#i live for the idea that the msby boys are roommates so here we are

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

you weren’t supposed to hear that (F! reader)

A collection of instances where your roommate hears you moaning their name whilst your fingers are between your legs. Or your neighbor. Or maybe you walk in on them saying your name. Take your pick 😈

warnings: NSFW, manga spoilers (in terms of what the boys do post timeskip), degradation (i think?)

a/n: i'm so nervous about this one LOL i’m super into Sakusa but I don’t know much about him tbh. he’s some good eye candy and that’s all i got. and i like the idea that he’d be a bit softer with you. anyways, hope you enjoy ✨J

taglist: @apollochjld @kurosarium 

Other parts: Kuroo | Ushijima

Sakusa Kiyoomi 

You weren’t really sure what you were expecting when you filled out the application to be Sakusa’s roommate. The application was straightforward, maybe a bit excessive, particularly in the cleaning department, but nothing you couldn’t handle. And you would’ve done almost anything to be accepted given the price was a steal and the owner of the apartment claimed they would be away frequently. So, agreeing to a few ridiculous housekeeping requests seemed reasonable to you.

All Sakusa wanted was someone to look after his apartment while he was gone, keep it tidy and clean it thoroughly before he returns. You also had to send pictures of the state of your current apartment to ‘prove’ your cleanliness. Excessive, but retrospectively—extremely worth it.

Though what you hadn’t been expecting was for the owner of the apartment to be Sakusa Kiyoomi, an outside hitter for the MSBY Black Jackals. Nor had you expected him to actually accept your application.

In all honesty, Sakusa had been a little desperate. Nobody who’d applied came even close to his expectations, and when he’d read you clean your bathroom at least once a week, it was like a breath of fresh air. And when he met you, you were pleasant and described that you mainly like to keep to yourself which sounded perfect to him. But what really convinced him was that you showed up wearing a mask. He wasn’t sure if you could tell how surprised he was, but the second he saw it, he almost accepted you on the spot.

That was over a year ago now and you and Sakusa have been living in a comfortable rhythm. When he’s home, you gladly help him clean when you have the time, and sometimes when he gets home from practice you already have dinner cooking which he can’t deny he’s come to enjoy. When he’s away, he feels safe that his home isn’t going into complete disarray or collecting dust because you’re there. And when he comes home, he loves that the apartment is nearly spotless.

By now, he almost considers your germs his own. He doesn’t mind sitting near you eating dinner, or next to each other on the couch. In fact, he finds he rather enjoys your presence. But lately, the two of you have been sitting closer on the couch and table, and when he’s gone, he actually misses you, which he will never admit. Coming home to a clean apartment and even you just popping your head into the hallway to greet him before retreating to your room is enough for him.

His growing problem is that he isn’t sure if it’s enough anymore. And it became terribly clear to him when you came to one of his games for the first time.

After the game you waited for him outside the locker room, feeling a little out of place even though Sakusa gave you a VIP pass to be allowed back here. When he emerges, he finds you swarmed by his teammates, politely indulging them and telling them you’re just waiting for someone. It makes his skin prickle in the same way it does when people touch him unprompted. Even worse, Atsumu is far too close to you for his comfort.

You seem fine though, brightly greeting him when he approaches, much to the shock of his teammates.

“What’s a pretty girl doin’ knowing our ‘Omi, hey?” Atsumu drawls, sending a sly smile your way as Sakusa frowns at the nickname.

Before you can open your mouth, amused by the nickname you’ve never heard before, Sakusa interjects, “She’s my roommate.” Rendering the rest of them speechless (which is quite the feat), he takes you gently by the arm so the two of you can leave. Two things shock them: that Sakusa has a roommate and that he touched you.

“They aren’t so bad,” you grin up at him as he scowls, the two of you heading down the hallway towards the exit.

“You don’t have to spend hours on end with them.”

You shrug, knowing Sakusa is a man of unique circumstances when it comes to other people. A thought that makes you stop in your tracks, your hand shooting out to grip his arm to stop him, surprising him enough that he doesn’t recoil from your touch. “We should go this way,” you say, pointing down a different hallway.

