#miya atsumu fanfiction

[zorosprincess]

Succiduous pt.1

PRONOUNCED - Suc•cid•u•ous | \sək`sədooəs\ DEFINITION - Ready to fall, falling.

PAIRING - Miya Twins x Reader WC - 5.8K GENRE - Fluff CW - a lot of fluff, unrequited love if you squint, really bad first kiss, general language warnings, the usual bullying that comes hand in hand with the miya twins SYNOPSIS - The thing about growing up with the Miya twins... You learn a lot of things. You learn that they bleed into every aspect of your life, that you'll never be rid of them. You learn that they feel more like home than your house does.

MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

AGE 6

Growing up with the Miya twins means that they find a way to seep into every single part of your life.

The first time you saw the Miya twins you were just a kid. 6, to be precise.

You can’t pretend to remember all the details of your first meeting, a lot of things are blurry before the age of 12. Even after that isn’t always great. Bits and pieces put together like puzzle pieces, an outline of what the pictures should look like. And, possibly, not even those pieces were always remembered correctly.

What you do remember vividly, however, was the distaste in your mouth as you moved to a new house and a new school, all contact with your parents and with your friends (the girls you swore were going to be your bridesmaids one day in the way that some little girls imagine and play out their future weddings) cut off. All you had wanted to do was sit in your room and point out where you wanted things to go so that your new brother could move them for you.

(When you grew older you had realized he wasn’t exactly your brother, but at 6—brother-in-law was too many words for you to pay attention to. Just as you learned to be grateful for your sister and her husband taking you away from what you learned later was an ugly situation. The words 'divorce' and 'custody battle' were things ignored by your small ears until you were old enough to understand.)

You remember, clearly, the fit you threw as your sister dragged you out of the house and down to the nearest park your first full day in town, leaving her husband and his brother to build pieces of furniture around the house. You don’t mean an actual fit, of course, there was no screaming and crying, no kicking and throwing yourself around.

But you’d be lying if you didn’t purposely make it a little harder to pull you out of your room and down the hallway. If you claimed you didn’t drag your feet a little more as you walked, taking smaller steps than usual. Counting three steps between every line in the walk.

Lying if you said you didn’t shut your mouth and keep every single comment to yourself, not even breaking to answer if you wanted something to eat. You did. But you weren’t about to speak to your sister to let her know that. Not about to break your cone of silent protest. That was the hill you knew you would die on.

It was at that park, the one you were dragged to on your first day, that you first met the Miya twins. The only two there that were your age at the time.

Your sister had been so pushy that day. “Make friends!” She (literally) pushed you towards the play structure where they were arguing over who got to go up the ladder to the climbing bars first. You'd grimaced at the sight—well, at the sound. Two loud voices yelling at each other, over each other, as they started to go for each others’ hair. Too loud.

You'd shaken your head adamantly but your sister had just kept pushing until you were only a few feet away from them, the cause of the ruckus. She'd quickly rushed away to watch you from a far off bench, keen on making sure you could do this on your own. Your response had only been to give her an annoyed look but she’d given you a thumbs up anyways, encouragement to 'go for it'.

“Excuse me.” Your voice had come as a whisper first, too nervous to speak louder than that. Neither of the boys acknowledged your presence, their argument slowly getting closer to putting them both on the ground. You sighed and tried again. Soft voice raising a couple levels. “Excuse me?”

That was the moment you saw their faces for the first time. Both frozen and staring right at you. You remember looking at the two of them and just thinking — oh god. They’re duplicates. Two nearly identical faces staring at you in confusion.

“What d’ya want?” One of them asked, the one with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Annoyance had laced his tone like he wasn’t being held by the collar merely an inch above the ground as his own hands were wrapped up in his twins’ hair.

Before you were even given the chance to open your mouth and respond to the attitude he gave you, he was slammed into the ground by the other. The second boy’s hand released the first’s collar and shoved straight into his brother's face, blocking all chances to see or talk for the moment. “Why d’ya have t'be so rude.” His hair was darker, black, and his eyes were a shiny grey.

“Mm nah roo!“ the brown-eyed boy’s protests were muffled as he tried to shove his brother off him. He succeeded after only a few tries. You stood silent, watching in horror as these strangers fought. You remember shooting a worried look over to your sister only to find her not even looking at you, missing your perceived distress.

“Uh—” your voice caught their attention immediately this time, “I’m new here.” Both stood up straighter, only a few shoved placed between them as they turned to look at you, finally waiting to hear you out even though your voice was so quiet compared to theirs. You watched as both their faces changed to the same dumb look and they even tilted their heads in the same way, waiting for the punchline. “I’m l/n.” Your last name melted quietly of your tongue and you watched them both silently form it with their own.

“Miya.” Their two voices spoke at the same time that both their hands were presented to you. You blinked at them both and it was like a light clicking on as they realized their mistake.

The rude one - as you had dubbed him - spoke again, jerking his thumb at his brother, the one with grey eyes. “Tha’s Osamu.” He then stood a little straighter and pointed to himself proudly. “I’m—“

He was cut off as his brother pushed him again. “Ah-noyin.’” He accentuated the ‘ah’ and flicked his brother’s head, hard. “Lemme tell ‘er m’own name.”

You struggled to keep a laugh from slipping out at that, refusing to let the strangers know that you had feelings yet, let alone that you found them even slightly amusing.

The one now labeled as both rude and 'ah-noyin'' by his brother took his chance to scramble towards his original goal. “Jus for tha’, m’goin’ firs’.”

But just as soon as he'd claimed that and crawled to the top of the stairs, slinging his hands onto the first bar, he'd come tumbling down in a mess of metal bangs and small shrieks all caused by a misplaced foot and gravity. You'd let out a giggle then, unable to help yourself as you'd watched the boy tumble.

“‘s what he deserved for bein’ rude.” You laughed out louder at the comment and if you'd have looked at Osamu’s face in that moment, you would’ve seen a boy who looked as if he'd just fallen in love.

“I like ya.” Osamu said then, definitive tone as he drew your attention away from where his brother was trying to wipe dirt from out of his mouth. You'd tilted your head at him in confusion as he made this declaration, eyes widening slightly in shock. “Ya wan’ some food?”

You went to deny the offer to be polite but your stomach had growled then, as if responding on its own. Loud enough for the boy in front of you to hear it clearly. It was as if it was a reminder of how stupid you had been all day by protesting your sister and her new husband and refusing to eat anything they'd offered.

You'd winced at the noise but it had cause a light laugh to pass through Osamu’s lips. The sound made you let a small smile of your own slip out and you resigned to nod at him as your response. “C’mon,” he'd latched his hand onto yours, the first contact you'd had with a Miya, and started to pull you away from his brother, “ya can have Atsumu’s lunch.”

“’Ey!” The other twin—Atsumu you now knew him as—had finally paid attention to you both again as you'd run off towards where Osamu was promising you food.

The second time that you saw the Miya twins was your first day at your new primary school. You had convinced your sister to not force you to try and make friends anymore for the rest of your school break. But the second that you walked into your classroom, the teacher had dragged you in front of the entire class to introduce you to the rest of the students.

You keenly remember the distaste in the back of your throat as the teacher presented you like a shiny new toy – “everyone, this is l/n y/n, she’s new to town and I want everyone to be really nice to her.” She had accentuated the 'really' of her sentence, sending a glance around at all the expectant faces, something that made you feel like shrinking in on yourself. Then she had looked at you expectantly and you remember having to force yourself to give a small smile and wave at the class.

When she'd released you from the confines of her grip at the front of the class you'd rushed to find a seat... only to be stopped by a familiar face jumping into your path.

“’Ey, I know ya!” You'd paused, eyes widening in a small amount of fright at the enthusiasm that seemed to radiate off the twin. “Met ya a’the park!” You'd stared at him and blinked slowly as he kept on, not even trying to give you the chance to speak. “Ya ‘member me?”

You knew exactly which twin this was, the one with brown eyes. The rude one. The one labeled as 'ah-noyin'' by the one you actually didn't mind. You'd sighed in irritation and acknowledged that whatever you decided you were going to say then would probably determine the rest of your year.

“You’re Osamu’s twin. Right?” You'd paired it with a sweet smile and watched as his jaw dropped in shock.

A loud laugh came from your right and you'd dragged your eyes away from the satisfying picture of Atsumu trying to pull his jaw off the floor and over to where Osamu stood next to you holding his stomach. Your eyes lit up at the sight. You decided then that you could get used to making him laugh.

“Put ya in ya place there, Atsumu.” Osamu laughed and guided you away from his brother. “Sit nex' t'me?” You smiled and nodded, falling easily into the seat next to the twin that couldn’t stop staring at you with a wide and toothy smile.

The other twin stood there, eyes stuck on you as well, disbelief filling them. “But tha’s ma seat!”

“Not anymore.” You'd quipped back quietly, sticking your tongue out at him.

AGE 8

At some point in the next few years, you realized that these twins might be part of your life for a while... whether you liked that fact or not.

Growing up with the Miya twins means that you get used to loud things.

Osamu and Atsumu and their constant bickering had become part of your regular routine. You would repeatedly join Osamu in his teasing of Atsumu, always pulling a laugh out of Osamu when you did. A feeling of joy always filled you when Osamu’s laughs filled your ears as Atsumu would look at you in shock.

You would constantly have to break up fights between the two of them (and sometimes others that would accidentally get caught between them). You became accustomed to waiting for them outside of the principal’s office. Waiting for their lectures to be done so that you all could walk home together. Reading books as you waited for detentions and punishments to be dealt.

But on the first day of your third year in school together, Osamu greeted you outside your house with a new nickname for you on his tongue. “Y/n/n!” He'd shouted it, immediately wrapping you in a hug as you bounded out of your house and straight into his arms.

“Y/n/n?” You'd whispered it as a question as you pulled out of the hug. No one had given you a nickname before and there was a sudden warmth that had come with it, something like comfort or belonging.

Concern had etched its way across his face. “Though’ t’was cute? D’ya not like it?” His voice sounded soft then, small with his worries weighing it down.

You made sure to shake your head quickly and beam up at him. “No! I love it!” You'd pulled away and adjusted your bag as you both walked back to where Atsumu was standing, waiting on the street.

“Ya ready fer a new year?” Atsumu had asked as you'd reached him, slinging arms around both your shoulder and his brother’s, making sure that he was between you both, always craving to be the center of your trio.

You rolled your eyes and ducked out from under his arm. “Ready to see how much dumber ya got over break, Thing 2.” You'd jabbed the comment at him with a snicker. And with that, the warm feeling returned, Atsumu’s dumbstricken face and Osamu’s laugh.

“Why’re ya such a meanie, Y/n/n?” Atsumu whined, your new nickname falling from his mouth easily. Osamu ducked out from under Atsumu's arm next and came to walk next to you, leaving his brother a couple steps behind you both.

“Ya deserve it.” You'd laughed as Osamu’s arm wrapped your shoulder where Atsumu’s had previously been. “And don’t call me that.”

You didn’t have to look back to know that Atsumu’s jaw had fallen to the floor again. “Why’s Osamu ‘llowed t'call ya that but m’not?”

You blew a puff of air out of your nose, trying not to fully laugh, too not give away the small joke, as you looked lightly over your and Osamu’s touching shoulders. “Cause I actually like Osamu.” You said with finality.

Warm again as Atsumu looked distressed and Osamu laughed in your ear.

AGE 10

You picked up a sport, soccer to be exact.

You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little tiny bit because Atsumu and Osamu were getting so into volleyball. That you wanted to find something you liked like that too. It helped that your new sport was foot-based in contrast to their hand-based one. A difference enough to make sure you could have your own thing.

It was around then when they had come running to you after one of their volleyball camp days. Exclamations springing from their mouths, overlapping each other, that you needed to stop calling them Osamu and Atsumu 'immediately'.

“We’re changin’ our names!” Atsumu had exclaimed loudly, jumping in front of your face as you went to pull your soccer bag onto your shoulder so that you were forced to listen to him over his brother.

Osamu was quick to snatch your duffel from you before it fully landed, swinging it onto his own shoulder instead with a smile that made your heart constrict. With a smooth motion, he swung his other arm out to smack his brother in the face, not looking away from you nor stopping his smile.

You giggled as you watched how Atsumu’s face was stopped by Osamu’s hand as the rest of his body continued forward for a mere second. A sound of protest left Atsumu’s lips but Osamu’s voice greeted your ears, drowning him out. “We’re not changin’ our names idiot!” He shot over his shoulder at the boy now gripping his nose.

“Why I ought ‘a –” Atsumu went to move towards his brother but you fixed him with a glare and stepped between the two boys, ignoring the grumble that left Atsumu’s chest. You held his eye for a moment, a challenge, but both knew that if you were between them, neither would ever go for a hit.

