In Which Suna And You Babysit Osamu’s Daughter For An Entire Day

"You don't have to walk me home."

"It's nothing." Iruka rubs the back of his neck when he lies, flat palm against his skin as he smiles sheepishly. "It's not out of my way."

It is. He lives on the complete other side of the village, down by the schoolhouse. There's no real reason for him to meandering down here by the main gates, so close to you that the back of his hand brushes against yours intermittently.

It's rare that Iruka even comes out with the groups for dinner, let alone a couple of drinks. His cheeks are tickled pink from the alcohol, the smooth skin of his scar silvery white against it. Whenever you glance his way, it crinkles in the middle as he smiles.

"Really," he insists, "It's my pleasure. Besides, it's what boyfriends do."

Boyfriend. The term sounds so childish, but it makes your chest tense with excitement. Your relationship is still shiny and new, glimmering with a future of unknowns, polished with unfettered affection. Tonight was the first time you introduced him with that word 'boyfriend' and tonight was the first time his hand found yours under the table, out of view from the rest of the world.

The street lights barely illuminate the road, puddling weakly in their own respective spots and pulling weak shadows across the front of your apartment building.

"You should come in for a coffee," you say as you turn on your heel, stopping both of you short, "As a thank you."

"I don't drink coffee, but..." Iruka looks away for a moment, rather sheepish despite no one being around to witness, "I'd still like to come in, if I could."

Your face splits into a smile as you bounce on the pads of your feet, purely excited at the insinuation. Dating has its own set of rules, most of which are outdated, but appease the elders and their watchful eyes. Dates are usually done in groups, public displays of affection are kept to a minimum, and, most importantly, men aren't to come into a lady's home this late at night without pretense.

Like coffee.

You step forward into the dim, halfway there light of the lamp, and place your hand on his arm. He follows suit, but more daring, his hand finding the dip of your waist.

Appearance is important to him. Teachers are judged to a different standard than everyone else. These little rebellions only exist when there's no one else to hear them.

"I could make some food?" you offer, thing soft lilt to your voice more playful than anything. Iruka leans in, bonking his forehead against yours, and says:

"I don't want that either."

His hand scoops around the base of your neck, pulling you up and guiding your lips to the press of his own. There's an edge of innocence in the chasteness, physically buzzing with anticipation of more as he hums into you. Every breath between you is used to get closer; each exhale your chest deflates and he crushes you closer, that hand on your hip now snugly behind you, curling your back into him.

Each inhale he takes advantage of, tongue sneaking past your lips and lewdly pressing into yours. The lewdness of it all -the wet, spitty, desperate way he engulfs you deeper at every chance, the way his hand has drifted to squeeze the fat of your ass- surprises you so much that it's all you can do it keep up, holding on by his shoulders. The heat of his breath mingling with yours makes your whole body searing hot.

As if he knows, Iruka starts working his knee in between yours, thigh firm against your pussy and giving you some of the friction you desperately need. When you buckle into the contact, he moans like a wanton whore, open mouthed and deep, eyebrows crumpled together in rapture-

A low wolf whistle echoes down the street.

"Aw, get it, sensei-!" By the time you both scramble apart, the gaggle of youths (much too old to be his current students) is nothing but shadows running in the distance, guffawing as they go.

"You- hey-" Iruka's face is scarlet with embarrassment as he staggers over his words, both trying to yell and stay quiet enough not to wake your neighbors, "Go home, boys."

"They can't hear you, Umino." You pat his arm and a half-hearted laugh. You'd care more if you were younger, but age gave you thicker skin.

Your boyfriend apparently doesn't feel the same.

"Aw geez," he laments. Somehow, the kiss has mussed his hair, pulling a couple long strings in front of his face. "How embarrassing, people are gonna talk-"

"They were going to talk anyway-- people love gossip," you laugh, tugging at his sleeve, "Come inside and let's give them something to talk about."

His jaw flexes as he comes around to the idea, physically swallowing the shame of being caught.

"What happened to the food you were offering?" he teases, voice low and rolling. You turn away, walking towards the stairs to your building.

"Don't worry," you hum, "I'll give you something to put your mouth on."

