had.

Osamu looked down where the two of you were connected, seeing his and your cum mixing as it spilled out around his cock,“ fuck…” he said as he pulled out watching as more seeped out of your abused cunt. it would be a waste if you didn’t keep it all in, though. Osamu hummed as he fingered the cum back into you, making you let out a gasp from how overstimulated you already were.

“gotta make sure it sticks, baby.”

✿.｡.“ i’m having his baby ”.｡.✿

if you can’t tell, i love the miyas.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[weneeya]

hi!hi!!! this is the same person who requested tht office romance w/ kuroo last time hehe. i love your writing style so much bc its easy for someone like me (who has a deteriorating brain functioning system from all of the brainrot ive been influenced by the internet) to understand and imagine in my silly deluional head XDDD anyways !! id like to request dad! headcanons for the black jackals (specifically, hinata, sakusa, atsumu and bokuto^^) omg maybe a scenario where they find out that reader is pregnant then proceed with the headcanon with how they act with the kid/s i just needed to request this bc my baby fever has been progressively getting worst and i just cant stop thinking abt kids :']] GOODLUCK AND I WISH U WELLLL !!! <3333

baby fever w/ hinata, atsumu, sakusa, bokuto m.list | rules

note. omg thank you sm I'm so happy you loved the one with Kuroo because i loved writing it sm!! and i probably the idea even more because omg the boys as dads?? it's genius idk why i've never did it before! i hope you'll love it just as much <3

Hinata Shoyo

You had been trying to have a baby with Shoyo for a few weeks already, but it was like fate was against the two of you because you seemed to not be able to end up pregnant. You were slowly starting to lose hope ; thank God Hinata was way too positive and optimistic to even think about the worst. It was helping you, in a way. 

He was at the gym to train for their next matches when you learned the good news. You didn’t hesitate twice before almost rushing to join him. He was talking with his team, most specifically Bokuto, when you arrived like a fury. Shoyo looked at you with a big smile and you waved at him. He came to you in no time. 

“You seemed happy. What’s the news?” He asked with his usual smile, and you almost felt the tears in your eyes. You took his hands between yours, trying not to talk too loudly. “We did it Shoyo! I’m pregnant!” And your words didn’t get the time to fall in the silence. 

Hinata held you tightly between his arms, carrying you off the ground and spinning around with you in his arms. Right after your feet finally met the floor again, he cupped your face with his hands to kiss you. “I told you, we needed to be patient!” And you were sure that the rest of the team was going to learn the news sooner than later. 

good with children ; he has a little sister after all 

always so patient no matter what 

not the type to ever yell, so when he get to angry mod, the kid stop immediately 

will talk a lot about highschool and his friends ; so proud 

take pictures all the time, videos too ; a lot of memories of your baby boy 

ready to take a break from volleyball so he could give all his time to you and the baby

Miya Atsumu

Saying that Atsumu was scared of having children was an euphemism. The man was absolutely terrified by the idea. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have a child with you, of course not ; it was just the responsibilities which were so stressful for him. He kept acting cool at first but after some time you’ve been able to understand what was going on inside of his mind. 

Until you’ve been confronted with reality. You were alone in the bathroom, and Atsumu was waiting for you right outside of the room. Things were a bit weird with your body lately and you both noticed it. So it wasn’t so surprising that you took a test just to be sure. 

You got out of the bathroom, and your gaze met Atsumu’s eyes. You slowly showed him the test, and he could quickly read the answer he was waiting for. You were pregnant. He looked back at you, and he saw that you were about to say something he didn’t want to hear from you. 

“Don’t ever say you're sorry,” he started, slowly caressing your cheek with his thumb. “It’s the best news you could have told me. Because we’re going to have the most beautiful baby ever, and I’m going to love you two until the end of my days.” This time, you couldn’t really help the tears which felt down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, and he left a kiss against your forehead. 