“Go ‘head, Osamu. Knew ya wouldn’, grandma’d be mad at you.” You flipped your head back to Osamu, dropping the glare and painting a sweet smile on your face in its place.

“See,” he glanced over at Atsumu with a smug smirk, “knew she’d get it.” He rolled his eyes and his twin glared at you instead of him, blaming you for being in his way of the fight he wanted. “Jus’ new nicknames. I get ta be ‘Samu.” He looked at you proudly.

You hummed in thought. “’Samu.” You tilted your head and then smiled. “I like it!” You exclaimed and tucked your arm around Osamu’s waist.

“I picked it!” Atsumu said then, falling back into step with you both.

"Oh," you looked at him with a distasteful look, "well when you say that—” you looked away from Atsumu and tried to cover your smile as you locked eyes with Osamu, both of you knowing that you were just messing with him— “I don’t know about it.”

Atsumu made a sound at the back of his throat at your words, struggling to find his own. “But since ‘Samu likes it.” You smiled, trying your hardest to not giggle as you saw Atsumu throw his hands out in annoyance out of the corner of your eye.

He groaned before righting himself again, pulling his ego back together as easily as it had fallen apart. “Movin’ on ta me.” He'd clapped his hands together and slapped a smug smile back on his face. “’m gon’ be ‘Tsumu!” He shouted excitedly in your face.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him. “That sounds dumb.” You said and smiled as a harsh puff left Osamu’s lips as he tried to keep his laughs down.

“’Samu came up with it!” Atsumu’s voice raised an octave, defensive as his jaw dropped at you.

“Oh, well when you say that—” you laughed lightly— “it’s a great name ‘Samu, good job.”

“Yer biased!” Atsumu shrieked at you then, voice cracking as he ran a hand over his face.

“Absolutely I am.” You'd laughed as Osamu squeezed your side in response. “That’s why he’s Thing 1 and you’re the Thing 2. I like him more, so he gets ta be number 1.”

“I hate ya.” Atsumu grumbled at the same time as Osamu smiled over at you with a “Love ya too.”

AGE 12

Growing up with the Miya twins meant that when you started middle school, you started to find yourself at the Miya house more than your own. You'd spent more nights curled into Osamu’s bed than your own, preferring that to four screaming wake-up calls a night from your sister’s new baby.

You'd slowly found yourself more and more attached at the hip to Osamu and found Atsumu hanging around you both less. But in the middle of the night it was just the three of you and your meaningless talks. Atsumu and you, however, always stopped talking once Osamu fell asleep, keen to sit in silence amongst his soft snores.

It had been one of those nights when you'd woken to the room quieter than usual. Even with Osamu lightly snoring next to you, there were no sounds coming from the other bed in the room.

“’Tsumu?” You'd whispered it out, verbally reaching around the room for your other best friends, but there was no response.

You'd lifted yourself onto your elbows, looking around for a sign of him. The door to the room was lightly cracked and you tilted your head in confusion. You sighed, twisting yourself slightly to escape your blanket, and crawled over Osmau’s (might as well be dead) body. You were thankful that he was such a deep sleeper as you nearly knocked him off the bed.

Your bare feet hit the cold floor and you hissed slightly as you tiptoed toward the door. Pushing your way past it with a light creak of the wood, you heard a light and consistent thud coming from the back door of the house. Walking quietly to the slightly open door, Atsumu finally came into your view.

You rubbed some of the sleep out of your eyes and glanced over at the wall clock — 3 am — and then back to Atsumu, who was hitting a volleyball repeatedly, practicing his sets you assumed.

“’Tsumi?” You whispered, your voice laced with sleep as you tried to stifle a yawn. His eyes snapped towards you, momentarily forgetting about the ball until it smacked him in the face. He groaned and you couldn’t even find the energy to laugh at him. “Are you okay, ‘Tsumi?” You asked, stepping out and onto the porch and then immediately regretting your decision as the cold air surrounded you.

“Wha’ya doin’ up, a/n/n?” The nickname rolled off his tongue and usually you’d complain about the twist that he’d put on his brother’s nickname for you, but tonight, you couldn’t be bothered. You almost didn't even mind it. His face was flushed red from the cold despite the jacket wrapped around his shoulders and his breathing was uneven, eyes droopy.

“You were gone.” You whispered, stepping closer to him despite the cold that seeped into your body on all sides, raising goosebumps along your skin. “What’re ya doin’ out here? Its 3am, ‘Tsumi.”

“Couldn’ slee’.” He mumbled, abandoning the ball and walking up to you. “Came out t'think.” He motioned towards the abandoned throw blanket that was crumpled on the porch a few steps away from you. “Decided I needed t'practice.”

You sighed and waved him over to you, refusing to walk out any further. “Sit down. Calm down.” You sat on the porch and pulled your knees up to your chest. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the action and he fell onto ground next to you with a sigh. “Talk t'me.” You whispered, trying to stop your body from shivering. You were failing and Atsumu noticed.

He sighed and sat up, pulling the blanket over to you both and draping part over his shoulder. He held the other end in his hand and opened his arm. “C’mere.” You almost didn’t hear it, but you welcomed the gesture.

You scooted towards him and fell into his side. He wrapped his arm and the blanket around you and you sighed at the warmth. It seeped from him and radiated under the soft fabric, it slowly lowered the bumps along your arms.

“M’sure ‘Samu told ya he got setter on the team.” You sighed and nodded at the information Atsumu offered. “I wanted it.” He muttered, looking down. You knew that. Of course you’d known that. He thought it was the coolest position and Atsumu always wanted to be the coolest. “It all comes easy t’Samu. I have t'practice.”

“Not at 3am ‘Tsumi.” Your voice didn’t raise above a whisper, the warmth radiating off him and surrounding you seemed to make you more tired. “M’sure that you and ‘Samu will end up in the positions you were made for.” You yawned as you tried to reassure him. Your eyes fluttered closed as your head fell on his shoulder but you kept on. “But ya ain’t gonna get better by not sleepin’.”

“I like ya more when yer not bein’ a meanie.” Atsumu chuckled softly and pulled you a little bit closer to him. He played it as a joke, but there was a fondness that filled him at your assurance, a bit of calm that tugged on his mind.

“I like ya more when you're not bein’ a loudmouth.” You muttered back. You couldn’t bring your eyes to open again, but you could feel as his breathing began to calm down. “We should go back inside ‘Tsumi. S’warmer in there.”

“Jus’ a little longer?” he whispered back, a quietness about his voice that wasn't common. “I’ll keep ya warm a/n/n.”

You hummed in response and let yourself relax into him. “Jus’ a little longer, ‘kay?”

You didn’t remember falling asleep that night, or how you'd ended up back in the house. You could only remember waking up, curled up next to Atsumu instead of Osamu the next morning. You couldn't remember how you'd gotten there and neither of you ever spoke of it again.

AGE 13

Your second year of middle school. Atsumu was at his house less when Osamu and you were both there.

'Tired o’ third wheelin’ ya two as ya bully me.' He’d claimed and told you both he'd picked up new friends and would still be around but that they 'don’t tease me as much.'

You’d both, of course, teased him desperately for it and mocked his claims of 'See, this s’why I hate ya both.'

You would have been lying if you said you didn’t miss seeing Atsumu’s face around — actually, yes, you would be, because Osamu had the same dumb face. The lack of Atsumu only meant that Osamu and you turned your teasing onto each other more. But you could admit that you'd missed Atsumu’s presence now and then, ever the dramatic one of the group.

Don’t get it wrong, you were all three dramatic at your own pace, in your own ways. Growing up with the Miya twins meant developing your own way to display your dramaticism, or over-dramatization.

Osamu may seem mostly inexpressive, but you could almost always tell from just a small crinkle in his eyes, a certain change in their glint, exactly what he was about to do. It was in private that you pulled the most emotions from Osamu, the playful ones and the shouting along at your excitement, not just the anger and competitiveness that Atsumu pulled out of him regularly.

You were quiet most of the time, alike to Osamu in that way. But your quietness seemed to stem more from your shyness than the actual large indifference to the world around you. You had an awful habit of becoming way too easily flustered and the quieter you were the easier you could hide stuttering remarks when you were flustered.

Now maybe you shouldn’t be called shy per se, cause it’s not to say you didn’t get a mouth on you when you wanted to. All your friends, the twins especially, knew that you had a bad habit of running your mouth before your brain caught up. A bad temper, awful habit of taunting, spitting sarcasm like a second language, and getting over-excited way too easily.

But the second Atsumu ran his loud mouth to start taunting you, the only thing that could make your face any hotter was the absolute terror that was Osamu joining him. If they were bad when they were against each other, they were worse when they were teamed up.

But it was an almost comforting feeling having the three of you together. So like you'd said, you’d have been lying if you said you didn’t miss having Atsumu around sometimes. But you’d also be lying that at every moment you were missing him. Because there was one specific moment you were happy he wasn't there for.

A specific moment where you were curled up with Osamu on the couch in the living room. Being the only ones home you'd both decided that watching a movie would be the best way to pass time. Neither of you had really wanted to do the homework you’d been assigned and neither of you had wanted to go out.

You’d made yourselves some food. 'No ‘Tsumu to steal it' Osamu had laughed as you did and pulled a blanket out to the living room to throw on the movie. It was an American comedy that you had already determined could count as studying since it was in English. 'To help us with learnin’ the language, ya know.' You’d laughed while stealing the blanket all to yourself.

It had been you stealing the blanket that had wound you both in the position you ended up in. He’d returned to the couch and nearly physically fought you, trying to wrestle part of the blanket out of your grasp. You’d fallen off the couch in the middle of the struggle, nearly knocking his plate off the table.

“Miysam!” You’d exclaimed with a laugh, your nickname for him flying off your tongue as you tumbled towards the ground. Your limbs tangled in the fabric so you couldn’t rid yourself of it at that point even if you'd tried. Osamu’s mouth had fallen open in shock as he looked down at you, slight worry in his features as his did.

Your groan had been faint as the half of your body in contact with the ground ached from the impact. “Ya almost lost our food. How could’ya.” You'd looked up at him betrayed and were immediately greeted with his loud laugh. The laugh that you had gotten used to sending a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

Your cheeks flared up as you wiggled in the blanket, struggling to move. “Help me out ya idiot!” You'd shouted up at him, trying to control your laughs as you'd squirmed.

“’ey!” He laughed out, grabbing his phone to take a picture of you before even attempting to help. “Ya wan’ help? Don’t insult me, clumsy.” He smiled down at you and then leaned down ‘til his nose almost touched yours. “Say the words if ya want help, clumsy.” He taunted.

Your cheeks had only grown hotter. “I don’t need your help.” You'd shrugged an arm free and easily caught him by the shirt collar, shoving him back towards the couch. He'd laughed as he collapsed onto the couch, drawing you up with him. You'd collapsed on top of him in a fit of giggles.

You had stayed like that for most of the movie, you half on top of him with the blanket wrapped around the both of you. You'd occasionally pushed food into the other’s mouth when you thought the other was talking too much, but towards the end of the movie, you were the only one with any food left.

The main character of your movie on the screen was admitting that she was 25 and had never been kissed before. You'd hummed in thought and lifted your head up from his chest looking up. “What would ya do?” He'd only looked down at you, tilting his head in confusion. “Ya know, if ya were 25 and’d ne’er kissed no one?”

He snorted down at you. “Not gon’ happ’n.”

“I don’ know.” You'd singsonged at him. “That snort was pre’y un’tractive, Miysam.” His jaw went slack and he'd shoved at your face lightly with a laugh.

He'd suddenly went quiet while staring at you. “Wha’ if,” he swallowed and looked to the side away from you, nerves buzzing, “wha’ if we,” he cleared his throat and you'd looked at him expectantly but he'd went quiet. Quieter than his normal self.

You'd caught on, after a moment, to what he was saying and your cheeks flared up again. “I, um,” you were like a dear frozen in the headlights of Osamu’s stare, “you don’ know what yer sayin’.” He sighed and propped himself up more to look down at you.

“Well I jus’ mean I ain’ had ma firs’ kiss,” he'd muttered, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, his grey eyes flitted back and forth across the room, “an’ I know you ain’ had yours yet.” He snuck a look at your face, which you didn’t think could feel any hotter than it was then. “Righ’? I’d’ve heard all ‘bout it.”

“I-” you'd swallowed hard and blinked up at him, thought about lying to him then, then realized you couldn’t, “well, no.” He looked down at you again, and you locked eyes with him, both of you holding your breaths. “I mean, at leas’ we coul’ tease ‘Tsumi ‘bout bein’ the only one ta have not been kissed.” You'd joked with a half smile.

He'd cracked a huge smile and snorted again. “Plus then we don’ gotta worry ‘bout the firs’time bein’ weird.” You'd took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah.” You'd looked at him again and felt your palms get sweaty. You remembered the internal debate, the question of were you really about to kiss your best friend from the last 7 years? The boy whose bed you'd slept in more regularly than your own. You'd might have been more comfortable with him than anyone else but you were both still just awkward 13-year-olds. “How-uh-how should we…” you'd trailed off and gestured awkwardly between the two of you with your hand, suddenly very aware of you were still laid on his chest.