He just looks at you, then down at your hand still wrapped around his forearm which you quickly snatch away. “Why? This way will be closer to the car.”

“I came by this way earlier and there was a group of your fans waiting for you,” you grimace. “I’d guess they’re probably still there.”

He frowns, grumbling to himself, but starting towards the hallway you pointed out. He’d very much like to avoid that situation if possible. The two of you make it out unscathed and un-swarmed by his avid fans, and on the way out to the car he can’t help thinking how much he appreciates how considerate you are. Anyone else would have told him he’s being ridiculous and to meet his fans. Not you, however. You always take his feelings into account.

That was weeks ago now. And none of his teammates have let it go since.

For you, when you first moved in, you swore to yourself you’d never fall for him. Not even after you accidentally walked in on him working out in his home gym, his lean and muscular arms out on display, a thin sheen of sweat dampening his dark curls—you nearly combusted. You forced yourself to put it out of your mind, because how could you fall for him? His annoyingly attractive face on billboards haunts you everywhere you go, and he was a stand-offish and a little neurotic for months. But as time as passed, he grew on you.

You now find his need for cleanliness endearing. Particularly now that he’s seemingly accepted you into his ‘bubble’. You’ll never forget the moment he touched you for the first time of his own accord. It was simple, nothing to think anything of really, but for him it was a big deal. It was just a brief touch on the shoulder while you were washing dishes thanking you for dinner. Afterwards, you took note of every time he touched you. One that stands out the most was when he wanted to escape his teammates at the very first game of his you attended. It was firmer, more of a silent plea from him that stunned you.

Really, you could be perfectly happy living like this. Except that your thoughts wander to him far too often now. Especially when he’s gone. It feels weird not having him around, scolding you for missing one spot on the counter, or sitting quietly next to you on the couch—you think about him a lot. His silent presence is strangely comforting, and it doesn’t help you watch his games while he’s away.

He is beautiful to watch. To the point you can’t even believe you live with him. Your efforts to keep your feelings in check were futile. You get so riled up that recently you’ve begun tiding yourself over to the thought of him. At first, you felt pretty ridiculous, especially since it’s hard to imagine him wanting to be…dirty like that, but eventually you just let your imagination run wild. You let yourself believe that with you, he’d be different.

It’s become a habit now while he’s gone. You know it’s awful. Yet you can’t stop yourself. Not when you haven’t been with someone since moving in with Sakusa. At first it was because you didn’t want to piss him off by bringing some stranger into the apartment. But now, you don’t even think you could. Not when you know you’ll only think about him the entire time.

He left only yesterday for his away game, but you’re already missing him. Already foolishly letting your thoughts wander into darker territory that you keep locked up tight when he’s around. His game is tomorrow, so you take the opportunity while you’re almost one-hundred percent certain he won’t come home early. On several occasions he’s come back a day early, but never before a game. Always after.

Your new favorite spot is the shower. Mostly because you can imagine him maybe letting loose a bit while the two of you are actively being cleaned in the process. Once you’ve stripped and the warm water is cascading down your back, it’s easy to imagine him.

You’ve pictured him so many times before that sometimes it really does feel like he’s there. That it’s his hands trailing down your sides, resting your hips, his mouth gently kissing along your neck as his hands move lower. The thought of him towering over you, his curly hair damp from the water, those dark eyes boring into you has you trembling in anticipation.

You’re already soaking when you run a finger between your folds, gripping the tiles when it reaches your clit, wondering what Sakusa’s fingers would feel like instead. Dipping your head, you let out a small, “Kiyoomi,” as you picture him whispering filthy things in your ear.

When Sakusa enters the apartment, he wrinkles his nose under his mask at the slight mess. Though, he supposes he can’t blame you. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another three days. But the other team cancelled unexpectedly, unable to get to the destination due to terrible weather. He hears the shower running in the other room, so he pulls off his mask and gets down to work. He can talk to you about it later.

Though he can’t help imagining you in the shower. Your body freshly clean, water running down your back, between your breasts, and along your legs. His mind gets so clouded by the image that he doesn’t realize he’s been scrubbing the same spot on the counter for a few minutes now. He’s jolted back to reality when he hears a sharp, “Ah!” emit from the bathroom.