I think people have talked at length about the fact that bnha ended up basically being super pro-cop and delivered nothing on its narrative critiquing hero society. but one thing I haven't seen commentary on yet is how bizarre the narrative on abuse is. bnha is a series where abusive father figures (e.g. endeavor, overhaul, shigaraki's father) and neglectful parents (e.g. toga's family) have been the origin for marginalization of children and, in the cases of the league, their eventual descent into actual crime and villainy. yet the single most prominent abusive father figure of the series (endeavor) got a redemption arc, while the second-most prominent abusive father (overhaul) got to survive. yet the children who suffered abuse (toga, shigaraki, touya) were not worthy of redemption nor even survival. it has very bleak implications on who gets a second chance in life and who doesn't. this is possibly the worst narrative on childhood abuse I have ever consumed btw lol

i am once again asking how much money this state-funded school gets, there is NO reason for classes of 20 kids each to have a whole mansion for themselves like what! also brave to let the girls and boys live underthe same roof i feel like thats not very realistic, i think two big dorms for boys and girls would have sufficed but no there's like 6 mega mansions on the supercop campus now..... if bnha town used my taxes for these kids to live like this id joing shigaraki's little terrorist cell, too!!

this is the perfect grade of good luck

reblog in 5 seconds and all of your grades will inch ever closer to perfect

does anyone know the ex husband suna series where they almost end up tog again … i think the first one was when he has a date and can’t celebrate an event with her and so she bails on their rescheduled dinner and he just knows she’s upset about his date

thinking about best friend!sero who buys a vibrating tongue ring as a ‘joke’. He gets it in the mail when you’re at his house, and you’re both laughing about it because surely something so small couldn’t really feel that good. and then he’s asking to try it on you and you’re struggling to hide the hitch in your breath and the squeezing of your thighs. laughing it off until— oh. he’s not joking. and then suddenly your thighs are clamping down over his head and your fingers are yanking at the roots of his hair. his hips are rutting into the couch and he’s moaning into your heat and—

kuroo, you think, has been out here for quite a while now. 

when you left to go meet with your study group—sometime between six-thirty and seven—the snow was just beginning to pile up. it hadn't started sticking to the roads yet, but you could see the vapor slip from the few leaves left on the trees; a symptom of early winter, you suppose. 

now, though, there must be four or five inches out here. the old oak tree that hangs over your building is starting to sag, and the moon seems heavier than it did before, hanging lowly along the glow of street light. 

kuroo is sitting on the steps up to your apartment, looking down at his phone. he has more than a few flakes in his hair, and if it wasn't for the ridge in the snow where he'd pushed it aside to sit, you'd think he'd been out here the whole time. 

"cold?" you ask, shuffling towards him. you can hear the crunch of your feet under you. 

"me? never."

he looks up at you then and, you'll admit, you like seeing him like this. lately, he's been against the whole 'text me before you come over' thing, and you know it's mostly because you don't reply, but, in part, that's so you can see him here. 

his hands are half-tucked under the sleeves of his coat, and there's a stretch of pink from the tops of his cheeks to the tip of his nose. his lips are chapped (you can only assume from being out here so often) and there's a little smile tugging at the sides of his mouth, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth. 

"oh, you want me to leave you out here then? give you a little more time?" you're smug—or, at least you're trying to be, anyway. the more time you spend with kuroo, the worse you are at pretending you don't like him. recently, you've been failing at that more than you'd care to admit. 

"hey, i didn't say that." he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. "plus, what's the point of coming all the way over here if i can't see my favorite girl?" 

you shake your head at him, aiming your chin towards the ground. in a strange way, you feel like you're suffocating.

"you mean the cat?" you ask.

and he chuckles, "sure." 

a beat of silence hangs in the air for a second, before you plod your way up the steps, pulling your keys out of your pocket. you can hear kuroo rise behind you, attempting to brush some of the moisture out of his sleeves. 

"y'know," you say, pushing the key into the door. "if you like coming over when i'm not home so much, i could tell the neighbor to let you in." 

his hood rustles; he's shaking his head. 

"where's the fun in that? kinda ruins my whole 'mysterious stranger' act." 