“Um-” he'd looked at you just as awkwardly and shifted under you a little bit, “Gin was kinda talkin’ ‘bout tips for kissin' the other day.” He mumbled and you'd tried not to giggle as his smile turned more nervous. “Could I jus’ try?” You didn’t trust yourself to speak so you'd just awkwardly nodded at him.

He had been careful about placing his hand on your cheek and pulling your faces together. Just before your lips met, your noses smashed together and you pulled away from each other violently. “S’ry.” He winced scrunching his nose.

“A’least that won’ happ’n our firs’time now.” You'd mumbled with a small snort, rubbing your nose. “We can try ‘gain if ya wan’.” He'd nodded his agreement.

Blowing out a puff of air, he'd put his hand back on your face leaning to try again. He'd tilted his head this time and your noses didn’t clash again. You'd squeezed your eyes shut and his lips met yours hastily, pressing together harshly. He'd held you in place for a couple seconds before you both pulled back. Both of your cheeks were flushed, his ears a bright shade of pink.

“That was-” you'd trailed off again, searching for a description.

“Awful.” He muttered and you'd let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh than’ god.” You'd breathed out a laugh and he followed suit. “Thought i’might be jus’ me.” He shook his head and snorted. “Le’s not tell ‘Tsumi?” You asked wanting to forget that it had happened.

He quickly shook his head adamantly in agreement. “Ne’er.” You'd both quickly broke out laughing and separated. “Oh god.” Falling away from each other, he took the chance to suddenly lunge for your food and you screeched in protest.

“Miysam! No! Tha’s mine!” He'd shoved the food in his mouth as you moved to tackle him, both of you protesting, the awkwardness immediately forgotten.

a/n this piece will forever be special in my heart but i'm breaking it into bite-sized pieces lol part two coming soon <3

TAGLIST - OPEN @faumpje

#𓇻 Liberosis #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #atsumu fanfiction #osamu fanfiction #miya atsumu fanfiction #miya osamu fanfiction #atsumu miya fanfiction #osamu miya fanfiction

[teamatsumu]

Can I please request rekindling a relationship with ex-boyfriend Atsumu who is a total ass man? (He can't stop touching, fondling reader 's ass.)

one day. (miya atsumu x fem!reader)

word count: 755

warnings: post-break up. sexual language but no explicit smut. swearing. osamu is there. slight angst if you squint. nsfw. mdni.

Taglist: @keiva1000

Atsumu should have known that even after breaking up with you, your presence in his life would be inevitable. After all, you had been childhood friends, and while your relationship had soured and fizzled months ago, you were still very, very close to Osamu, and no beef with Atsumu could stop you from seeing his twin.

So Atsumu had gotten used to walking into Onigiri Miya and seeing you perched on a stool at the counter, deep in conversation with Osamu who was carefully shaping onigiri for you. You were just as much a fan of his brother’s food as he was, maybe an even more enthusiastic supporter. Osamu often called you his little “taste tester”, and Atsumu would make a sleazy joke in your ear about how he was your taste tester, in that he would bury his head between your thighs to taste y-

You would always smack him before he could finish.

Ah well, those days were long gone. You weren’t interested in anything he had to say anymore, which Atsumu thought was karma for the last few weeks of your relationship, when he had started missing all your calls, messages, dates. After the fight that led to your breakup, which was filled with your teary complaints about how he had no time for you at all, Atsumu wondered if his volleyball career just left no room for him to date. But then he would look at Meian, who had a whole wife, and think that maybe it was just him. He just didn’t know how to maintain a relationship.

That didn’t stop him from hesitating now, catching sight of you in conversation with his brother, your arms folded on the counter before you with your torso leaning forward, and Atsumu’s gaze was immediately beckoned down to your-

Fuck.

Those were his favorite pair of jeans on you.

You had gotten them when he took you birthday shopping, and Atsumu had been enamored with them the minute you tried them on. High waisted and tight, they hugged your ass deliciously, so much that Atsumu had insisted he buy them for you, later using that as an excuse to bend you over the nearest surface any time you wore them and having his way with you. This couldn’t be a coincidence now, why would you wear them today? To come to Onigiri Miya? Where you knew you would likely run into him? Atsumu’s jaw clenched at the thought and he stepped further into the shop, finally catching your and his brother’s attention.

“Finally. What’s the point of making ya fresh onigiri if ya won’t show up on time?” Osamu scowled at him, but Atsumu paid him no mind, catching your eye and giving you a smirk.

“Nice ass.” He quipped, making you roll your eyes and turn back to your own plate, but Atsumu caught the tips of your ears turning red, making him grin. Victory.

“You’re disgusting, Miya.” You replied, voice low before you took another bite. Atsumu settled into the stool next to you.

“Ya never minded that when we were datin’. In fact, I still remember the sweet sounds ya made-”

“Shut up.” You glared at him, while Osamu made a disgusted face, saying something along the lines of ‘not in front of the food’. Neither of you reacted too viscerally though. Atsumu’s foul language was nothing new. You might have broken up with him, but you both knew he still liked you, and he would never stop flirting. That was his way of saying he wasn’t giving up on you.

Deep down, Atsumu knew you liked it. So when Osamu turned his back to search for something behind him, Atsumu leaned close to you, lips brushing your ear.

“Why’d ya wear those jeans, doll? Temptin’ me to bend ya over this counter?”

You dug your elbow into his side to push him away a bit. “In your dreams.”

Atsumu hummed, no longer resisting the urge to reach down and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. You jumped a bit, turning to glare at him. “Ya really don’t wanna know what goes on in my dreams, sweetcheeks.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, but Atsumu caught the corners of your lips, fighting to hold back a smile. He sighed as Osamu placed a plate of food in front of him, not bothering to bite back his own smile. You still loved him, deep down, Atsumu was sure, and he was determined to make you his again one day.

One day.

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu fluff #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu fanfiction #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfic

[godkeis]

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟐.

characters: m. atsumu and s. kiyoomi

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 1.1k

content warnings: arguments, toxicity, cursing

summary: how would haikyuu boys react when you walk out during an argument part two.

part i. | part iii.

MIYA ATSUMU

Atsumu and his habit of joking during serious times are slowly getting into your nerves. You told him hundreds of times already that you don't like being interupted when you are talking about something very important, especially when it comes to your feelings. But this time, Atsumu decide to cut you off again to tell you another joke that he picked up along your words.

"I'm so funny, right?" he asked, half smirking.

Your heart sank because you've been trying to pour your heart out yet, it seems like he didn't care at all.

"Seriously, Atsumu?"

"Whoa, what happened to Tsumu?"

You didn't respond to his question but instead, you grabbed your things and went out leaving Atsumu dumbfounded.

Hours passed, Atsumu was getting bored so he decided to dial your number to check up on you.

"What?" you answered coldly.

"Y/N where ya at?"

His tone seems like he wasn't bothered at all that you walked out and he didn't realize what went wrong yet.

"Don't call me, Atsumu. I don't want to talk to you."

"C'mon babe, Yer not dropping the call, are ya? Come home now. I miss you."

That one last straw bursted your tears out as you felt no care from your boyfriend at all.

"Damn you, Miya Atsumu. Is that what you're going to return to me after I pour my heart out on you? Seriously?

Atsumu panicked when he heared your cracking voice on the other line. Standing up, he speedily grabbed his Inarizaki High jacket and head out.

"Shh, shh baby, babe. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"What exactly are you apologizing for, Atsumu? Do you even know what you were apologizing for? You really hurt my feelings. Don't talk to me. I don't want to hear your voice."

With that, you dropped the call and Atsumu attempted to ring your number again but you rejected it.

"Shit." Atsumu felt like his world was ending because you were right, he didn't even know what he's apologizing for.

Replaying the scenario inside his head, that's when he realized that you were indeed, talking about something important but he chose to blurt out his random joke at an inappropriate time.

Atsumu knows that you're the only person who can tolerate his out of this world jokes and now that you've walked out and ignoring him because of that, he knew he fucked up real bad.

Good thing is that your shared GPS in on and he instantly located where you are—in the school library. Hurriedly, Atsumu will head towards you to apologize once more.

"The hell are you doing here?" you glared at him with your puffy eyes. As much as Atsumu wants to compliment how beautiful you are even though you're crying, he knows that it's not the right time for that.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N for cutting your off while you were opening up something to me. I shouldn't have done that. I'm willing to make it up to you, Will you let me listen and understand your problem once more?"

Atsumu will spend the whole day by your side, listening and understanding your complaints with life. He'll be quiet for most of the time but is very attentive to what you are saying. Expect hand rubs and forehead kisses as you pour your heart once more. Of course, he'll apologize once again because he still feel guilty for what he did.

"I didn't get the chance to say this earlier but you're really gorgeous, even when you're crying."

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

If there's one thing that you will label as a red flag to your boyfriend, Kiyoomi, it's about him and his lack of communication when he's frustrated. Growing up distant to people, Kiyoomi never realized that he attached his toxic trait to his relationship. At first, everything was fine, not until things started getting out of control especially during arguments. And yes, Kiyoomi's silent treatment and distancing isn't benefiting either of you.

"Kiyoomi, talk to me. You know we can resolve this by communicating, right?" you pleaded to the man sitting across you yet your words fell on deaf ears as Kiyoomi's eyes remained glued to the sports channel.

"Kiyoomi." you once more called him. Standing up, you marched towards the television and unplugged the device.

Turning around to your boyfriend, you were about to open your mouth to speak again when you saw a horrified expression from Kiyoomi's face. It was something that you never saw before. Ever.

Anger. Disgust. Annoyance. Hatred. Which one is it? You couldn't figure it out.

Everything was written on his face, just because you turned off the television so that you could communicate with him.

You felt like being electrocuted on the spot as you saw your boyfriend glare on you.

"I'm…sorry."

That's all it took you to remove your stoned feet on the ground to walk out of the apartment because you don't want to see Kiyoomi's expression.

Your heart cannot handle the fact that you just wanted him to focus, communicate, and resolve the argument together.

But today, it scared you that Kiyoomi might hate you forever because of that.

Before you could step out of the door, Kiyoomi's right arm slammed the door shut that made you jump in shock.

"Where…are you going?" he asked in a low voice.

"Out…for fresh…air." you felt like you were gasping for air as you took the words out of your throat. You didn't realize it but you were actually crying as you spoke.

Kiyoomi's arm slowly made its way towards your body and pushed you against his muscled chest, left hand following to caress your hair as you buried your face and tug on the hem tightly. You were sobbing and shaking in fear.

Kiyoomi's eyes started blurring out when he realized that you were crying because of him. It wasn't intentional for him to glare at you, it just became an unconscious reaction for him. And now, Kiyoomi's blaming himself so much internally for making you cry and scarring you.

"Y/N, darling. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." he whispered in your ear, shushing your sobs. "I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry that I scare you.

Kiyoomi's voice is full of regrets and his touches are fragile. This is the first time that he let someone this intimate with him and he's willing to fix everything because he doesn't want to lose you.

Later on once you're calmed down, Kiyoomi will ask about your side regarding the argument. He will listen and understand you carefully and sincerely. He will also apologize a lot of times and will offer to make some dinner to make it up to you.

The following days, Kiyoomi will try his best to open up his heart more to you and fulfill the distance he made you experience because of his toxic trait.

© godkeis. do not repost on any platform.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu fandom #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #miya atsumu #miya atsumu fanfiction #miya atsumu fanfic #miya atsumu hcs #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu fic #haikyuu fic #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi angst #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi fanfiction #sakusa kiyoomi fanfic #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n

[kouomi]

HEY HEY I hope you’re having a wonderful afternoon! I was wondering if I could request an Xreader where y/n breaks up a fight! Not in the “look at me🥺look at me🥺this isn’t you🙁” way but the “knock it tf off😐” pulling the boys apart telling them to cut the BS way! I was thinking with Atsumu or Iwa? Eathier is fine! And if u feel like if you could throw in the cute little helping them with their bloody nose busted lip stuff! Tho it is perfectly fine if u don’t wan to! THANK YOU!

Fisticuffs

Warnings: fighting (duh)

Word count: 1,461

A/N: I had so much fun writing thisss (sorry for the wait, catching up on my requests post hiatus!) also every time I write Atsumu it points out how much I speak like him. Weird. :)

Blog Directory

Posted: June 23rd 2022, 5:06 AM ET

It was normal to walk into a room and find Miya Atsumu mid punch. The sight, though one you found incredibly irritating, was unfortunately a common one, and one you had come to almost expect when checking in on your boyfriend. It was more common for him to be littered in small injuries from his daily fights with his twin than for any of them to be a result of volleyball.