He drops his cleaning supplies and quickly strides towards the bathroom thinking you’ve fallen in the shower. The door is slightly open, steam trickling into the hallway, and before he can knock and ask if you’re alright he hears your voice again.

“Oh—Kiyoomi...”

His hand stops mid-air, eyes widening with the realization of what you’ve just said. He pauses for a moment, debating what he should do. He can’t deny he thinks about you more often than he should, and more frequently as of late. And to him, the shower seems like the perfect place. So, he pushes the door open quietly, unzipping his jacket and saying into the silence, “Did you say my name?”

You almost take a tumble into the tub in surprise at hearing his actual voice in the bathroom with you. Close enough to lead you to believe he is in the bathroom. Yanking your fingers out of you, you push back the curtain, intent on yelling at him for intruding on you and scaring the shit out of you, though your voice dies in your throat.

Standing in the middle of the bathroom is Sakusa Kiyoomi, in all his infuriatingly delicious glory, pulling off his shirt and moving to rid himself of his track pants as well. He’s looking at you, deadpan, eyes moving down your body but stopping where the shower curtain is still covering you.

After a moment, you collect your senses, managing to choke out, “Wh—what are you doing?” Just your luck that he came home early at this exact moment and that he heard you. You’d curl up into a ball of embarrassment right now if you weren’t so shocked by his demeanor.  

Now that he’s completely unclothed you struggle to keep your eyes above his chest, gripping the curtain harder when he steps forward and says casually, “It was a long flight, I want to take a shower.”

You gape at him. “Right now?!”

He just takes a hold of the curtain, pulling it open slightly so he can step in next to you, and you’re so stunned you make no motion to stop him. And now you’re finding him towering over you in the small space of the shower, so close you can hardly breathe. All the air gets punched out of your lungs when his large hand rests on your hip, turning you so your back is facing him so he can lean down at tease in your ear, “You asked me to come in here, after all.”

All of the heat leaves your body, pooling directly between your legs at his tone. He wastes no time, lathering his hands up with soap and running them along your sides before reaching forward to cup your breasts in his hands, thumbs roaming aimlessly along your nipples, the soap foaming between his fingers.

“Were you thinking about me in the shower?” He asks, his tone dropping into something dark and dangerous. “Such a filthy girl.” He tugs at your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger making your knees tremble and the growing need between your legs even worse.

“Sa—Sakusa,” you moan, tilting your head back onto his shoulder, getting the full view of his hungry eyes boring into you.

He frowns, pinching your nipples slightly harder, reprimanding, “That isn’t what you called me earlier.”

You writhe in his embrace, gripping his arms, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him as you correct yourself. “Kiyoomi.” He smirks at you, relenting on your nipples as reward, though continuing his soft ministrations.

You can’t help your ass arching backwards, coming into contact with his hardening member, giving him a bit of his own medicine as you grind against him. He hisses through his teeth, admonishing, “What a needy slut.”

“Fuck,” you mewl, pressing against him even harder. You can’t explain what his voice saying those things is doing to you—all you know is you need him to fucking touch you already. “Please, Kiyoomi,” you beg, lifting your arms up and around his neck behind you, your fingers twining into his wet hair. “Make a fucking mess of me.”

He groans deep in his throat, rutting up against your behind and wrapping one strong arm around your middle while the other trails towards the apex of your thighs. “Is that what you want? To be my dirty little slut?” Your fingers grip his hair even tighter, nodding embarrassingly quickly, standing up on your tiptoes to get his hand any closer to where you desperately need him.

Once his fingers reach your core, sliding up through the slick gathered between your legs and towards your clit; your knees nearly give out from under you. If it wasn’t for his arm around you keeping you up, you would have sunk to the floor at the sheer pleasure that sweeps through your body. His fingers are infinitely better than yours and having his solid frame and prominent hard-on pressing behind you almost sends you through the roof.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks quietly against the skin of your neck, his hips grinding up against your ass, which you gladly return with pressure of your own.

“Yes—yes,” you say, gasping when sinks a finger knuckle deep into your heat, quickly adding another and praising you for how well you’re taking it. He watches the space where his fingers are disappearing into you with a sinful expression, enjoying intensely how you’re practically shoving yourself onto his fingers.