“I love you,” you told him in a whisper, and he couldn’t help but to smile slowly. “I love you too,” was his answer before he held you tight between his arms. He was scared, of course ; but he couldn’t be happier at the same time because God knew how much he loved you. 

the man is an overprotective mother ; almost like he was the one who bear the baby 

careful about absolutely everything 

acts cool but stressed when something doesn’t go as planned 

girl’s dad at 100% 

loves to be considered as a princess ; will wear a dress and a tiara 

bringing gifts all the time, especially when away because of volleyball

Sakusa Kiyoomi

You already talked about having children with Sakusa, but the conversation was never ending well. In fact, it always ended up in an argument. Your partner was completely closed at the discussion and you couldn’t understand why. 

So when you learned that you were actually pregnant, fear ran over you. You cried a lot, for a long time. How were you supposed to say this to him? Was he going to leave you? You were so scared, and it was messing with your poor mind. 

Sakusa came home after practice, and he found you in your bed, curled up in the blanket to hide yourself. A sigh left his lips before he took place right beside you after being ready to do so. “What are you hiding from me? Don’t say nothing, I know you too well. There’s something wrong.” 

You looked at him and he frowned immediately when he saw the redness of your eyes. You had been crying for quite a while, so he knew he was right ; even if he hoped to be wrong. He slowly caressed your cheek, waiting for you to find the strength to tell him. 

“Kiyoomi… I’m pregnant…” You told him in a little voice, and his eyes widened almost right now. He blinked a few times, and you looked away, feeling the tears coming back. “I know, we talked about it, but I…” 

Sakusa grabbed your chin with all the softness in the world, making you look back at him. He left a small kiss against your lips. “I couldn’t be happier, my love, I swear.” It was your turn to stay silent, all blinking. This is how you learned that the only reason behind Kiyoomi’s anger towards pregnancy was actually fear because of all the complications. 

But if it was for you, he was ready to take the risk. Because having a baby with you was all he could dream of. You just needed to be careful. 

biggest girl’s dad ever 

will do anything for his baby girl ; even if it meant going out with ribbon in his hair 

discreet about his private life but when he sees you two during his matches? can’t hide much longer 

completely devoted but still know how to be a little strict 

wants his child to have the best education so he’s careful about everything 

get scared every time the baby is just a little sick 

overly protective ; especially when it comes to boy close to his girl

Bokuto Koutaro

He was made to be a father, you were sure about it. He loved children so much, there was no way he wouldn’t be happy to learn that you were pregnant. But it was still pretty stressful for you, because you were never sure of anything with Bokuto. 

Today was the day, because he was finally coming back home after being away with his teams for a few weeks. You couldn’t announce this to him on the phone so you had to wait for him to come back. When he entered your shared apartment, he had a huge smile on his lips. Being able to finally reunite with you was all he could ask for. 

You were sitting on the couch, and he almost immediately jumped on you. As the yapper he was, he started to talk about his trip and everything that happened. But you seemed lost in your thoughts, and he noticed it quickly. 

“What’s wrong babe?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. You met his gaze and a sigh left your lips. “I have something to tell you,” you started, and Bokuto slowly frowned his eyebrows. Something was weird, and he didn’t like it at all. He stayed strangely silent while you were trying to find the right words to tell him the news. 

Another long sigh left your lips before you finally decided to say it out loud. “I’m pregnant, Kou.” And the silence after that was long. Too long for you, and you started to worry. Until a huge smile appeared on his lips. He grabbed your hands, eyes wide. “We’re expecting a baby? Really?” 

It was like all your worries fled away at this exact moment, and you slowly nodded with a smile on your own lips. “Yes, we’re expecting a baby.” Nothing could go wrong if it was with Bokuto after all. 

neither a girl’s dad or a boy’s dad ; just devoted and obsessed with his children 

had probably cry more than you when he saw your baby for the first time 

it’s like the accomplishment of his entire life 

not really the strict parent ; doing half of the stupidities with your boy 

will obviously teach him volleyball at the youngest age 

always playing with your son when he can ; doing his best to be as present as possible 

will show him to the camera during his interviews after a match 

always talking about you or the baby to everyone ; really the proudest 

a kid himself so obviously he know what to do to make the baby boy laugh 

thank you for reading!