You had told Atsumu multiple times how much you hated to see him in these fights, that they were stupid actions caused by stupid arguments and there was no reason they should happen — especially as frequently as they did. You always ended up being the one who had to clean him up after said fights, and each time they happened the angrier you were about them. There was a certain extent to which you understood teenage boys fighting their brothers, but it seemed as if Atsumu went out of his way to exceed this limit at every opportunity.

He understood you hated when he fought. He could tell by the look on your face and the curtness of your words afterwords that you despised it. It wasn’t as if he purposely got into fights just to make you mad, but the little jabs and aggressive nudges Osamu made throughout the day inevitably ended with the two of them rolling around on the gym floor; much like it did today.

The last straw for Atsumu had been when Osamu “accidentally” served the ball into the back of his head during their practice game. Four of their teammates on their side as well as the six on the other side of the net watched with amusement as Atsumu slowly turned around, picked up the ball, and promptly threw it back at his brother before running towards him. As soon as Osamu had managed to recover from the volleyball that had managed to hit him in the middle of his chest, Atsumu was already in front of him and tackling him to the ground. The two rolled around on the court, a blur of identical faces and dyed hair with shouts and insults spewing from them both.

When the doors to the gym swung open, all heads swiveled towards it; all but two who were too busy facing each other. There was silence as a lone pair of footsteps crossed half the court and then stopped beside the flurry of fists. You stared down at them, watching with angry annoyance as your boyfriend shoved his twin brother down onto the floor by the collar of his shirt.

From where he laid on the ground pinned beneath his brother, Osamu watched as you flicked Atsumu’s forehead, saw the confused anger take on his expression, and then the way his face fell when he turned and saw you standing beside him. Your hand moved to the back of his shirt, yanking him up by his collar and pulling him slightly away from the fight.

“Knock it off.” You say, stiff and final.

Osamu looks between Atsumu, you, and then back, flashing his brother a look somewhere between smugness and apologetic before pushing himself to his feet and walking towards Suna who had been watching with humorous enjoyment. He enjoyed watching the twins fight just as much as everyone else, but it became just that much better when he could see Atsumu get ridiculed by his girlfriend for doing so. Suna, Osamu, Atsumu, and the other boys who watched all waited for you to start yelling at him, or perhaps even flick him again.

But, nothing of the sort came.

Instead, you stepped around him and walked towards the door you had entered shortly before and left without so much as looking back.

Atsumu blinked at the now closed double doors, surprise and confusion pulling his brow together and leaving his mouth slightly agape.

“Dude,” Osamu says, calling his brothers attention. “She’s mad.”

Shit. Atsumu thought. Shit.

“Tell Kita I went to the bathroom!” He yells over his shoulder, now running out of the same door you had.

It takes a few minutes, but he manages to catch a glimpse of you rounding a corner of the main school building and then once again disappear from sight. He called your name, but the spot where you had been remained empty. He lets out an annoyed puff of air before taking off again, eventually rounding the corner and finding you a short ways down.

“Y/n! Hey, wait up a minute, will ya?”

You continue to ignore him, now walking away even faster. It didn’t take very long for Atsumu to catch up, his hand landing on your shoulder and forcing you around to face him.

“What.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? ‘S just ‘Samu was really gettin’ on my nerves, and I-“

“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. I’m sick of it, Atsumu.”

He huffs. “I know, it’s just-“ He lifts his hand to run it through his hair, but his fingers graze the open cut on his forehead and he winces.

You watch as he swipes away the blood that starts dripping into his eye, drawing his split lip between his teeth.

You sigh, begrudgingly. “Sit down.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Atsumu glances at the wooden bench you pointed to and silently sits down, looking up at you as you set your backpack down on the bench beside him. He watches as you rummage through one of the pouches and pull out a small pack, opening it and pulling out a small rag. You take a few steps away and stand in front of the water fountain attached to the wall of the school, using your hip to press it and wet the cloth.

It’s silent as you come to stand before him, save for the occasional breeze and chirp of far off birds. You don’t say anything as you take his chin in your hand, avoiding his eyes and lifting the rag to clean the blood from his forehead. Atsumu winces though doesn’t complain, continuing to try to get you to look at him.

“Grab a bandage from in the bag.” You instruct.

“Oh, she talks?” He replies, a lopsided smile working its way onto his expression.

“Atsumu,” You warn.

“Alright, alright.” He turns, making sure not to twist out of your hold, and rummages through the small bag until he pulls out a small package and hands it to you. He frowns when you pull your hand away to open it, following your movements and watching you remove the bandaid and press it against his cut.

You lean back and double, triple, quadruple check your work, using it as an excuse not to look down and meet the deep brown eyes that you could see trying to meet yours in your peripheral vision.

“Y/n…” He trails off, unsure of what to say to get you to talk to him again; unsure if there was anything he could say.

“You said you were done getting into fights.” You don’t look at him as you talk, don’t reach out to him again, only keep staring at the bandaid on his forehead.

“I know.”

“Then what the hell was that?”

“In my defense, ‘Samu served at the back of my head.”

You can’t help the small laugh that bubbles past your lips at the thought of seeing the ball fly out and hit him, tucking your chin into your chest to try and hide the expression from him. He sees it, however, and he smiles, taking this as an opportunity to reach out and coax your hand into his. You don’t resist, letting him hold your unmoving hand in his.

“Look,” He starts, leaning down and forcing himself into your field of vision. “I shouldn’t’ve gotten into a fight with ‘Samu. But ya have ta know it’s inevitable. He annoys me too much.”

You heave a sigh, finally meeting his eyes. “I know. I just… I hate seeing you all beat up every time.”

“Damn, ya make it sound like I lose all of ‘em.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” He agrees. “But it’s okay if I get ‘all beat up’ sometimes ‘cause I got you to clean me up.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.” He pulls you closer by your hand so you now stood between his legs. “Ya missed a spot, ya know.”

“Did I?” You ask.

“Yeah, pretty sure ‘Samu split my lip.”

You hum, taking his chin in your hand again and using the pad of your thumb to wipe the small trail of blood on his bottom lip.

“Better?”

“Almost,” He grins, pulling you down towards himself and reaching out, guiding your face towards his.

Masterlist

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyū!! #miya atsumu #miya osamu #haikyū #haikyuu imagines #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu fanfiction #miya atsumu fic #miya atsumu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu scenarios #inarizaki #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x you #inarizaki x y/n #haikyuu inarizaki #haikyuu atsumu

[heich0e]

JUST A TASTE - part one: salt miya atsumu/bartender!reader (haikyuu!) ao3 link word count: 3.3k tags: see series masterlist for more tags, enemies to customer service providers, f!reader, frequent mentions of alcohol a/n: this series is heavily informed by my understanding of western bar culture/mixology, so... suspension of disbelief, poetic license, forgive my ignorance, etc. my apologies + pls read at your own risk if that might bother you!

salty dog: 1.5oz gin or vodka, 4oz grapefruit juice, kosher salt, ice, grapefruit slice (optional for garnish). pour kosher salt onto a plate. rub grapefruit slice around the rim (or wet with tips of fingers and grapefruit juice) and dip the glass into the salt. reserve the grapefruit for serving if using. fill glass with ice. add vodka or gin, then top with grapefruit juice. stir gently to combine and garnish with the reserved grapefruit slice.

The most popular cocktail in the first bar you ever worked at was the Long Island iced tea.

You never knew why it was called a Long Island iced tea. The drink wasn't made with tea. You weren't even sure it came from Long Island—though the concoction undeniably stemmed from the excess of the west.

The cocktail's recipe was as complicated as the ambiguous etymology of its name: equal parts vodka, tequila, gin, rum, and triple sec; one and a half parts sour mix; all topped with a splash of coke to give it its familiar amber hue.

Like tea, maybe. If you'd never seen tea before.

The drink was stupid and convoluted, but they could get you fucked up pretty fast and didn't cost too much—which made it a fan-favourite among the broke students that crammed into the bar near your university campus every night of the week. Fridays they were even two for one, and the highest tally of Long Islands you'd ever made in a single night working the closing shift was three hundred and seventeen. It was on a Friday just after midterm week, and you’d almost thrown the last one right at the poor girl who’d ordered it at last call because you were so sick of mixing them.

Needless to say you were happy when you graduated and got a job at a nicer bar further in Osaka's city centre.

It was only supposed to be a temporary gig; just something to keep your lights on while you hunted for a job in your field. But all too quickly the career prospects that had seemed so promising with your diploma fresh in your hand quickly dried up, and so the drinks kept flowing.

The second bar was fancier than the one you’d worked at through college—the kind that named drinks after famous dead people and used coasters. It was frequented most often by young working professionals only slightly older (if at all) than yourself—dressed in suits and loosened ties, shirts unbuttoned at the collar, as they stopped by for a drink on their way home from the office or with a date on a Saturday night who they’d probably swiped right on on some app. You didn’t really mind working there all that much—the tips were more consistent, the spirits better quality, and you didn’t have to deal with obnoxious college boys slurring unsolicited advances at you over the counter while you poured them their fourth sake bomb of the night and resisted the urge to spit in it.

The most popular drink at this bar was a classic kamikaze, branded with a different name to justify the unnecessarily costly price attached to it. The recipe was a classic: equal parts lime juice, vodka, and triple sec; garnished with a slice of lime.

When you would leave the bar at the end of a shift, shuffling lethargically down the road to the humble apartment which you shared with two friends from college, you could still smell the sharp, astringent aroma of the green citrus fruit clinging to the tips of your fingers because of how many limes you'd used as garnish that night.

It was at that second bar that you learned to really enjoy bartending. It was easier to do in that place, when you weren’t focusing on quantity over quality; over making sure the senpai on the other side of the bar wasn’t getting too handsy with the junior girl you’d served one too many lemon sours that evening; over ensuring that someone didn’t steal the framed painting of Jumbo Ozaki off the wall (for the third time that month.) 

You found that, over time, the half-assed google searches and scanning job postings at the back of the Saturday newspaper stopped entirely; the books on your nightstand turned from a stack about finding your calling and nailing interviews to titles on mixology and spirits.

You got better at bartending too. You weren’t just fast and efficient (the only good thing that ever came out of that college bar job) but you had a good memory when it came to drinks—quickly becoming a walking encyclopaedia of not just recipes, but facts about spirits, wine, and beer that you used to charm customers into ordering the top shelf offerings, which translated into fatter tips left for you and your impressive wealth of trivia at the end of the night.

And then one day, an opportunity fell in your lap.

“I got a job at that new bar across town—you know the one on the top floor of that crazy high rise?” 

You looked up over the steaming bowl of ramen that was commanding the majority of your attention, your chopsticks pausing halfway to your open mouth.

Your coworker and friend, Shoji, peered back at you from the other side of the table after he said his piece. You should of known when he offered to take you out for lunch ahead of your shift that evening he’d had ulterior motives. 

“Ah,” you said, popping your food into your mouth and then speaking as you chewed. “Dees ah’ guilt noodows.”

“They are not guilt noodles, thank you.” Shoji laughed, slumping back in his chair as he watched you chew. He seemed to be contemplating something.

Shoji Taiyou was a few years older than you—closer to 35 than he was to your 25—and had been in the bar industry for twice as long as you had. He was still youthful in spite of it, with tattoos on his arm, a buzzed head, and a piercing in his eyebrow—and you rarely noticed the gap in ages between you. Above all else he was a good coworker. Reliable. The two of you had become fast friends when you’d started working at the second bar that took you on just after graduation.

You swallowed your mouthful of food.

“That place is fucking swanky—why the hell did they hire you?” you asked, but the comment had no grounds and you both knew it. He was as good of a bartender as they came, and had taught you a lot in the few years that you’d been working together. 

You’d miss him.

“My old friend from college is the manager,” Shoji said, reaching for his own chopsticks and picking out a piece of pork from his bowl. “He’s been trying to convince me to come on board for the past couple of months,” he explained, leaning on his elbow as he watched you fish out a shiitake from your own bowl of broth. “He came in last week to talk to me about it again—remember him?” 

You vaguely recalled the man, though you forgot his name. He was wearing a suit and had smiled a lot, showing off his unnaturally white teeth. He’d been pleasant enough. 

“He liked you,” Shoji said. “A lot.”

“I’m not interested in getting set up with your buddy even if he does run the fanciest bar in Osaka,” you said with a roll of your eyes, pointing your chopsticks at him warningly.

“He’s married,” Taiyou laughed. “And he doesn’t want to date you, he wants to hire you.”

You paused.

“Me?” 

Shoji had twice the wealth of experience you did, so it made sense he’d get scouted by another bar. But you? You were just a college grad who bartended because apparently art history majors were not, in fact, in such a high demand at the moment. 

“He said you made him one of the best cocktails he’s had in a long time.”

“I'm pretty sure he only ordered a highball...”