“What a good girl,” he whispers, setting your skin on fire, wanting nothing more than to keep being exactly that for him. He smiles devilishly, in a way you would have never imagined he could in your wildest dreams. An almost savage glint in his eyes as he presses harshly on your clit, eliciting a choked sob out of you, and making you dig your nails into the arm wrapped around you.

“Please—,” you say, head lolling on his shoulder allowing him to finally kiss you fully. Surprising you as his tongue slides into your mouth, his fingers relentless, his free arm now helping you drive his fingers even deeper. Voice coming out in a pathetic whine that makes his cock twitch, you plead, “God—Kiyoomi, please!”

“Use your words.”

Thoughts far too hazy to be any sort of embarrassed you hold his dark gaze. “Fuck me.”

Suddenly, his fingers are out of you and he’s bending you over, the head of his cock pressing into your dripping entrance before he sheathes himself completely in you, a hiss escaping him. His head drops to rest his forehead on your shoulder, droplets from his wet hair sliding down your chest as he composes himself from how fucking amazing you feel around him.

“Fuck,” he moans, the closest he’s come to breaking his resolve from just fucking you within an inch of your life. “So tight for such a needy slut,” he grits out, hands resting on your hips as he pulls out only to thrust into you again. His fingers dig into your hips to slam your ass into his, increasing his pace to the point you can barely see straight. Your own fingers scrabble for any sort of purchase on the tiles in front of you, desperately attempting to ground yourself against his brutal pace.

“You feel so fucking good,” you praise, earning you his hand reaching down to lift your leg onto the edge of the tub allowing him to sink even deeper into you.

The lewd sound of skin slapping together, the two of you panting and murmuring nonsense to each other, and the shower continuing to run fills the space as he continues to pound ruthlessly into you is all you’ve ever dreamed about. As he litters kisses and soft bites along your spine, the pressure in your stomach builds and builds, and before it bursts you gasp, “Oh my god—Kiyoomi.”

He notices your body starting to tense up, your back arching and fingers twitching as your orgasm comes hurtling towards you. Taking the opportunity, he pulls your body up, your back flush against his chest, hips never faltering and fingers finding your clit to bring you even closer to release.

“Cum for me,” he orders, voice so cold you feel a little embarrassed by how much it turns you on. But you know that’s just how he sounds sometimes and he’s probably playing it up a bit for you. “Cum on my cock like the good little slut you are.”

That sends you tumbling over the edge, your entire body convulsing as white-hot pleasure courses through your veins, prolonged by him continuing to plunge into you. The sensation is so overwhelming you start writhing in his grip, attempting to ride it out while he holds you firmly against him restricting your movement.

He can’t hold it back much longer, your walls clamping down around him nearly made him cum on the spot, but he holds you through your orgasm, forcing you to endure the full brunt of it while he continues fucking you. Though your body relaxing against his, your fingers winding into his hair, and your voice asking him so politely to cum for you makes him lose it. He grips your hips tightly, jackhammering into you chasing his release. Eventually his hips still, thighs shuddering as he concentrates on keeping the both of you standing while he cums.

The two of you stand there in silence, water still running, as his forehead rests on your back, both of your chests heaving at the exertion you just expended. Your heart is thundering against your chest, unsure what to say and hoping he’ll say something first. He groans, relinquishing your hips from his death grip and pulling his softening cock out of you.

You really shouldn’t have been surprised by what he says first.

“We should rinse off,” he suggests, despite the fact he’s still leaning on your back, hands now resting harmlessly on your hips.

“Okay,” you murmur, reaching for the soap and moving out of his grasp. He just stands there watching you, the water streaming onto his back, a completely passive expression on his face. If it was anyone else, they might have interpreted it as boredom or that he’s uninterested but to you—he just looks content.

You motion for him to turn around and start lathering the soap along his back, relishing the free chance to roam your hands all over his incredibly built body. Peering around his shoulder, you find him with his eyes closed, the smallest smile curving his lips as he enjoys your hands massaging his back. You smile to yourself, moving on to find his shampoo and gently scrubbing it into his hair, tucking the small pleased groan he makes into the back of your brain to remember later.

