#atsumu miya imagines

for memories

disclaimer; i have not written for haikyuu in nearly three months :)

atsumu miya x reader (no pronouns mentioned) 234 words based on: for memories by wilbur soot

warnings: break ups

He’s in a bath late at night trying to convince himself it hasn’t been two months since you’ve broken up. He doesn’t want to believe that you’ve moved on so quickly from him, but there you are in your new partner’s arms looking happier than you ever were with him.

And he hates that he can’t say that he wasted his time with you because everything he’s ever accomplished- you were always there to build him up.

From the first time he picked up a volleyball, you were there helping him practice in his backyard. To the last game of his you attended, where you were standing in the crowd cheering for him just a little louder than everyone else.

He wishes he could say that he’s glad it’s finally over.

But the promises and the vows said under the covers at dawn tell him it wouldn’t be true.

Atsumu had thanked you when you broke up with him. But he couldn’t decide if it was because you weren’t going to lead him on, or if he was thanking you for the moments he shared with you.

Well, he just says both.

He remembered being the happiest he’d ever been on that day in summer, when you were seated in his lap shuffling through old pictures from when you were little.

And he knows you remember it too, there isn’t a doubt in his mind.

PLAYBOY - PART THREE

– in which second year inarizaki student miya atsumu wants to make a girl jealous. you were his best bet at doing just that.

a/n: omg?? part three?? already?? its been a wild ride. big big thank you’d to lay, leaf, and isa for the beta reads. yall really made my night. another quick thank you to all the people reading this lil idea of mine, it means more than i could ever express. youre all lovely. 

genre: fluff. its fluff.

warnings: atsumu expresses a lil bit of insecurity but hes not very deep about it.

word count: 2376 

enjoy!!

“Chamomile? I don’t want you to be too tired though.”

“Do you have any cranberry? I like putting a lot of sugar in it so it just tastes like juice.” Atsumu’s flirtatious nature wore down to its bare essentials: wide smiles, nonsensical behavior, and base levelgoodness. 

“I don’t think that’s,” you paused, wondering how this all happened. Wondering why he was in your home, sitting at a kitchen table, tapping his fingers insistently on the wooden tabletop. Wondering how the last fifteen minutes even came to be. “Sure, okay.”

After your proposal, he wiped his face and followed you, speaking at length on anything that came into his head. He was very spontaneous by nature, and would go on a small tangent about anything, even between deeper topics. 

“Samu’s always been slightly better than me. Whether with people or at volleyball or whatever. He just wins. Maybe it made me subconsciously think I’m worse.” He dragged behind you roughly three steps, holding your hand like a lifeline as you guided him away. Even with all the acting, both of you realized how much small touches really meant. Both of you grew to need more contact than you were getting. 

“I’m really sorry about that Tsu-”

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Ya were just gonna call me Tsumu.”

“Huh?” He jogged up closer to you, still keeping his right hand firmly in your left, tapping his fingers excitedly on your knuckles.

“Tsumu” he whispered to himself, a smile creeping to his lips. He didn’t seem broken up about it anymore; you walked the rest of the way in comforting silence, save for the five minutes he was stopped by a stray cat.

He crouched down to be at eye level with the creature, staring into its piercing yellow eyes with all the focus he coils muster. Both sets of golden irises slitted in what looked to be a profession of power. Atsumu was having a staring contest with a stray cat. 

After two minutes, he won. Blinking and shouting, “shit, Y/N! Why’d you make me do that?”

“Excuse me?” He shot up, rubbing his eyes with his fists, hoping tears would drip back into them and soothe the pain. You giggled slightly, watching him suffer but still beat an animal in a battle of pure strength. This was the guy, huh.

“Hey! Don’t laugh! That’s the product of years of practice!” He tapped your shoulder with kind malice, making you grab it and scoff. The acting abilities of both of you became impeccable over these last few months. 

“Practice?” You were properly laughing at him now, loud chuckles falling from your lips as he pouted like a baby trying to get what he wants. 

“Yeah! Like with Samu! Sometimes even with Omi-omi from across the gym. Did that a few times at camp.”

“Did he know you-”

“Yes! As a matter of fact he did!”

“He probably thought you were just being-”

“Hey!” Your fingers were interlocked again, almost like magnets back together without a second thought, and he pushed his shoulder into yours, tossing you a few inches in the opposite direction. Neither of your smiles could be tampered with, and the faint giggles falling from your mouths echoed on the concrete below. 

The walk home proved two things lingering in your mind. You had feelings for Miya Atsumu and Miya Atsumu was definitely not a playboy.