“Just think about it, will ya? He liked you, and I vouched for your skills,” Shoji said with a long-suffering sigh at your recalcitrance, letting his hand hit the table with a determined thud. The broth in your bowl rippled at the impact. “I’m putting in my two weeks today, so that gives you fourteen days to make up your mind as to whether or not you’re coming with me.”

And you did think about it.

A lot.

You thought about it while you worked that night—shaking a Martini over your shoulder for one of your regulars: a middle aged woman who was meeting with her lawyer as they discussed the third divorce she’d gone through since you started working at the bar. 

You thought about it while you shopped for groceries after your closing shift on the eighth day at the 24 hour grocery store by your apartment, choosing between vegetables and ice cream because your budget didn't allow for both. (You chose the ice cream.)

You thought about it while you vacuumed your apartment on the thirteenth day, tripping over the cord of the appliance with a face mask smeared thick across your t-zone that promised to help improve the brightness of your skin. It had been dull as of late, and you chalked it up to too much thinking.

You handed in your notice the next morning.

It hardly feels right to call the third bar you find yourself employed at a simple bar at all when it's so much more than that. 

It has stunning views of the city skyline from the top floor of a newly constructed high-rise. There’s polished glass, black marble, and a profusion of other modern finishes decorating the space in a tasteful, luxurious way that never feels too heavy-handed. But your favourite part of the modern, sumptuous bar has to be the atmospheric lighting that casts the entire space in a dim, ethereal glow without ever diminishing the view. 

Going to work every day still feels like a dream.

And it’s here that you really get to shine. 

The liquors behind the bar are expensive and imported. There are bottles of wine on the wine list that cost more than a month’s rent at your old apartment—which you’ve since given up in favour of a one bedroom closer to your new place of work, that you can afford now on your own thanks to the substantial pay increase you’d gotten when you’d accepted the new position.

The job comes with more responsibility, commensurate to the pay-raise, to be sure—you help to curate drink menus, source new and exciting additions to the spirit shelves and wine list, deal with any issues with distributors that crop up along the way. But you get to mix drinks, ones you come up with yourself, and it’s given you the space you need to thrive.

The clientele of the new bar is elite; politicians, actors, and athletes flock to the space in droves. They're the kind of people who don’t bat an eye at the hefty bills that land in their hands at the end of night, or think twice about how many zeroes they scribble on to the tip at the bottom of their receipt to be split between you and the waitstaff.

All in all, you find the patrons at the downtown bar to be mostly tolerable.

Except for one.

Miya Atsumu: professional volleyball player for the MSBY Black Jackals, part-time heartthrob, and full-time pain in your ass.

He shows up every Friday night with a date—a standing reservation in his name.

He always orders two cocktails.

Never the same one twice.

The women nor the drinks.

It had started a few weeks after you’d begun your new job: a busy Friday evening, as always, and the most popular drink that night seemed to be the cocktail that you and head bartender Shoji had come up with—a slightly more modern take on a classic whiskey sour.

You were in the process of making three more of the evening’s special when a head of peroxide blonde hair suddenly popped into your line of sight. You looked up, meeting a pair of suspiciously soft brown eyes peering at you from the other side of the sparkling bartop.

“Hello,” you greeted the man politely, wiping your damp hands on the apron tied around your waist, condensation from the shaker you’d just been holding clinging to your fingertips. “Can I help you?”

Your eyes flickered down to the man’s hands as he set them on the counter and leaned towards you—long, inarguably elegant fingers wrapped around two cocktails identical to the ones you’d just been preparing. One was mostly drained while the other barely touched, though you could spot the soft ring of a lipstick mark along the edge of the polished glass.

“I was wonderin’ if ya might be able to do me a huge favour,” the man asked, voice teeming with what you were sure was meant to be charm but immediately set your teeth on edge. You couldn’t help but have a sudden, visceral flashback to the college boys who would leer at you over the counter in your first bar, and you found yourself taking a half step back from him without thinking.

His eyes flashed with a quiet confusion at your unsubtle retreat, but he didn’t seem to let it stop him.

“Ya see, my date and I both ordered this cocktail—but she really hates whiskey.”

“It’s a whiskey sour,” you replied, forcing yourself to keep your tone professional though it still came out a little flat. Why someone who hates whiskey would order a drink that was made of it perplexed you—but it happened far more often than you cared to linger on in your line of work.

“I know—and I happen to think it’s delicious—I thought she’d like it too but she says she absolutely can’t drink it.”

“Alright, I’d be happy to make you something else,” you said, tone slightly clipped but still accommodating. “What can I get for you?”

“Well, what would you recommend?” he asked, his blonde head tilting curiously to the side.

Your eyes dropped down to the three almost completed cocktails in front of you, which you’d already allowed to rest for too long thanks to the unexpected distraction. You set about completing them while you spoke with the man. 

“Well, she doesn’t like whiskey. What spirit does she like?” You finished garnishing the cocktails, waving over the server who had been waiting for them at the edge of the bar to hand them off.

“Uh, dunno…” The man scratched absentmindedly behind his ear.

You blinked at him blankly, biting back a scoff.

“Alright, well does she like sweet things?” you tried again.

The man pursed his full lips. “Not sure about that either.”

“Is there anything you know about this woman?” The biting comment slipped out before you had the presence of mind to stopper it behind your teeth—and you momentarily panicked, wondering if he was going to take offence.

He merely grinned at you wolfishly.

“I know she's a swimsuit model.”

You very nearly sneered.

You curled your hands into fists out of sight below the bar, counting to five in your mind to calm the rage you felt building in your gut.

“Okay,” you said, turning away and grabbing some ingredients off the wall behind you.

It wasn’t anything particularly complicated—a slightly modified take on an Aperol spritz. The man watched you while you worked, mixing up the two cocktails with a measured hand, offering a few facts about the beverage along the way as you were accustomed to doing.

You finished the drink off with a bit of briney salt spray over the surface of the bubbling beverage, the champagne still fizzing from having only just been poured over the ice.

“What’s that?” the man asked, watching you mist the drinks.

“Saline solution,” you explained, running a clean cloth over the edge of the glass to clean up a little drop that had spilled over the lip. “It’s salty—like the sea. People say it reminds them of the beach.”

“Perfect fer a swimsuit model.” The man nodded approvingly, flashing you a winning smile.

“Sure,” you agreed half-heartedly, handing the drinks to the evening’s most annoying customer over the counter.

“I’ll be sure to let ya know what she thinks!” 

You bit back the comment sitting on the tip of your tongue telling him not to bother—catching yourself that second time before saying something you’d regret.

You didn’t need him to come and tell you his date enjoyed her drink—even though he did make a point of doing so on his way out, his cheeks flushed a little pinker and hair a little more dishevelled than it had been when he first approached the bar that evening. The three more rounds of the same cocktail that had been ordered for his table (and the hefty tip he’d left, with specific instructions that it was to go directly to you) really told you everything you needed to know.

It became a routine after that.

Miya comes in on a Friday night, some exorbitantly beautiful woman on his arm, and he’s quickly seated at whatever table the front of house staff has ready and waiting for him. 

Moments after that, he rises to approach you at the bar. 

He’ll offer you some minute detail about his date (though occasionally it is mercifully pertinent to their drink preferences—like a spirit they enjoy or a flavour they’re partial to) and you’re left to come up with a cocktail that will appeal to them.

“So, what’s the story with this one?” he asks one evening, a few months into the little ritual that has settled between you, leaning over the counter as you whip up a drink for his lady of the week. His hints that night were: daughter of a mogul, refined tastes, wants to get messed up.

“Comes from Monaco. They say the queen devised the recipe herself—all the bubble of champagne but twice the punch. Ladies weren’t allowed to drink hard liquor without it being seen as unbecoming, so this was a way they could get away with it and still have a good time.” You strain the slightly green tinted drink into the waiting champagne flutes below the shaker, watching as the frothy liquid pools in the basin of the glass.

“Nice.” The man nods in approval as you top both drinks off with a float from a freshly popped bottle of champagne. The colour of the drink softens even further with the addition of the effervescent wine, and in the dim light of the bar you can hardly even tell it isn’t pure champagne. 

“Two imperials for your prim and proper date.” You slide the drinks over to his waiting hands.

“She won’t be proper fer long." Atsumu winks at you over the counter and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Your interactions with the regular customer have also shifted in the weeks since he’d started bothering you with his patronage—far less professional than the tone you’d tried (poorly) to maintain on his first few visits to the bar. 

“Revolting,” you mutter.

“Thanks again! I’ll let you know how this one goes.”

“Just leave me a nice tip,” you say dismissively, wiping down the bartop with a clean cloth to prepare for the next drink orders waiting to be filled.

“I always do,” the man chirps back, flashing you the same grin he always does—charming, self-assured, and utterly carefree—as he steps away towards his waiting date once more.

But he’s right: for all of Atsumu’s shenanigans, he always leaves you a very generous tip at the end of the night. He always ensures to stop by on his way out—one arm wrapped around the waist of whatever absurdly good looking woman he’s conned into going out with him that week—to tell you that they loved their drinks and to slide a neatly folded stack of bills towards you across the counter.

He’s annoying, but he’s single-handedly financing your habit of buying the really good ice cream on your weekly grocery trip, so you don’t complain much. 

You watch as Atsumu crosses the length of the room to return to his table—this week he’s been seated at one not far from the bar, which affords you the perfect view of him sliding into his seat and handing one of the two drinks you’d just carefully prepared to the woman waiting for him.

She takes a sip and smiles, and you watch as Atsumu reaches out to brush a piece of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than is necessary.

You look away with a roll of your eyes, setting to work on the numerous orders that have come in since you’d been busy preparing his drinks.

Good tipper or not, he really is completely shameless.

#miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu fanfiction #atsumu fanfiction #hq fic #hq writing #writing

[myaachum]

He Smelled of Citrus Pt. I

word count: 902

Tags: heavy angst, major character injury, mentions of death, blood, graphics depictions of injury, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

It starts as a seed, then a sprout, a tree, to flowers and fruit, before, finally, rotting limbs start to give way, bark peeling like rancid flesh, and what once was a magnificent trophy of nature returns once more to the soil below to start the cycle anew.

Thus is the life of a citrus tree.

Atsumu read somewhere once that at the end of their lives, citrus trees put out one last display of beauty; their branches so full of blossoms and fruit their scent can be smelled for miles, pungent and sweet. They stand at their end days, posturing as if to “Look at me! I am here! Aren’t I beautiful?” while simultaneously whispering “This is it. My magnum opus. I’m ready to say goodbye.” 

In the end, the weight of its own fruit proves to be too much for the tree, and its limbs - weary and brittle with age - fall one by one to the earth.

I want to go out like that, he remembers thinking. A grand finale for the shooting star that was Miya Atsumu.

Ah, the irony.

Dying in a back alley, alone and forgotten. It’s almost funny, he thinks. This is exactly what his bullies, from high school and the volleyball world alike, have wished upon him for years. It’s the exact way he’s always feared dying the most - alone, that is.

He coughs. The taste of blood is metallic on his tongue. There’s no pain, his body way beyond the point of shock. His hand has fallen away from the stab wound bisecting his midsection, muscles too weak to perform the task.

He’s not afraid of dying. Well he is in the way that all humans fear the unknown After, but not of the act itself, no.

No, what he’s afraid of is leaving Osamu behind. He’s afraid of all the things left unsaid. He’s afraid of dying with his feelings for his - not his - Omi lingering on his tongue, forever unspoken.

He coughs again. He feels blood drip down his chin, staining the white of his t-shirt. A scarlet signature, “Here Lies Miya Atsumu. Gone, Never Forgotten (ha)”

Distantly, he thinks he hears his phone ringing, but the sound is muffled by the ringing in his ears and the fact that his head feels full of cotton. After a minute or so of ringing, the tell-tale sound of his voicemail fills the alley.

“Ya’ve reached the phone of Miya Atsumu! If it’s important, leave a message after the beep. If yer name's Samu, don’t bother.”

Beep!

“Tsumu? Where’re ya? Sakusa-san told me ya got inna fight after practice. We’ve been looking for you for hours.” Osamu sounded more desperate than Atsumu had ever heard.

“Please at least let us know yer alright, ‘kay?” There was a sniffle from the speaker. “I’m worried, Tsumu. Somethin’s tellin’ me somethin’ bad’s happened to ya. Ya never disappear like this. Whatever it is, ya know ya always got a place here, right? I love ya, scrub, even if I don’t say it. Gimme a call when ya get the chance. Lemme know yer ok?”

Tears roll down Atsumu’s cheeks, mixing with blood. “Samu…” The word was silent, his throat too constricted, filled with blood, mucus, and some unnamed emotion to speak.

God, he’s really dying, isn’t he? This is it. There is no grand finale, no closure, nothing. He’s not gonna get the guy, he’s not going to the olympics, he’s not even going home.

He tries to sob, but it comes out as more of a gurgle.