After a few quiet moments he says, “The apartment’s a mess.”

That makes you frown, a sour expression adorning your face. Poking his side, you reply, “Well, you weren’t supposed to be home for another three days!” He turns around, washing the soap off his back and out of his hair while you take no time to start exploring the expanse of his chest with your soapy fingers. When he opens his eyes, looking down at you, you pout. “Can’t we leave it for tomorrow?”

As much as he dislikes that, he can’t help but agree, finding the prospect of curling up in bed with you much more enticing.

Once he’s finished, he returns the favor washing your body, and the both of you step out of the shower to dry off. You pull on the pajama’s you’d left in here for after your shower that you thought you’d be taking alone while he simply wraps the towel around his waist, making it almost impossible not to stare at him as he waits for you.

You’re surprised when he leads you to his bedroom, changing into pajama’s of his own as you slide under the covers. They smell like detergent and the faint scent of Sakusa’s body wash, wrapping around you pleasantly—you take an indulgent breath, letting the scent soak into your senses. It gets even better when he joins you, hand resting on your bare arm, fingers drawing small circles against your skin. He gives you a soft kiss to the forehead, enjoying your freshly showered body against his beneath the sheets and your fingers in his hair.

“You know I honestly didn’t think you knew how to kiss,” you joke, tapping his chin, “With the mask and all.”

He peers down at you, the subtlest glint in his eyes as he replies, “Have I changed your mind?”

Your resulting cheeky smile makes his pants feel a little tight. “I think you might need to show me again.”

#haikyuu x reader #Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader #Sakusa x reader #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu imagine #sakusa scenario #sakusa imagine #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi scenario #sakusa kiyoomi imagine #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

[soranihimawari]

are you serious?

estranged friends to lovers featuring this lovely dude ^ and thanks to some meddling from both sides of their lives, miya atsumu finds out that maybe he should date you. after all, what are you going to do once msby guys see you on the evening news when you make the cut to be the vice captain of the ladies beach vbc olympic team?

warnings: none yet, so sfw for now ;]

+ note: will make this a weekly series if i get enough notes eventually

tagging: @m0nstergeneration20xx​

is it serious? --osamu

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those three words illuminate underneath the backlight of his phone screen. the blips play at the strings of his heart. the run-in at the gym was completely by accident and truthfully you weren’t expecting the glow up fairy to fuck with both of your perceptions of the other. both of your posture changes from confusion to flirtatious the moment his eyes illuminate with the recognition.

“who’s your friend atsumu-san?” 

you divert your attention to the rest of the rookie teammates while you nod your head acknowledging the oncoming arrival of the other members of the MSBY team. you rapidly exchange greetings and names in an efficient manner. 

“i should go. seems like you want to celebrate,” your tone is honey incarnate causing even the ones under the medi-masks to absorb your warmth. “see ya miya-chan.”

when you wave over your shoulder, you shake your head wondering if your heartbeat would stop nervously beating out of rhythm because you caught yourself walking away from the afterglow. 

at the restaurant the lads usually buy dinner after another successful victory, the topic of conversation circles back around again to the mystery stranger who had a connection with their starting setter. the team dinner was an idea that everyone including meian thought would be good to have at least once (or twice) a month. 

“she’s an old friend,” he bashfully admits. 

“that makes you look like a lovesick war hero?” their libero busts his pride a little.

“it’s nothing like that,” bokuto defends, “right?”

miya shrugs and their captain pieces the information together for the rest of the team after being there many times himself before he had settled down with his lady.

“she was your almost,” meian states matter of factly. their ears perk up including atsumu who just stared at his captain registering the word in his head. 

“you two seemed pretty close when we arrived,” meian continues. “call it a hunch, but you shouldn’t throw away fate’s design ‘tsum.”

the television in the restaurant moves on to it’s countdown for the upcoming olympics. it creates a certain ambiance of familiarity at the family style restaurant which the team are frequent customers.

“and in other news, seems like the women’s beach volleyball roster has officially been announced,” the anchor says. there is a wide angle shot of the beach courts on the coast of Okinawa.

“Holy shit,” bokuto says and it’s the only time meian allows his team to use such language at their dinner. your sporadic movements on the sand court makes for insane sets for your teammates on the court. 