“I keep the tea bags in so it’s way more potent. Do you have cranberry juice?” When you showed Atsumu all of the mugs you had, he became transfixed on a pale blue and yellow one with ducks on it. When you lifted the mug to show him the small ceramic duck sitting at the bottom, his face beamed. When you poured the water over the tea bag in the aforementioned mug, he grabbed four packets of sugar that sat on your kitchen table. 

“So you just wanted juice?”

“No; the juice is too bitter, it needs sugar anyway.” He sipped calmly, a matter of fact look plastered on his face as the steam blurred his features. “Yeah this ain’t potent enough.” He looked vaguely disgusted at your tea making abilities. 

“You let it set for thirty seconds, Miya,” a sigh punctuated your sentence, eliciting a scoff from the man across from you.

“Back to Miya I see,” an eye roll punctuated his. 

“‘Tsumu.”

He smiled brightly. The kind of smile that lives in your brain far after the moment passes. The kind of smile you think about late into the night when you recount potential things to be grateful for. The kind of smile that makes you fall in love with even the most insufferable of people.

Disgusting.

“But this tastes too much like tea,” he grabbed another few packets of sweetener and positioned his hands to rip them open in one fell swoop, all before you reached over and slapped at his hand, forcing him to drop the bad decision he was about to make.

“I have juice.”

“Can I have some?” but you were already pouring it into his little rubber duckie mug.

You both sipped between bouts of light conversation, one of you losing energy by the second and the other gaining. He’d crash soon, thankfully. 

The atmosphere was nothing short of soft. The pale yellow glow of a lamp in the corner of the room gave everything a lived in feel that fluorescent lights always manage to diminish. Those lights reflected off of everything, making the wood and the neutral accents feel golden. No matter the temperature, there was a consistent heat about the space. He looked more attractive than you’d ever seen him; hair still damp from a quick shower after the game earlier, eyes threatening to close from intense jumping, clothes comfortable enough to sleep in draping across his incredibly toned- watch it, Y/N.

He looked to be at home, but he had a way of always looking to be at home. There was no space that fully accepted Atsumu, but he always forced them to, with one action or another. He’d waltz into a gym with his cocksure smile and people would groan, but by the end of the match he’d get all of their respect. He was magical like that.

Intensity waved off of him like some pheromone, dripping from his every inch and forcing people to either rise to his level or cower away in fear. His circle was small, but they were loyal. They all wanted to be on his level.

“Oh, Atsumu. I never actually asked,” your hands were in two pale green rubber gloves, a mug in one hand and a soap-laden sponge in the other. He stood next to you, rinsing out the other mug and drying it with a towel. “Why Hisakawa?”

“Oh,” he was focussed on his hands, intently drying the bottom of the mug, “she dated me a while ago and hurt me bad. I thought I could make her jealous enough to want me back.”

“Women don’t really work like that,” a breathy laugh laced your words as you turned to look at him.

“She does, it’s annoying.”

“Hmm.” He was frowning now, gripping the mug tightly.

“I don’t know what was so great about her,” he laughed a bit while deep in thought, pushing everything he was doing to a slow stop, “maybe it’s ‘cause she was like you.”

And all you could do was giggle, hoping he couldn’t read the uncomfortable feeling behind it all. He has to know what he just did, right?

Then it began to rain. Buckets and buckets of lukewarm water dripped on the floor outside, creating cascades down the street. Small droplets pelted the ceiling like the insistent taping of anxious fingers, and both of you continued washing the mugs. 

If there were two deities on either of your shoulders, one with good intentions and one with bad, they’d be arguing. The only agreeable point was, though, that he can’t go home in this weather! What if he gets sick? Practically hell on earth. 

Six seconds passed. Well, technically it was six seconds, but it felt like millenia. He dried the duck mug, making a little noise of approval when he rubbed along its head, and looked back at you, eyes pleading before anything left his mouth.

“I don’t wanna go out in that rain, sugar.” He managed to never cross the set boundaries. He only ever called you sugar and any cuter variation of it.

“I didn’t really want you to either, if I’m being honest.” You looked a bit worried, which excited him to no end.

“Awww ya care about me? That’s so sweet of ya, bear!” Scratch that, he also called you bear. It was excused when he claimed it’s just short for sugarbear! You let me call you that one! Damn his charisma.

“I don’t want you sick before nationals, idiot.” You smiled and pushed past him, waltzing into the living room.