It was stupid. The fight was stupid, running out of the locker rooms was stupid, trying to take a shortcut through an alley was stupid. All of it. And look where it got him. Bleeding out in some dingey back street because of some asshole armed with a knife and desperation.

He wishes he could go back. Apologize to Omi. Tell him the real reason his sets were off was actually because he was too busy looking at his spiker. That he's been in love with him since high school.

He wishes he could smell Omi's lemon hand sanitizer as their palms press flush together, fingers entangled as they walk. He wishes he could one day breathe in Omi's citrusy detergent wrapped up in sheets they picked out together.

He wishes he could've just confessed instead of taking the coward's way out, deflecting with insults leading to that inevitable fight. He wishes he could have- could have…

Well. It's too late now. Could have, should have, would have, as the saying goes.

He feels indescribably heavy. His limbs are leaden, useless where they lay sprawled out on filthy concrete. His neck is bent awkwardly in his position slumped against the brick wall. Normally it would be extremely uncomfortable. Given the circumstances, he doesn't even notice.

He doesn't know when his eyes closed or when his breathing turned shallow and frantic, lungs hungry to get any oxygen it could, body desperate to survive.

There's a shuffle at the mouth of the alley. Frantic voices and beating footsteps. Atsumu can't make any of it out. His head is underwater, thoughts dissolving like wet tissue paper. -

Something cold touches his face as his consciousness fades.

Vaguely, he thinks he can smell citrus. But that can't be right.

Finally, the last wisps of awareness leave him and the world fades to gray.

TBC.

© @𝚖𝚢𝚊𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚖 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝.

#haikyuu!! #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #miya twins #miya osamu #haikyuu fanfiction #miya atsumu fanfiction #sakuatsu #sakuatsu fanfiction #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu x sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #atsumu miya

[eurydicees]

the path to gold is paved with the bones of the monsters that came before us (sakuatsu/iwaoi, 29972 words)

It starts small— a volleyball camp in his hometown, an adrenaline rush, a dream— and it becomes something much too big for two hands to hold.

Or, Atsumu Miya, from glitter to gold.

aka my love letter to haikyuu in the form of a 30k word atsumu miya character study. for four days straight i have done nothing but work on this fic. i will never catch up to my emails again. please read.

#my writing #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #sakuatsu #sakuatsu fanfiction #miya atsumu fanfiction #iwaoi fanfiction #haikyuu!! #sakuatsu fic #atsumu miya #i have no idea how to tag this i am so tired guys. for real i've thought about nothing but this fic for four days. my brain is rot.

[the-haikyuu-trash]

oikawa toru, bokuto koutaro, kuroo tersuro, matsukawa issei, atsumu miya, konoha akinori, meian shugo, hinata shoyo, tanaka ryunosuke, sugawara koushi, tendou satori

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fanfiction #x reader #haikyuu fluff #fluff #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #bokuto koutaro #haikyuu!! #miya atsumu #oikawa tooru #oikawa #kuroo tetsuro #haikyuu hc #matsukawa issei #hinata shoyou #konoha akinori #meian #meian shugo #tanaka ryunosuke #haikyuu headcanons #oikawa hc #kuroo hc #bokuto hc #hinata gc #atsumu hc #matsukawa hc #sugawara koushi #tendo satori

[wttcsms]

triple trouble, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 1.6k synopsis atsumu steals every reporters' attention as he introduces the media to his triplets during a post-game interview; or, more accurately, his triplets steal all the attention. like father, like sons. content contains domestic fluff, dad!atsumu, atsumu & reader are married and so in love, babies, mention of pregnancy more in this collection!

The flashes of cameras going off, the constant exclamations of “Miya! Miya!” coming from the crowd of journalists and reporters all vying for his attention, the fact that the foldout chairs they use for all these post-game interviews are harder on your ass than falling on asphalt — all of this is being handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

Or, normally all of this would be handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

But right now, the Atsumu Miya struggling to take a seat in the most uncomfortable chair known to man, dyed hair a mess, his usual trademark smirk replaced by furrowed brows and a look of concentration, doesn’t appear to be the godlike adversary on the court. In fact, he looks oddly human. 

The cause of what has humbled this cocky athlete and reduced him to mere mortal man are the three chubby toddlers he’s cradling in his arms. 

All of them are identical, from their chubby cheeks to their little grubby hands. Heads full of thick, dark brown hair (reminiscent of their father’s natural color) poke out from Atsumu’s hold, and the eighteen-month-olds’ eyes are all full of childlike wonder as they watch the crowd, confused as to who all these people are. 

After finally getting settled into his seat, Atsumu addresses the crowd casually, as if he didn’t spend the last two minutes ensuring that his baby boys weren’t going to slip from his arms while he tried to prepare for this interview. Akimitsu is secured in his left arm, Akihiko in the right, leaving poor Akinari to cling onto Atsumu’s neck. 

While athletes have been getting more comfortable with bringing their kids up on stage with them, no one has ever seen a professional athlete haul his three babies with him. 

A fact that one reporter is more than happy to point out.

“Miya, wife put you on babysitting duty?” A male journalist calls out from the crowd. A few chuckles follow, but Atsumu just smiles at the mention of you.

“Nah. It’s not babysittin’ if they’re your damn kids, right? Besides, she deserves a break.” A few appreciative murmurs flutter through the crowd. 

After the initial surprise of seeing identical triplets being carried in the MSBY Black Jackals’ setter’s arms, the reporters are back to business as usual. They’re all professionals — even if hearing Atsumu give them a great quote to use as a hook (“I respect Nakamura as a human bein’ but calling him a setter for a professional league volleyball team is an insult to setters everywhere.”) is followed by him cooing sweet words of affirmation to whichever of his sons happens to be babbling in his ears. 

“Nakamura isn’t a very good player, is he, Akihiko?” No one outside of your family and his teammates have ever heard Atsumu sound so affectionate. His words are practically coated in sugar, and it’s hard to remember that he’s insulting another player in the league whenever he’s practically bumping noses with his toddler son when he says it. 

Akihiko, most likely due to his father’s influence, lets out a stream of enthusiastic gurgles that Atsumu automatically translates to him being in complete agreement with him. 

“Write that down.” He says to the crowd. “Even my baby knows he’s shit at the game.” 

There’s a few more minutes of Atsumu answering the usual post-game questions, but halfway through one of his responses, Akinari loses his grip on Atsumu’s neck and is about to tumble to the floor before Atsumu’s reflexes kick in. You’ve made a joke once that you think Atsumu’s reflexes have become heightened after becoming a father; his athletic instincts have merged with the famous “dad reflexes” all fathers seem to be gifted with. (Atsumu tells reporters that this is why he keeps on becoming a better player; people think his family would hold him back, but once again, family is his greatest blessing.)

“Ya gotta hang onto me, buddy.” Atsumu can’t even pretend to be stern when he tells this to Akinari, who only smiles at him and exclaims something unintelligible. He shifts Akinari to his left arm, relaxes back in his seat, and is even excited to answer a question concerning his play style compared to Tobio Kageyama’s, but as he readjusts the two boys in his arms, Atsumu can’t help but startle at the fact that he has three kids. Not just two. 

Momentarily panicked, he almost wants to ask why the hell no one told him one of his kids jumped ship but then he feels a tug on the bottom hem of his volleyball shorts. 

Peering under the table, Atsumu is greeted with the sight of Akimitsu’s mischievous little face. He’s the oldest of the three and takes after Atsumu the most — meaning, he’s the cutest little nightmare there could ever be. 

“Whatcha doin’ under the table, Mitsu?” Atsumu asks, and Akimitsu gives out a happy, gleeful shriek. He’s clapping his grubby hands together and cheering. 

“Dada found me!” 

“I did find ya, buddy.” Atsumu coos. “Now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap?” 

After wrangling up all his kids once more, Atsumu sighs and looks up at the timer in front of him. 

“I have enough time for one more question.” He tells the crowd.

“Are you excited to get out of here and get back home to the wife?” 

“I’m always happy to come home to [Name]. If there’s a professional league for motherhood, she’s going into the hall of fame. I don’t know how she handles these fools by herself all day.” 

Akihiko takes a tiny, chubby hand and smacks Atsumu in the face. Repeatedly. 

“Home! Home!” His slaps get slightly more aggressive, but Atsumu’s received some serves with his face before, so it doesn’t really phase him. “Home! Mama!” 

“Well, you heard the man.” Atsumu actually gives a genuine smile for the cameras. “We gotta head home.”

You’re applying your moisturizer in the bathroom despite the mirror being fogged up from the hot shower. It’s probably why you don’t anticipate strong arms wrapping themselves around your body, and you gasp before your muscle memory recognizes him. Your body easily relaxes against his, and you’re smiling as you ask your husband, 

“Had a good day today?”

“We took ‘em in two straight sets. Slaughtered the other team to the point where it wasn’t even fair.” He angles his head just right so he can kiss you on the cheek, but you gently slap him away.

“I’m putting on moisturizer right now.”

“Great. My lips are dry.” He goes in for another kiss, and even though you’re giggling, trying to pull away from him, he still plants a peck on your soft skin. “Should I go for seconds, just for good measure?” He teases.

“Hmm, I guess so.” 

“Oh? What’s with the change? Realize how much you can’t live without my touch?” He pulls you in closer to him, your back pressed firmly against his chest. He’s fresh out the shower, stray droplets of water greedily clinging onto his skin. 

“Maybe.” You tilt your head back on the front of his shoulder so that you can see him. “You know your interview is trending on Twitter, right?” 

“Oh, yeah? Bet Nakamura’s pissed.” Atsumu sounds too happy at the concept. 

“No. There’s actually an interesting clip that keeps going around. Someone already used it as an intro for a thirst edit of you.” 

You like it when Atsumu is thinking. There’s an adorable crease in between his furrowed brows, and you can practically see him going through the memory files in his brain, trying to figure out what could possibly be worthy of inspiring an edit of him. 

“You seriously don’t know?” You’re laughing at him, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world. Atsumu doesn’t take kindly to being the butt of a joke, but from the moment he saw you, he knew he’d do anything to stay by your side, even becoming a fucking court jester if that’s what it took. 

You reach for your phone on the counter, taking a few seconds to load up the fan edit you have favorited. 

He’s burying his face in your hair, hiding away as he hears the audio of him going now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap playing on a loop. He groans when you let it replay, uncharacteristically shy as you keep telling him to watch it. 

“The comments are the best part, though, baby!” You haven’t been able to stop giggling at jackingthejackalsoff’s very bold and very true statement of yeah, if i were [name], i’d pop out triplets for him too tf 😭🙏.  

As Atsumu’s hands travel to rest against the growing swell of your belly, you tease him. “So, when the twins are born, do you think you’ll have enough space in your arms to haul all five of our kids, or should we finally use that baby chest carrier Shoyo gifted us?” 

“I can carry all of ‘em and you onto that stage.” He regrets making this smug remark whenever you slightly drop your teasing tone and use what he dubs The Mom Voice on him.

“Oh? If that’s true, then why did it take you so long to realize Akimitsu crawled out of your arms while you were busy calling your opponents scrubs?” 

“Have I ever told you what a wonderful mother you are? And this moisturizer! Wow, I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your skin, baby, but keep it up.” He’s peppering your face with more kisses, hurriedly trying to change the subject, and you gladly let him.

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #hq headcanons #fluff #one shot #drabble #hq fanfiction #atsumu headcanons #dad!atsumu #imagine #series: sweet everything

[kairismess]

HE MIGHT'VE ... MESSED UP.

🏐 genre: fluff !

🍰 summary: he might've pushed you a little over the edge, and when you gave him the silent treatment, he couldn't handle it. he's gonna make it up to you, somehow.