"also kinda ruins the 'guy stalking the apartment complex' act." you swing the door open and make your way up the stairs. "i'm sure everyone is so enthused by the guy sitting on the stairs every friday." 

a laugh, "oh i'm sure. if they report me for loitering promise you'll come bail me out?" 

"depends on how much i like you that day." you can feel the heat of your apartment as you approach the end of the hall. 

"really," he says. "if they took me in right now?" 

"i would think about it." you pause. "maybe." 

"wow." you can hear the rasp in his voice as he drags out the 'o.' "tough crowd." 

your apartment smells like pine and vanilla—the workings of two little wax melters on opposite sides of the rooms. you turned them off before you left (you double and triple-checked), but the scent lingers, itching at your nose as you cross through the door. 

kuroo follows close behind, scaping his shoes off on the mat before slipping them onto the little shoe rack in the corner. his jacket squeaks as he shrugs it off—a sound so distinctly made from the shifting of wet nylon that you barely have to turn around to identify it. 

every time he follows you up here, you find yourself glancing around your apartment—looking for something that could possibly be out of place. something incriminating: three-day-old dishes that you know you already washed; your vibrator, forgotten on the nightstand, even though you remember putting it back in its designated drawer. 

for some reason, you have a tendency to think that the things around your home that make you distinctly human are also the things that would make you distinctly unappealing. you're aware of how silly the thought is, but there you are, quickly looking over at your nightstand as you stick your coat back in the closet. 

"so," you hum, rubbing a bit of the warmth back into your hands. "to what do i owe the pleasure tonight? you here to eat all of my leftovers again?" 

"depends," he says. "you have leftovers to be eaten?" 

"not this time." you make your way to the couch, and he pouts, following behind you. "but if i did, they'd be all yours." 

"aw, you mean it?" you eye him. "i'm honored." 

as much as you hate to admit it, this has sort of become habit. you come home a little later than expected and you find kuroo sitting on your front stoop. you're not exactly sure how any of it started—or, really, how the two of you became friends in the first place—but you ran in the same circles for a while and, eventually, you ended up here. 

"well," he begins, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. "study group?" 

"boring." you nudge your way beneath his shoulder. "practice?"

"thrilling, obviously. greatest two hours of my life, even. i think you could go as far as to—" you eye him again. "same thing as yesterday." 

you chuckle, swatting a hand into his chest. 

there's silence for a moment, something warm pulling through the air of the room. quiet breaths spill from kuroo's lips, and you resign yourself to listening to each one—in, and out. 

he still smells cold; like the heavy, wet snow you have to shovel off of the porch the morning after a blizzard. for every breath, it lessens, bleeding into the heat of the room, but you let the scent linger at the base of your nose. 

you're not sure how much time you've spent taking in pieces of kuroo, but you know it's more than you ever plan to tell. you know his hands take longer to warm up than the rest of him—he chalks it up to bad circulation most of the time, you know that too; he rarely spends a night at home because he doesn't like sitting in silence; he twitches sometimes, when he's nervous, a little flick of his hands; his favorite color is red but sometimes he's drawn to deep blues because he likes the sky better when it's absent of stars—he says there's something enchanting about the abyss. 

he's too dense to know you're in love with him but too smart to think you're not. sometimes you catch him looking at you after you say something in a tone a little too far beyond friendly and you swear that he knows what you mean. sometimes, you think he's going to break the silence, and, sometimes, you think he never will. 

tonight, he swings his head back, eyes lightly shut, slowly sinking into the back of the couch. you can hear the sputter of your vents and the sound of the wind against the windows—snow still trying to fight its way through the glass.  

you're going to ask him to stay the night tonight—you already know it. you're going to wake up to him on the couch tomorrow, with his hair messed up, and his eyes half-lidded, and that stupid look on his face that makes you want to slip your tongue into his mouth. 

you're going to think about that time you slept together last year—once, after a halloween party—and you're going to think about the way the inside of his mouth tasted; you're going to sink your teeth into your lips so hard that you're going to bleed. 

you're going to consider telling him that you love him, that you always have and you think you always will, and then you're going to ask him if he wants coffee instead—hoping the smell of the pot is enough to make your head feel less fuzzy. 