The warm lighting followed you two into the other room, and you kept that up with some full-bodied pop-rock music. A record player sat in the corner, comfortable among the mahogany and cardboard sleeves. The album you chose scratched and skipped, but the small pops of dust as the needle spun were enough to fill the space with comfort. Atsumu put a sizable dip in the brown and red paisley-adorned fabric of the center couch, laying his legs to point at the opposite arm from the one his back was resting against. Once again, his ability to be at home anywhere was given new life. “Do you want to watch something? We can-” 

You turned around to look at him once again, noticing the way his head sunk into the back of the couch, eyes shut, mouth open. He passed out in a matter of seconds. 

“Oh.” There were three options. One, waking him up and letting him sleep somewhere else, even though that’d probably be the couch anyway. Two, leaving him here, in the same position, but he could get a crick in his neck by morning. Three–the worst option–waking him up and letting him sleep in your bed, among your stuffed animals and in your space where you definitely don’t have the hoodie he gave you draped over a chair because you wear it to bed every night.

But he is a volleyball player and he would complain about being hurt for all of the next day. So. Bed it is? Shit.

“Atsumu?” you tapped on his shoulder, allowing his eyes to steadily open. He swatted you away. “Hey, you can sleep in my bed instead. Come on.” you grabbed his hand in yours and brought him to his feet. He stumbled after you into the bathroom as you forced him to brush the heinous amounts of sugar out of his teeth. He complied politely, but not without a tad bit of pushback, 

“Ya sound like Omi!”

“Oh no! He cares about you too! Just do it ‘Tsumu.”

He proceeded to walk into your room and sit on the edge of your bed for a fraction of a second before falling down on his back and closing his eyes. He shuffled around for a while, getting comfortable in the new scents and fabrics, but eventually his movements stilled. Finally, somebliss.

You quietly changed into comfier clothes back in the bathroom and padded your way back, settling down next to your boyfriend-. No. Pseudo boyfriend. At best. 

He was soft and warm and comfortable; curling your body up against his felt like a dream, but you didn’t want to push his boundaries. 

“Sweet dreams, Tsumu. Thanks for being here. I like you a little bit.”

He hadn’t lost consciousness yet. He was glad your eyes were closed when he cracked a genuine smile. 

Of the two Miya twins, Atsumu was the early riser. Osamu would sell his soul for Atsumu to stop waking up at five in the morning, but sadly no one is willing to make the exchange. His alarm plays loud bass riffs, expertly muddled with layers of overdrive, and somehow it shoots him right into consciousness. He clamers about on the upper bunk, jumping down the ladder like some sort of intensely trained gorilla, as Osamu would say, and with the power of one thousand suns. 

You were not aware of this fact.

Disgruntled noises of anger spilled from your lips as the music started and Atsumu practically hopped up, using the incoming sunrise to his advantage when navigating your room. You learned later that the rain stopped about an hour before, but the sky was still a sheet of grey clouds. He found the light switch and turned it on, allowing piercing white light to break your retinas far earlier than usual. 

“Mornin!” Atsumu’s smile was brighter than all of it put together.

“It’s too early,” you drew out the last syllable, picking up and dropping your head in defeat.

“Fine, ya can go back to sleep. I should probably make my way home though, ya know, for school.” Ah yes, the only pro of sending him home last night. It was only Wednesday.

“I’ll see you later, ‘Tsumu.” You shut your eyes and immediately passed out again, waking up to your own soothing indie music an hour later.

A normal morning routine came and went, and you were back to acting. Well, was it even acting anymore? Maybe not from you, but the situation itself was unclear. He was an enigma, that Atsumu Miya.

He locked your fingers with his at the first possible moment. He winked at Suna and shot a quick glance to where your hands met, making sure the other boy knew what was going on. He made sure he could rub it in. Suna just scoffed in response. 

You leaned in a bit closer to whisper a “have a good day, pseudo boyfriend” in his ear. 

As you parted ways, your hands lingered together as they always would. The second they dropped, he grabbed your face and kissed you. Atsumu was a fan of frequent public displays of affection, this was established months ago, but there was something different this time. 

“Drop the pseudo and I will.” 

part two ||masterlist||next

taglist (closed):
@haikyuu-is-for-lovers@underratedmage@bellesowl@yatoatyourservice@tsumusdroopyeyes@throughtheinterstices@bnhasimpgirltm@misora-msby@kritiiiii@tendo-sxtori​@kagebunshiin@darkmeme@greyevangeline​@sunareii​@idek-at-thispoint​@tokyosdawn​@aprettyfruit​@6sakusa​@bakus-bitch​@akaashi-bby​@keiarma​@mer-et-etoiles​@a-moon-fairy​ @my-acrylic-heart​ @oopsliales