🍥 author's note: is this just an excuse to make an smau? yes no

atsumu miya

atsumu tends to be very annoying when you're ignoring him. you used to think he was aware on how clingy and irritating he can be in hope to get your attention, but no, you have a feeling that–with how much he's been blowing your notifs up, he's probably unaware of how insufferable his apology is. but in a way, it becomes a little... sweet. just a little bit.

fast forward to a few hours later, and he's at your doorstep with all your favorite foods. he calls you, and in a sweet (yet unbearably smug) voice, tells you, "see, sweetie? it's not easy to ignore me... now please don't ignore me ever again, i can't take it... and let me in, please? i wanna apologize! and maybe... make out with you as an apology?"

he's looking up at you with desperation in his brown orbs, with a smile that really hoped you'd let him in and correct his mistakes; and show you that he loves you too much to let you stay mad at him for so long.

tooru oikawa

oikawa isn't the best at communication, despite being so charismatic and able to charm so many of his fans, he has always been scared of losing you. he has had exes before, but he never wished to make one out of you; he loved you too much, he couldn't imagine his life before he met you anymore or had you as his own. hence, he did everything in his power to get you back... through messaging you desperately.

surprisingly, this worked.

and the next day, he was at your beck and call. he'd carry your bag and things for you, take you to your every class, compliment you here and there, treat you to your favorite snacks, buy you things to keep you from getting angry at him, and dedicating every serve at practice for you, despite the other guys on the team (specifically iwaizumi) wanting to punch him for indirectly showing off his lovely girlfriend.

but, no matter, as long as he fixed his mistake and made you happy again... he was okay with it all.

rintaro suna

this boy had a tendency to anger you, and being his girlfriend, you were basically forced to be the butt of all his teasing. one day, he went too far on accident, and you ignored him for almost a week. if this was anyone else, suna would just shrug it off and wait until they'd talk to him again.

but you weren't just anybody. you were the one to suna, even if he didn't show it–he loved you, and he missed having you by his side. he knew he needed to talk to you again, no matter how awkward it'd be.

and he did just that. he facetimed you in the middle of practice and apologized to you over the phone with his classic neutral face. but his tone was slightly different, it carried an air of genuine apology–and his eyes bore into yours, not tearing his eyes away from you for even a second.

he hopes he can be with you tomorrow at school, so he can admire all your beauty the next day. he'll cut back on the teasing, for now, he'll just compliment you and tell the truth: you're too gorgeous for him to handle (while showing you atsumu and osamu's latest brawl).

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #suna rintaro #suna x reader #suna haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x f!reader #hq x female reader #atsumu x female reader #suna x female reader

[teamatsumu]

kinktober 2023 -> day 17

dirty talk - miya atsumu x reader

word count: 583

kinktober masterlist

Everyone in Atsumu’s life knew he had a big mouth. He was the guy who didn’t know when to shut up. And it annoyed the crap out of everyone. His friends, his teammates, his twin brother. However, you had never once complained about it.

When you first said you didn’t really mind Atsumu’s lack of filter, everyone was rightfully shocked. Osamu had questioned you on multiple occasions about it (“how do you fight the urge to just deck him across the face?”) and Suna had straight up declared you a psycho (he was being dramatic, of course). You had a feeling that if they knew exactly why you loved Atsumu running his mouth, they would never look at you the same.

You looked on at your boyfriend right now, eyes shining with adoration and pure lust as you watched him fall apart at the feeling of your pussy clinging to his cock in a death grip.

“H-ha~” Atsumu’s moan was high and broken, his hair disheveled and matted to his forehead by sweat, red flush covering his cheeks, his neck, all the way down to his bare chest. His arms flexed when he gripped your thighs hard, pushing them further up to rest on either sides of your torso, bending you in half. You sighed when it made his dick hit deeper in you, and Atsumu cursed.

“B-baby, fuck.” His voice sounded so wrecked, you were sure you could cum just from that. “Pumped ya full of loads of cum and yer still tight as hell. God, yer so perfect. Pussy made just fer me, yeah?”

You moaned at the words and nodded furiously, the slow slide of his cock growing torturous. He was throbbing inside you, balls tight and ready for him to cum again. Your pelvis was covered in your own juices and his cum, your legs wobbling and shaking in his hold. Your core was tingling with overstimulation, but you wanted more, more, more.

“Tsumu.” you gasped, trying to convey to him what you needed. Your tear filled eyes saw his own face stretch with a wide smirk.

“Whatcha want? Another load? Ya want more cum?” His voice dropped low, eyes like molten earth, burning into you. He leaned over you, resting his weight on you, before he pulled back to slam his hips down hard against you. You yelped when he hit your sweet spot.

“You greedy slut. How much more ya want? Yer spillin all over the place. Can’t even hold this much cum in ya. But ya still want it. Fine, then. Princess gets what princess wants.”

And there was his mouth, running and running, words getting filthier and filthier, slurring together as he picked up the pace. His thrusts were getting more and more sloppy, quicker, desperate. You could feel, for the thousandth time, the knot in your lower stomach tightening. You were so close.

“Make a mess on me, baby. C’mon. Need ta feel ya gush all over me. I know you have it in ya. I know what this sweet pussy can give me. Ya want my cum? Gimme yer cum first, sweetheart. C’mon. Milk my cock-”

And you toppled over the edge, feeling more and more wetness coat your thighs and his hips, babbling nonsensical words while Atsumu talked about how good you looked and how fucking amazing it feels and oh god, he was gonna cum too….

Miya Atsumu’s big mouth came in handy sometimes. The people in his life just didn’t know that.

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu smut #miya atsumu fanfiction #miya atsumu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #kinktober #miya atsumu

[cr4yolaas]

not strong enough — miya osamu

notes: based off of “not strong enough” by boygenius <3

tags: reverse comfort, cheating implications (no actual cheating), self-deprecation + jealousy (osamu), super heartfelt tho

osamu hadn’t been home lately.

the kitchen was devoid of heart and soul. gone was the warmth that seeped into the apartment at his presence, or the comfort that his voice provided as it wafted through the halls. you didn’t see nor feel him anymore, save for the few glimpses of him getting ready before the sun could even greet your windowsill.

miya osamu was disappearing from your life, and you could do nothing but prepare for it.

you instantly feared the worst — that he was planning to leave you, or that he was seeking solace in another, or anything else that involved him separating himself from the life he built in your shared home. and so, delusion after delusion fed into one another, thus leading to an overwhelming bubble of anxiety that infected every inch of your bones.

when you had finally seen him — not just witnessed his shadow in the darkness of a lonesome bedroom — he appeared as if he had just barely dragged himself home. his skin hung heavy under his eyes, his hair was oily and tousled, his hands seemingly obtained an impossible amount of callouses and burns and scratches. you did not say a word, fearful for his response. instead, you held him in your arms in the doorway as he collapsed to the floor, the buckle of his knees bringing you down with him.

you could hear the remnants of an apology muttered into your shirt (his shirt, truthfully).

“what was that, ‘samu?” you whispered, your voice barely reaching his ears.

he turned his head to look to the side with his cheek still firm on your shoulder. “don’t ya ever wish things were different?”

his voice was hoarse; it was littered with exhaustion and pain and misery that you could not begin to understand. his question nestled itself deep into your lungs. you weren’t entirely sure what he was asking.

“a life where you’re living comfortably … and you’re free to do whatever your want …” he began to trail off, his features lined with sleepiness. “didn’t ya ever want that?”

you began to rub circles around his back, which was damp from the sweat that accumulated beneath his work uniform. you were waiting patiently for him to say it — to tell you to go pursue greater things to conceal his desire to rid himself of you, or that he didn’t deserve you because he had committed an act of betrayal. but instead, he continued, “‘tsumu’s doing great things … ‘n he’s rich ‘n happy ‘n famous and so much more. but what about me? what have i done?”

his words dissipated gradually. the cracks in his voice exposed him quite easily, not to mention the teardrops staining your skin. “you’ve done more than enough for me, ‘samu. i’m sorry i didn’t make you feel that way.” your boyfriend only gripped onto your harder, as if he were scared you would melt away if he didn’t.

“i jus’ wanna make you happy. i’m not sure if my job can even do that,” he muttered. “i’m trying to work harder at the shop, but i’m scared it isn’t enough.”

if it were situationally acceptable, you would have heaved a heavy sigh of relief. but it was not — so instead, you began to hold him impossibly tighter. “you don’t need to work so hard for me to love n’ appreciate you. everything about you is enough to make me happy,” you spoke softly to him. “as long as you’re by my side, i’m happy.”

miya osamu, despite his intricacies, was a delicate man at heart. that night, as you held him at the front door, the porcelain shell concealing his truest soul had shattered.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu!! fanfics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #haikyuu osamu #osamu haikyuu #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #osamu angst #osamu smut #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu haikyuu #atsumu miya

[verslxt]

shut up let me sleep ft haikyuu boys

“mhm shut up” you mumbled out as they persisted with bugging you. the finally got up from the bed and let you sleep opting to go to the kitchen and make you breakfast instead it’s about 45 minutes later when they come in with a plate of bacon, eggs, grits (SO GOOD) and pancakes “love you didn’t have to do this!” you say sitting up. “i did it because i love you” they say setting the trey down

ushijima, kita, aran, iwaizumi, and mainly ushijima, asahi, suga, daichi(maybe semi)

“mhm shut up let me sleep” “no.”

atsumu, hinata, bokuto, nishinoya, suna, tanaka, goshiki, oikawa and tendou

“mhm let me sleep” “fine” *sits on phone till you wake up*

suna, sakusa, semi, iwaizumi, ushijima (sometimes) daichi, suga, and tendou (also sometimes)

#suna rintarō #suna x reader #suna x you #suna rintaro scenarios #atsumu miya #atsumu fluff #hq atsumu #miya atsumu #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu #haikyuu captains #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader headcanons #haikyuu x y/n

[kitasgloves]

You're an Inarizaki graduate in a relationship with the SAKUSA KIYOOMI. You were close with the Miya bros, especially Atsumu, and friends with the entire Inarizaki volleyball club. You already had a longtime crush on Sakusa when you watched the practice match between Inarizaki and Itachiyama. You were forever grateful that Atsumu forced you to watch game because you wouldn't be able to have seen Sakusa.

You're working as PR in the MSBY Black Jackals and got reunited with Atsumu (unfortunately). He knows your big fat crush on Sakusa and tries to be your wingman. His plan? He gets you drunk in a party and forces you in a room alone with Sakusa. He claimed it would give you the enough courage to confess.

You confessed but you couldn't remember what Sakusa's reaction was. It ended up with Sakusa taking you to his place because you're incredibly drunk and unable to get home on your own. You woke up to the worst hungover since college and a shirtless Sakusa making breakfast calling you 'darling'.

The rest is history. You and Sakusa have been together for more than two years. Although you two seemed like the ideal couple, there has been frequent verbal fights lately. It mostly had something to do with conflicting schedules and a lot of dates cancelled. Sakusa was a busy athlete and your job as the PR didn't mix well with his hectic schedule.

"This is the fifth time that I have to cancel reservation, Omi!"

"Then just stop making reservations! You know how busy I am so don't get mad that I couldn't make up to our date!"

"You could've at least made an effort to! Or say sorry!"

"We've gone through this over and over again [Name] and I'm getting sick of it"

"So, what? You're sick of me?"

"Maybe I am!"

This argument was different from the previous. You were left stunned as Sakusa breathlessly glared at you, shattering your heart into smithereens. Immediately, your eyes felt wet as you turned around, grabbed your keys, phone, and wallet and stormed out of the apartment. You completely missed the sheer regret that erupted on Sakusa's face.

You called up Atsumu and asked to meet up at Onigiri Miya. When you arrived there and saw the blonde setter, you quickly went in for a hug and sobbed your poor heart out. Atsumu knew you had another fight with your boyfriend since you've been telling him about it for the past few days. It seemed like today, a line was crossed.

Sakusa tried reaching your phone but you have put your phone in airplane mode. Osamu kindly made you your favorite onigiri as you told them about the fight. Of course, the twins took over your side because they've known you for a very long time. You stayed over at Osamu's and had a sleepover with the Miya twins.

The next day, Sakusa was driving all the way to Osamu's place. He has found your whereabouts through his cousin Komori who he got from his teammate, Suna Rintaro. He sucked in a breath and knocked on the door. What he was not expecting was a very serious-faced Atsumu Miya answering the door.

"The hell are ya doin' here?"

"I need to pick up my girlfriend"

"She doesn't wanna be with ya right now"

"That's none of your business, Miya"

Atsumu gives Sakusa a humorless laugh and gives him the most intimidating glare that Sakusa has ever seen from him. Usually, the blonde setter is all smirks and smiles but seeing this death glare from him actually made Sakusa physically shiver.

"Ya made her cry all the way over here sayin' that yer sick of her! Do ya have any idea of the amount of effort she puts in scheduling a dinner fer the both of ya 'cuz she misses ya so much?"

Sakusa was officially speechless as he gulped. He rigidly stands there and gets his well-deserved scolding from Atsumu Miya of all people.

"[Name] means a lot to me 'cuz she's like a sister so if I ever catch her cry 'cuz of you again, I will personally beat yer ass then skin ya alive and give ya some bonus ass whoopin' from Osamu and the entire Inarizaki alumni"

Atsumu warned him. And Sakusa makes sure to keep that in mind. The blonde sighs and finally takes a step aside from the door.

"Go apologize to her and make up, Omi-kun"

Sakusa doesn't need to be told twice as he rushed inside the apartment, not bothering to take off his shoes and pounced at you in the kitchen. You just woke up but you were pleasantly surprised with your boyfriend profusely apologizing to you.

Osamu places a hand on his hip and looked at his twin. Atsumu was smiling as if he didn't just threatened Sakusa earlier.

"What did ya tell him?"

"Oh nothing, just gave him a little warnin' that's all"

Osamu knows Atsumu is a lying piece of shit.