you're going to wait, and hope he says something, even though you'll know he never does. and then, next friday, when you come home to him sitting on your front steps, you're going to do it all again. 

reblogs are always appreciated! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

miya atsumu x reader, 4.3k

A tale of Atsumu's descent into madness when he realises you're hot.

a/n: hello ! is this a repost because of tags and my mistakes? yes T_T anyway — this is still dedicated to @augustinewrites because she is a smart, educated queen and im very proud of her. like i said before, i sacrificed so much to write this because putting myself into the mind of a libra man…. yikes. i felt insane at one point. but i hope you enjoy! <3

Atsumu is sitting in your room half drunk, half sober. The room is still spinning, and he’s not sure whether he wants to projectile vomit on your carpeted floor or pass out from exhaustion.

“Tsumu!” you say, pushing your phone against his face. “Do you think I look hot in this?”

“No.” he answers without thinking. You pout aggressively, plopping down onto the couch beside him. He doesn’t deserve to be harassed about some scandalous picture of yours right now for two reasons:

One, it’s like half past one in the morning and that’s the time of night when he should be tucked into bed, snoring to his heart’s content.

Two, because it’s you and he’d rather die than call you hot to your face.

“You didn’t even look!” you wave your phone, and Atsumu turns his face to the side hoping you will simply disappear if he pretends you’re not there.

It doesn’t work. All it does is give you the opportunity to poke at his sides and pester him even more. He closes his eyes, “Why do you need my opinion? You literally do the same peace sign in each photo you take. And according to you, you always look good.”

“I do,” you reply, relentlessly poking at his shoulder, “but I need an expert’s opinion.”

Well. Atsumu would know something about looking good.

He sighs loudly, turning to face you once again. Prior experience says it’s better to give in now, because he was going to give up later anyway. “Alright, show me.”

You move to rest your cheek on his shoulder and hand him your phone.

Atsumu rests his head on a pillow behind him and squints at the screen, trying to see the picture better. When he does, the shock of what he’s seeing causes his fingers to go slack and the phone smacks him in the face.

“Idiot.” you laugh, reaching out to pat his nose. It doesn’t soothe the humiliation he feels nor does it alleviate the sudden racing of his heart. What the fuck?

“So? Do you think I look hot in it?” you ask again.

Atsumu swallows, as he looks at it again. It’s a photo of you at the gym, hair tied back neatly. It’s a simple photo really. You’re wearing simple black leggings and a sports bra he’s seen you wear before of all things.

And yet, the universe still feels unbalanced.

With horror, it dawns on him that it’s because you do look good in the photo.

Okay, it’s not like he thought you were ugly or plain looking before, but you looked good, in a cute kind of way usually. Not like, good good. Not, uh, hot.

When the hell did you start looking hot?

You grab the phone back, analyzing the picture again. “You’re speechless. That means I look amazing. I’m going to share it with the others so they can either sleep well tonight or wake up tomorrow to a good start.”

Atsumu lightly smacks your shoulder, because he was not speechless. “Shut up, I was just shocked. Is that supposed to be a thirst trap?”

You sniff. “I don’t do thirst traps like you.”

“My fans love them,” Atsumu argues. “Are you saying my thousands of followers are wrong? Are you saying they have bad taste?”

You copy him, and he simply shoves you to the other side of the couch, throwing him a look of betrayal. “You don’t look hot in the photo,” he says, “you didn’t even get the right angle.”

You frown, looking like that one very sad emoji, and it tugs at his heart. Ugh. He backtracks, “I mean, that angle is still fine! It’s about the vibe, okay? And you do look good. It’s a nice picture, Y/N.”

“But I want to look hot.” you lament.

Atsumu looks you dead in the eye, and smiles, like a liar, “Take better pictures next time then.”

You stand up, picking up the cushions on the floor. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Feel free to leave soon, because I won’t be here to entertain you any longer.” you announce, still frowning, and Atsumu pulls you back until the force of it has you sitting back down.

“Should I teach you how to look hot?” He asks, teasingly poking at your cheeks. “You should have asked me from the very start.”

You grumble, but let him give you a few pointers. Although at the end, you complain, “That only works because you’re a guy!”

“Try it first.” he says, pushing you to stand up again. You say a lot of things, but you listen well in the end.