[tomasweetheart]

TWENTY TWENTY VISION — m. atsumu x gn!reader

sypnosis: atsumu needs glasses, but why on earth would he make his & your life easier by wearing them?

warnings: i'm gonna beat the shit out of atsumu oh my GOD he irks me so bad, post-timeskip atsumu, eensy bit of angst if you squint super super hard, osamu mention, i can't write the miya accent™ for the life of me but i tried so sorry, petnames such as baby used, he calls the reader pretty

notes: inspired by the fact that i just recently got my new glass and haven't had a pair since i was 14 so seeing the world focused fucks with me a lil bit, ALSO, atsumu with glasses has been flooding my brain, osamu is farsighted cause i said so

"I'm not wearin' 'em."

"Atsumu, please, you need to wear them, you have astigmatism in both of your eyes! And you're nearsighted!"

Atsumu lets out a soft huff as he crosses his arms, as if he isn't the reason you've been having this argument essentially since you brought up him even getting his eyes checked.

It all started when Osamu had gotten new glasses, that's what Atsumu thinks anyways, that this is all stupid Samu's fault.

Osamu came over one afternoon for a harmless visit, with new glasses on. You had asked Osamu about them, and commented that you never knew he needed glasses to which he responded:

"Oh yeah, me and Tsumu both do, he just hasn't worn his since junior high."

You swear you've never seen Atsumu react so quickly, his head snapping to Osamu and immediately telling him to shut up through gritted teeth. The subject gets dropped instantly, but now you're giving Atsumu side-glances throughout the night until Osamu leaves.

After you two are settled into bed and Atsumu is almost asleep, until your voice rings out in the dark.

"Is that why you squint so much?" you ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

"...What are ya on about?" Atsumu asks, turning to face you with a soft expression.

"Is that why you squint so much?" you ask again, "Because you don't wear glasses like you're supposed to, so the world's all unfocused for you all the time, is that why?"

Atsumu's silence and stunned expression is all the answer you need.

"That's what I thought," you mumble before turning away from him, "your eye appointment is Saturday at four."

And that puts Atsumu where he is now, sitting at the island connected to the kitchen in your small apartment, staring down the thick black lenses as if he was trying to explode them with his mind.

"I said, I ain't wearin' 'em," he huffs again vehemently, looking at you with an unwilling expression, "and that's final. I don't need no stupid glasses, I can see just fine."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, palms resting against the island as you stand on the opposite side of it, "If you don't need your glasses, read the paper on our fridge. Without squinting."

Atsumu's face goes a little pale, his eyes widening slightly. He looks over your shoulder at the paper held onto the fridge with a stupid magnet in the shape of a volleyball.

"It, uh..." he trails off, trying to not squint as much as possible, "...it...it doesn't matter what it says! I'm still not wearin' those glasses! I don't need 'em!"

"Atsumu that paper is no more than four feet away from you, and you can't even tell me what the bolded title says," you responded in an almost pleading tone, "baby, you need your glasses, so I am begging you, please put them on."

Atsumu's face softens slightly at your pleading voice, before it turns unwilling again as he looks down at his arms and mumbles something you can't quite make out.

"What was that?" you ask.

"...They make me look dumb," he repeats a little louder, looking back up at you, "they make me look like an idiot, and since my eyes aren't used to being focused, I feel like a baby deer learnin' how to walk."

"Tsumu," you reply gently, your own expression softening, "if you didn't like the way glasses look, why didn't you ask for contacts?"

"Because they scare me," he rebuttals, "which I know is stupid because they're an easy solution to my problem, but they rip and get stuck and...I don't know, that just scares me."

You stare at him blankly before taking a deep breath, "Atsumu," you start, "I'm not...trying to make you look stupid, okay? I just know that you need them, and you know that too. It might be awkward at first, but won't it be worth it to see the world a little more clearer? So you won't have to squint to read traffic signs or drive through menus? And, glasses aren't a permanent solution, we can work our way up to contacts, but you need to wear these for now."

Atsumu looks down at the glasses again, letting out another unsure sigh as he picks the thick rims up, and places them on his face.

It's weird at first, everything is clearer. The titanium fridge, that stupid volleyball magnet and the paper it holds, and more importantly...

You.

The way your entire face shifts into focus leaves Atsumu speechless. He knows how pretty you are, he doesn't need glasses to see it, but god do they make it better.

You give Atsumu a weird look, "What?" you ask puzzled, "Can you see better?"

"Yeah," he responds with a small smile, "I can see real good, pretty."