#— ♬ ©kitasgloves #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #komori motoya #suna rintarou #inarizaki #haikyuu msby

[captain-hawks]

STRESS RELIEF

♡ — atsumu miya x f!reader

Atsumu may be a legendary setter, but he’s also an incredibly sore loser. And all other forms of post-game slump stress relief pale in comparison to a particular one he shares with you.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.4k

prompt — lactation kink

additional content — established relationship, fingering, squirting, coming in pants, coming untouched, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, cockwarming, questionable refractory periods, multiple orgasms, cum eating, insatiable Atsumu, Miya twin bickering, timeskip!Atsumu

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“Is there a reason ya always call me to babysit after losin’ a game?” 

Atsumu can hear the exasperation in his brother’s voice on the other end of the line, dulled slightly by the hum of customers chattering away in the background. He ignores Osamu’s question, shifting slightly from where he’s seated on the bench in the locker room as he tugs at his sweat-soaked MSBY jersey, pulling the material free from its damp grip on his chest.

“Some godfather you are,” he snarks back, offering Bokuto a wave as he slaps him on the back while walking past him on his way to the showers. “And how’d ya know we lost anyway, ain’t ya at work?”

Osamu snorts, “Had the game on in the office while I was working on the books. You played like shit.”

“Bite me,” Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his haphazard blonde locks. 

“I’m leavin’ the restaurant in about an hour.”

“I’m droppin’ her off in forty-five.”

“Take a goddamn shower first, ya pig. I can smell you from here.”

“Fuck you, Samu.”

He can practically hear the middle finger that his brother proffers to the phone as Osamu laughs, hanging up on him. Atsumu trudges to the showers to wash away the grime from the court—and hopefully some of his sour mood in the process.

—

In the years that you’ve been together, Atsumu has always been a sore loser when it comes to his favorite sport, even more so once he went pro. He cycles through different ways of working through his disappointment with himself after tough games, ranging from forcing himself to run miles on end until he’s nearly throwing up when he regretfully calls you to come and pick him up halfway across town, to dragging Osamu out for impromptu boxing sessions (“Ya tryin’ to make yer face even more ugly?!”), to binge eating ice cream on the couch (until he’s then also throwing up). 

Sex, of course, is also one of his favorite (and least self-destructive) options, though his frustration-fuelled stamina is enough to leave you both fucked out beyond belief. 

However, following the birth of your daughter just over a year ago, Atsumu found…a new form of stress relief.

One where he’d prefer to have no interruptions. 

Hence the recruitment of Uncle Osamu, who probably just thinks his pouty, needy brother forces him into babysitting duties to have loud, raunchy sex with his wife all night. 

Not quite.

—

“You’re worse than our daughter,” you fondly groan at Atsumu when he immediately starts tugging off your jacket the moment you step in your front door after swinging by Osamu’s house, his impatient energy coming off of him in waves.

Atsumu’s sound of protest dies in his throat when he spins back around from hanging it up to watch you slip off your shoes, his pupils expanding from eager to lust-blown the moment his gaze falls on the two wet spots already soaking through the thin material of your sundress.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his lips slotting tenderly against yours as he pushes you up against the wall, one hand coming up to cup your tender breasts.

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, and you part them, sighing into your husband’s mouth as he deepens the kiss. You card your fingers through his still-damp hair, keening at the feeling of his thumb teasing your peaked nipples through the fabric. The arousal simmering in your gut sparks, pleasure seeping through your nerves with each deft sweep of his hands along your skin as he effortlessly unhooks your bra, tosses it to the ground, and pulls down the straps of your dress.

“Can’t even wait till we get to the bedroom?” You ask teasingly.

“Nope,” he replies, though the sound is muffled from where his mouth is now latched on to one of your engorged, leaking tits. 

Atsumu has never been one for patience. 

You haven’t pumped all day, and the soothing feeling of Atsumu needily lapping at your tender nipples, milk flowing into his mouth, has you whimpering in relief. Knees going weak with a flush of arousal, you start to slide to the floor, and Atsumu follows suit, his warm body slotted between your spread legs as he continues to drink from you. 

The house is quiet save for the wet, sucking sounds of Atsumu’s mouth slurping at your swollen tits, punctuated at intervals by his groans—the vibration of which makes you shiver—and the breathy, keening noises falling from your own lips.

You reach down, carding your fingers through his hair, running them from his messy, blonde strands to the soft, dark brown undercut beneath. He sucks harder, letting his teeth graze a pert nipple in the way he knows makes your toes curl, and you gasp, arching into his touch as you give his hair a rough tug in return. 

Atsumu moans, and you do it again, tipping his head back enough to take in the dazed look in his eyes, milk coating his lips and dripping down his chin. Suddenly, you become very aware of the way your arousal-soaked panties are clinging wetly to your folds, sticky and plastered against your eager, aching cunt. 

A knowing smirk teases its way across his full lips, and Atsumu snakes a hand up the skirt of your dress, running a finger down your slit. Separated from his deft touch by both your stockings and underwear, he teases you by pushing his fingertip firmly against the nylon and cotton where your fluttering entrance is. The material gives just enough, breaching your hole and scraping wetly against the tight walls of your cunt, and you whine, bucking into his touch as you plead for more. 

You can feel another spurt of milk dribbling from one of your tits, and Atsumu dips his head back down to catch it, tongue tracing a broad stroke from your belly to your nipple as he laps it all up. And just when he latches back on to milk you further, you hear a ripping sound as he tears a hole in your stockings, one large enough to slip his hand into. He then uses his thumb to pull your panties aside, swiftly plunging two fingers right into your damp pussy knuckle deep. 

“Atsumu,” you pant out, bucking up into him, the slick squelch of him finger fucking you warring with the sounds of his wet mouth fervently sucking on your breasts. 

He groans your name, drinking deeply from one tit as he massages and squeezes the other, pulling away for a moment to let milk squirt and spray against his lips. The feeling building inside of you burns its way down your throat and into the pit of your abdomen, your tightly coiled composure beginning to unfurl amid a slick, exhilarating thrum of pleasure. 

Feeling the way the muscles in your thighs have clenched, he swipes his thumb over your clit, stroking circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves as he firmly curls his fingers inside of you. The tidal wave of pleasure bursts, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you come hard. 

Atsumu’s own steady sucking grows sloppy as he moans loudly when he feels you squirt all over him, smearing spit and milk across the swell of your tits. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he pauses in his ministrations for a moment to suck off the creamy results of your orgasm before returning to the streams of milk leaking down your chest. 

“Haaaaaah, oh f-fuck,” he groans as his entire body tenses and then goes entirely limp, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as he presses his forehead against your breasts, breathing hard. 

“Did you come in your pants again?” you ask, already knowing the answer. 

He nods, voice slightly muffled against your skin, “Ya know what you squirting does ta me.”

Playing with his hair, you smile, “Good thing we have all night.”

And Atsumu makes the most of it, both of you stumbling into the bedroom in your post-orgasmic bliss and collapsing against the mattress, slowly taking turns peeling off one another’s clothes until you’re both naked, his cum-soaked boxers left forgotten on the floor.

The thrum of anxiety and frustration from the game still lingers, and you know Atsumu hasn’t had his fill yet.

If this didn’t turn the both of you on so much, you know he’d otherwise latch on for hours on end without stopping once for air, suckling every last drop of milk from your swollen tits till the sun begins peeking over the horizon. And it’s not that you don’t spend hours with him lapping up your milk on nights like this, it’s just also always littered with copious amounts of orgasms, his normal refractory period taking a backseat to whatever milk-fuelled stamina keeps cum pumping from his cock far more times than either of you could ever hope to count. 

An hour later, you’re on your back, legs spread as Atsumu drags his tongue up your slit, lapping up a glob of his cum that’s leaking out of you. He leans in to kiss you, his filthy mouth slotting against yours tenderly, and you can feel as more cum from his last two climaxes drips out of you and onto the sheets below. 

He’s left your tits untouched for a bit, mouth otherwise occupied swallowing down your moans as he fucked you deep and slow. Milk dribbles down your body, and you arch your body up into his where he hovers over you, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it through the wet, sticky mess. 

“Here I thought I was the needy one,” he quips, a boyish grin on his face. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you’re done.”

“Not even close.”

This time, when his hot lips latch onto your tits, there’s nothing slow or gentle about it. He’s greedy in the way he sucks and slurps, palming at your breasts and groping your ass and squeezing your thighs. Need courses through you as you wrap your legs around his waist, both of you moaning in unison as his thick cock sinks into your cunt again. 

The sound of him fucking his cum back inside of you is filthy, and you revel in it, nails digging into his shoulders and the heel of your foot pressing into his lower back as you urge him to go deeper. 

He bites and sucks at the sensitive skin of your breasts, the mattress creaking loudly beneath you as he begins to roughly fuck you into it, cum leaking onto his balls and dripping down your ass. Your chest heaves as pleasure snaps through you like a whip, drunk on the combined feeling of the downright feral way Atsumu’s drinking your milk and the relentless way he’s pounding into your tight cunt. 

When you come this time, it’s with a shout, vision going white as your pussy clenches down on his shaft. His orgasm follows in kind, Atsumu sucking on your nipple like his life depends on it while his cock pulses within the grip of your slick walls, once again filling you to the brim with another load of hot cum. 

Atsumu collapses on top of you afterward, both of your bodies limp with exhaustion, though not enough to stop him from keeping his mouth latched to one of your tits, idly sucking away. 

—

You don’t realize that the two of you fell asleep, not until you rouse to the soft morning light coming through your bedroom window and a round of knocks coming from your front door. When you go to shift, you find Atsumu’s head pillowed on chest, still unconsciously sucking on one of your nipples, even in his sleep. You roll your eyes fondly, stroking his hair. 

Atsumu hums, stirring slightly. Softened cock still lodged inside of you, he rolls his hips, and you moan softly at the combined pleasure from the feeling of him sliding through the copious amounts of cum he filled you with and the hypersensitivity of being touched when you’re still half asleep. His eyes open slightly, and he gives you a tired little smile as he groans, mouth falling open as he rocks into you again. 

His cock is quick to react, the feeling of his thick shaft hardening inside of the tight squeeze of your cunt leaving you breathless. 

There’s another series of knocks at the front door, followed by the buzz of a text message on his phone. 

Atsumu presses a kiss to your nipple before dragging his lips up the column of your throat, mouth capturing yours. 

Another knock. 

He pulls out and thrusts back into you deeply, languidly, cock dragging against your cum-soaked walls with ease. 

Your phone buzzes. 

Lazy, gentle kisses follow. 

His phone begins to ring. 

Atsumu reaches out in the direction of the nightstand, shoving his phone to the floor and ignoring everything but the way you keen and writhe beneath him as he fucks you through one more wet, tired, blissful orgasm. 

—

Osamu, fully dressed in his Onigiri Miya uniform, looks like he’s weighing the pros and cons of fratricide when Atsumu finally opens the front door in a robe, his hands and a brush no match for what an all-night marathon of sex and sucking on your tits has done to his hair. 

“I have a staff meetin’ in an hour, ya horny bastard,” he growls when he walks in, the malice a direct contrast to the way he then proceeds to coo over his sleeping niece when he sets her down in her carrier. 

“We slept in,” Atsumu says casually, though his air of nonchalance is thrown off by the way Osamu unceremoniously shoves the diaper bag into his arms. 

“Yer a shit liar.”

Exiting the  bathroom looking far more put together than your husband, you place a finger to your lips as you gesture to your child, who’s somehow conked out despite their raised voices. 

Osamu offers you an apologetic look, though he shoots his brother another glare when you make your way into the kitchen. 

“Thanks again, Samu. Want something for breakfast before you head to work?” you ask him. 

Atsumu pours himself a glass of orange juice in the meantime. 

“Toast would be great.”

“Thought ya were in a rush,” Atsumu snarks before rolling his eyes and taking a large sip from his cup. 

Rifling through the fridge, you brandish a hand in the direction of the myriad of beverages on the shelf. “Drink?”

“Milk’s fine.”

Atsumu chokes. 

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu miya #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu smut #dee writes

[ghost-recs]

Atsumu Fic Rec

you're not the one by heartcondemned [ao3]

synopsis: stuck in the friendzone with suna, you have the brilliant idea of fake dating one of his best friends - miya atsumu.

i started this looking for a good suna x reader fic, but was utterly pulverized by astumu... i'm not complaining tho (option to choose either atsumu or suna at the end)!

msby black jackels online! by mooshys [ao3]

@mooshys

synopsis: the crazy things that atsumu the msby black jackels want to post on their socials and the things they atsumu put you through.

mostly a good laugh and scenarios that imagine what it would be like interacting with the msby black jackels, turns into something a little more.

#these fics you guys #atsumu got me feeling a certain way #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #hq #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #msby atsumu #msby black jackal #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic recs #hq fluff #haikyuu fanfiction #fic rec #ghost rec