When you disappear into the bathroom, he decides to leave and head back to his own dorm a few floors down, calling out a goodbye. When he finally gets settled into his own bed, he plays ten levels to candy crush to dissociate himself from the possibility of gaining further realizations.

Just as he’s about to complete his last level, he gets a notification from the Inarizaki group chat.

Suna: Holy shit, is that Y/N?

It’s a screenshot from Instagram of the selfie you showed him, with the caption, sweet dreams [kissy face].

He looks at it for a good five minutes, feeling unspeakable things, before saving it onto his own camera roll.

.

.

.

Sleeping it off did not help. Atsumu decides he needs to be lobotomized.

Ever since you had shown him that gym selfie, he couldn’t stop seeing it.

(The idea that you were hot, not the selfie, he wants to emphasize. Although, he was also seeing your picture all the time, because well… it was saved onto his phone, so every time he took his own pictures, he would see it. And well… if you look at something enough times, it becomes imprinted in your eyeballs, and you see it even when you close your eyes. Or something like that. Don’t judge him.)

You meet him in a cafe nearby for breakfast and greet him a sleepy good morning, and Atsumu’s brain immediately goes, hot.

You sigh in frustration at the library while you’re trying to study for an exam. Atsumu asks if you want to take a break, but you get this fiery dead set look in your eyes and say, no let’s keep going. Also hot.

You’re eating at a korean barbeque place for dinner and take the grilling tongs from him when he gets smoke in his eyes to flip the meat for him. Really, really hot. It’s alarming because it’s not the first time you’ve done that for him, but it is the first time Atsumu’s found it hot.

Once is a farce, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern, and more than that? It’s a fact.

Atsumu finds you really hot. Cue [throwing up emoji].

But that’s not even the worst thing about it. Atsumu’s clearly not the only one.

He brings it up to Osamu first, wanting the company of someone who has been friends with you for the same amount of time to back him up on the ‘you are not hot’ agenda (fuck off, he can’t think of a clever name right now). He rocks up to his twin who’s on his way to the next class.

He offers him an onigiri he bought from the 7/11 down the street, and casually says, “Did you see Y/N’s picture in the group chat?”

“Huh?” he asks, a little absent-mindedly. Osamu doesn’t even take the onigiri he was being offered. “Y/N’s picture?”

“Yeah, did you see it?”

“The one Suna sent into the groupchat?” Osamu asks. “Yeah I saw, what about it?”

There’s no way to ask the question easily, but to just be blunt about it. Atsumu blurts out, “Do you think she looks hot in it?”

Osamu looks at him for the first time, just a quick little side eye, before he continues walking, “Is this another one of your weird competitions? If so, tell me now so I can mute my phone before you guys start blowing up my phone with messages.”

Atsumu is offended and tells him, “I cannot believe you think that I would participate in such a, such a—” he couldn’t say the word.

“Childish game?” Osamu smirks. “This is why you need to read more books by the way; your vocabulary is failing. Also, you guys literally sent a poll into the main Inarizaki group chat the other day asking who had the best outfit of the day. Even Kita-san saw it.”

Atsumu huffs, “I can’t believe he voted for Y/N.”

Osamu stops as he reaches the front door of his next class, leaning against the wall to properly look at his twin. Osamu smiles, “She did look good. Y/N’s getting prettier these days.”

“Pretty isn’t hot.”

“Hot is subjective.” Osamu says solemnly, “But to answer your question, yeah, she did look hot. Why?”

Atsumu smacks him, “You’re supposed to say she doesn’t look hot!”

Osamu hits him back, “You want me to lie? I’m only saying what anyone with eyes can see.”

“You’re biased. This is because you guys are close.” Atsumu reasons.

“Actually,” Osamu corrects, because he hates Atsumu with all his guts, “Since we’re close I’m more inclined to say she doesn’t look hot. But it doesn’t bother me, because it’s just another fact of life, you know?”

No, Atsumu doesn’t know. Also, “What the hell do you mean anyone with eyes can see? I just found out yesterday—”

“Oh,”, Osamu realises, “Is that why you’re acting like this? Because you finally found her hot? You’re literally the last one.”

The situation just keeps getting worse. What do you mean Atsumu is late to the discovery? What do you mean people have been looking at you like a hot piece of ass all this time? It simply can’t be true. Atsumu’s powers of observation was like, Avenger-level.

But when he asks Suna, the guy doesn’t even think anything of the question and answers, “Of course she’s hot. This is old news.”

Atsumu feels like he’s just been shot in the foot.

And when he goes to ask Aran, he finds that he doesn’t even need to ask at all. Because when he finds him, he’s sitting across from you in the library taking a break while watching you write notes. He’s drinking water, but his eyes are focused on you and all Atsumu can see is appreciation in it.

He feels like he’s been shot again. This time in the back. Which is kind of dramatic, he knows, but how else is he supposed to express the feeling burning in his body. Everyone has betrayed him.

How could nobody tell him? More importantly, how did he not know? He feels woozy.

He goes to make ramen for himself. Comforts himself by looking at his own selfies. He’s mid-slurp when he’s scrolling through the gallery and it brings him back to the cursed picture.

The noodles go down the wrong way, and he manages to close his phone just in time. Just so on the off chance he dies because of your selfie, his dignity will remain intact. The headlines will say, Legend taken too soon.

Unfortunately, he survives the ordeal and will now have to deal with the fact that you’re hot for the rest of his life.

.

.

.

It is now day fifty post ‘Y/N is hot’ realization and maybe there’s still hope for him.

He’s alive. Adapting. On some days, he could even say he’s thriving.

First things first, he deleted your picture from his phone. Second of all—

Well, he hasn’t found a number two yet. It’s alright. He’s always number one for a reason. He doesn’t need a number two. He’s not making any fucking sense.

But here’s something that makes sense: in order to get used to you being hot now, he’s decided that he should just look at you more. The more he looks, the more his eyes get used to the sight, you know?

A pretty sound theory, if you ask him. Except, everyone else keeps catching on and now Suna has enough ammunition to use against him for at least a year.

Like, the last time the Inarizaki group met up and had dinner together, he had become hypnotized by how soft your lips looked and completely ignored everyone else’s conversations. You were too busy complaining about one of your classes to notice.

Or that one time you went to his dorm for a movie night, and he realised how good you smelled as he sat next to you on his bed, and you were too preoccupied by the actual movie to see him subtly leaning closer and closer.

Or even that one time it was his birthday and you had baked him a cake (Osamu got a store bought one heh), and he forgot all about blowing the candles when he was too distracted watching you sing happy birthday to him.

All Atsumu has to say is that, thank god you’re an idiot.

He posts a couple of hot selfies to his instagram that day for an ego boost and calls it a day.

He chuckles to himself. He’s healing.

.

.

.

Atsumu’s feeling more at peace these days.

He’s moved on to the next step of his self-healing process which is… revenge.

Quite frankly, it’s not right that he’s paying this much attention to you, while you just happily skip through life as if everything’s okay. It’s kinda fucked up, if you ask him. You’re out here thinking about silly things like what you should have for lunch (curry, obviously), when you should be out here thinking about him.

So now you’ve forced him to take matters into his own hands and right this wrong. Seeking justice for innocent victims such as himself, if you will.

He spots you from across the room, giggling at something on your phone. It better be his newly posted selfie you’re giggling over. If not, it’s a declaration of war; it took him like, two hours to get the right angle and lighting.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to you. Very cool. “What are you up to?”

You hum happily next to him, “Talking to my friend. Kenji sent me a funny meme.”

Earth-shattering. Atsumu almost regrets choosing to take a drink of water then because he almost spits it out. “You’re texting Kenji?”

You smile, “Yep.”

“But he’s your ex!” Atsumu doesn’t understand.

“Yeah, but he’s also my friend.” You explain, unbothered. “I’m friends with a lot of my exes actually.”

“What?” Atsumu is dumbfounded. He’s here suffering because of you, while you’re happily reconnecting with trash?

This is one of the most insane things he’s heard all year. You beckon him closer and show him a group photo of you and at least three of your exes or friends or whatever the fuck they are, with arms slung around each other.

Anyway. “Cute.” Atsumu comments, “do you guys also get together and trade dating stories?”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, you’re one to talk when your friends from the team are so…”

“So what?” he challenges. Slutty, his own mind supplies, but it would be funny to hear you say it.

“Listen,” you say as you put your phone down and look at him intently. “I’m just saying, my friends are nice; like sheep. Your friends, who I’ve known since high school and hang out with constantly, are like lions. They could eat me.”

Atsumu stares at your cute little face and thinks, I could eat you. “Is that your rationale for why you’re friends with all of your exes? Aren’t you afraid it'll get weird because you know, you’ve done stuff with them?”

Atsumu doesn’t know why he can’t let it go. Or why he says that, because now he’s just thinking of you doing those kinds of things with your exes. It’s not jealousy that’s bubbling up in his chest. Definitely not.

“It’s not weird,” you defend, “it actually makes it easier when I see them at parties.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes, “Makes it easier to do what?”

You blush, much to his discontent. “Don’t ask me what, Tsumu! I don’t ask you what you do every time you disappear to the bathroom before games and come out destressed.”

“What are you insinuating?” he asks, jabbing at your side. You yelp, trying to move away, “I literally go there to play candy crush in peace where nobody can bother me.”

“Yeah right.” you go to kick him at the same time he leans down and hit him straight in the face.

Atsumu is so stunned by it, he freezes, hands clutching at his nose. You look at him horrified, starting to panic, “Oh my god, did I break it? Is it bleeding? Oh fuck I’m sorry! Tsumu say something! Are you mad at me? Tsumuuu—”

Atsumu stands up, doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t have it in him and goes to the bathroom to inspect his nose. He should have gotten his nose insured or something, because dammit it’s one of his best features. And now, it might be gone forever.

He’s pretty horrified to find that his nose is okay. In fact, it looks more perfect than ever. But if he didn’t lose his nose, then why the hell does he still feel like he’s lost something.

.

.

.

Atsumu is spiralling, but only on the inside. He watched Frozen for the first time the other day and now he keeps repeating conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them show out loud as a coping mechanism. He’s grateful that it’s nearly Christmas time so he has an excuse every time somebody looks at him weird.

But the discovery that he likes you makes him pissy.

Not because he doesn’t want to like you like that. It’s a comforting realization actually. He was having a crisis about his sexuality and thought that maybe he was fruity. His homophobic grandfather was probably rolling around in his grave at the mere idea of it.

But alas, he is as straight as a pencil. And how he came to that conclusion you ask? You wore a top that showed a bit of cleavage one day and he immediately had to run to the bathroom and take three deep breaths.

He thought he had long forgone his puberty years but you were just a different breed. He was so disappointed in himself.

The reason he’s pissy is because he can’t believe he missed all the signs pointing towards his feelings for you. How long has he even liked you? When he looks back, all he sees is a long chain of happy memories, each one linked together with fondness and affection.

Maybe all he needs to do is accept the fact that you’re attractive, and attractive people like you, well, they never stay single for long.

Despite him not realizing his own feelings, his brain has been signalling this fact to him, encouraging him to get a move on, before some other hot guy swoops in. Or worse, one of your exes swoops in.

(Cough, Kenji, cough.)

He needs to secure your ass. The longer he waits, the more chances he gives other men. That’s why he’s so mad actually, while he was out here thinking about how toned Kita-san’s body had gotten recently, other men were ogling his woman. Other men are making you laugh, taking care of you.

Sue Atsumu’s competitive ass, but he doesn’t want to be second to anyone in your heart. He’s number one or nothing.

So he decided to confess immediately, because he’s already wasted enough time.

The problem is, the moment he decides this is the same moment you decide that you want him to die of annoyance first. And then suddenly, it doesn’t feel so urgent for Atsumu to confess his feelings.

It’s important to teach you a lesson first.

It culminates at Inarizaki’s Christmas dinner get together, held at Osamu’s studio which actually has a big enough kitchen to feed everyone. You try his patience on today of all days; teasing him about his roots that have grown out too long, poking at his shoulder before running away, throwing peanuts at him every so often.

Atsumu sees who he’s sitting next to at the table, and already knows that it’s only downhill from there. He can’t even get a cup of coke without you pretending to pour him some before taking it away.

And then, there was the whole stressful debate on mint chocolate ice cream over the table while he was trying to enjoy his meal. You didn’t even understand the question, too fixated on your dislike of anything mint flavoured, raging with a fork in your hand as you screamed at Suna over the table. (How did he ever fall for someone so insane?)

Atsumu loves mint chocolate but as soon as you say you wouldn’t date anyone who likes mint chocolate, his mind is made. Mint chocolate be damned because it could never give him the same happiness that being with you would. Besides, no other person is allowed to feed you ice cream, if it's not him alright? Case fucking closed.

After that whole thing, Osamu pulls his chair away as he goes to sit down and he falls backwards, like an idiot.

There’s so many other misfortunate things that happen, and on days like this, when shit keeps happening, you begin to resign yourself to the fact that anything may as well happen.

Which is the moment Atsumu lets his guard down.

He doesn’t know what the fuck Suna put in the juice, but it doesn’t matter. Once the music started playing, what always happens, happened. Atsumu loses his mind.

His body literally moves on its own. One minute he’s talking to Kita vibing, and the next he’s doing the jerk while Osamu and Suna hype him up and take a video. (He’ll regret it in the morning, but not now).

The worst part of it all? He’s blowing you kisses every five seconds. It doesn’t register in his mind that it might look weird, because he’s too busy having fun and trying to keep you quiet, nothing more.

And then later, he finds himself on the floor, out of breath after he puts on the performance of a lifetime: as Elsa from Frozen.

Everyone else is kind of concerned. Well, some of them. He thinks he hears Kita asking “Is Elsa okay?”

No, Kita-san, he wants to say, Elsa is going through it right now.

He can feel eyes on him, so he turns his head, and sure enough you’re sitting there watching him with a fond smile on your face.

Elsa is completely fucked.

.

.

.

A few hours later, when Atsumu’s soul has returned back to his body and shame from earlier has sunk in, he decides it’s time to go home. He is not staying here and allowing Samu to bully him into cleaning the mess when he has better things to do.

He walks you to your dorm, like the gentleman he is, and goes to leave when you suddenly invite him in. Not a single cell in his body wants to say no so he happily goes inside and makes himself comfortable on the couch.

“You looked like you had a good time today.” you tease, sitting beside him.

He feels his cheeks heat up, pushing away every memory of tonight before it can occupy too much space in his brain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t remember all the kisses you sent me?”

“Shut up!” he groans before assaulting you with tickles to shut you up.

You squeal in delight, pushing his hands away as he climbs on top of you and laughs, sounding deranged. In a way, he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Stop!” After a few more digs as revenge for driving him crazy, he finally decides to take pity on you and stops, letting you catch your breath.

“You drive me crazy, Y/N.” he says, sounding sappy as he closes his eyes and leans his head back, missing how you turn to face him.

“If it helps, you drive me crazy too.”

It’s music to Atsumu’s ears.

He opens his eyes and turns to face you too. “I do?”

You roll your eyes, which would be irritating if you weren’t so pretty. “All the time. You’re so annoying, always teasing me that I thought I was gonna lose my mind. I was like, why does this stupid boy always target me? Does he not realize how much I like him—”

Now it was Atsumu’s turn to roll his eyes but it was getting harder and harder to fight the smile bursting onto his face, “Come on, you’ve always been the annoying one—”

“Actually, you start it most of the time,” you snort, cutting him off. “But honestly Tsumu, if you wanted my attention there’s better ways of getting it.”

Atsumu doesn’t know whether to continue his prior assault or kiss you.

Instead, he decides to take the challenge in your last words. “Is that so?” he says, breathy, his hands starting to roam all over your body, starting with the curve of your hips, until it rests on your waist. “Are you going to show me?”

You whimper and he laughs, feeling both adoration and vindication in his chest. You’re flushing red in embarrassment, an emotion he didn’t even think you were capable of feeling. “You’re so infuriating—”

Atsumu cups your cheek, “You’re so hot when you’re trying to be angry at me,” and then kisses you so eagerly that neither of you have any brain cells left to say anything afterwards.

Well, you do say one more thing. “So you did think I looked hot in that selfie—”

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