“their young vice captain makes her presence known as her teammate sets the ball to ‘the missile,’ and wow! a clean pipe that proves why the name stuck in the underground leagues. and you can catch up with the rest of the beach volleyball team when the summer games begin next month. now back to you guys in the studio!”

“fuck me, she’s probably more dangerous than omi-san,” meian says finally. atsumu just scoffs at the compliment because he knew there were other monsters in the world, but none that made him more nervous than you. 

...

“are you for real?” your roommate exclaims. you tell her about the run-in on the street and she flips. you could of told her you saw the Almighty and she would have an easier time believing that.

“did you at least get his contact info?”

“no! of course not,” you answer with a strained voice. “besides, he hears the banter of his fans everyday, so what difference does it make if he has my number or vice versa.”

“because those compliments came from the vice captain of team japan women’s beach volleyball?”

you laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. after all, you were also watching the news story that was filmed last week tonight with her on the couch. in your wine glasses, you both share the last bit of blueberry powerade because you wanted to be sober in case you’d have to talk to the boy who christened you with the nickname one fall evening in hyogo. sure you were first years, but the bitterness of rivals with clashing styles on the court proved to be a little challenging especially since your schools respectfully had their golden week of training at the same resort.

“your phone is going to start ringing soon,” your friend shares a laugh with you. and usually she’s not wrong, but then again, her closest ally was sitting with her telling her the story of the nickname. the familiar chime of your phone going off caused her to only laugh harder before she watches you scramble to answer.

you shut your door the moment she yells, “no fucking between nine a.m. and five p.m.!”

clearly the other person on the line starts laughing hearing the voice clear as day before he clears his throat. atsumu is finally in the comfort of his own home in his side of the city. he asked his seniors if anyone had a way to contact you, so you were surprised the social media team readily gave him the phone number. funnily enough, it was the same one you had scribbled down on the back of an ice pop receipt.

“you didn’t change your contact number,” he states. 

“neither did you,” you said. a half rest of silence comes over you both, but he speaks first again. 

“i saw the news tonight with the team.”

“you guys have team dinners? that’s cute.”

you flirtatious remark didn’t go unnoticed, so atsumu decides to hit you with a genuine compliment. it’s the first thought that came to mind when you were younger due to the run in you had with each other at the bathhouse.

“you’re cute.”

“i’m sorry, i didn’t quite catch that miya-senshu. i think you called me cute?”

“i-i...ugh yeah.”

“pfft. if this is you flirting with me, i’d say you are doing a lot better than most of my flings.”

“listen, the guys are going to have my head if i don’t follow through with this, so will ya--”

“meet me at roppengi station at seven tomorrow morning. dress casual.”

there was something in the way you had asked atsumu out in a charming manner he wholeheartedly agrees. after your conversation wraps up, you go about your evening plans of talking with your roommate who is beyond thrilled to tease you about a long-overdue date. 

atsumu stares the at clock on his phone before turning on his side thanking his captain for giving him an extra day off from practice tomorrow. according to the way meian explains it simply to their athletic trainer was that their starting setter needed a personal day.

you meet at the appointed location after much deliberation of wearing and you often quote your roommate’s line of, “you need your best ‘professional’ revenge outfit babs.” now that you see what she means as you spot the athlete you bumped into yesterday: long sleeve mocha graphic shirt with the designer house logo stitched on paired with tapered casual friday pants. you on the other hand, are a splash of dark academia styled clothing with sensible shoes.

“and here i thought about leaving you behind on my adventure,” you muse as atsumu gives you a once over. he was over analyzing your silhouette as the rust belt flecks in your eyes decide to taunt him. all his life, he had trouble not focusing on anything other than volleyball related (aside from school work and such), but now he had a transient lady friend look up at him like he was not the local playboy prince of the volleyball club.

“i’d bet good money you wouldn’t because no one would want to hear about me missing morning practice because of a covert date with ya,” he sees the way your eyes narrow a smidge. he knows this stare; he’s seen it before at the training camp because of someone making a snide remark about your financial situation at home. you lead him down the platform and when you board the standing room only train, you both stare at your reflection in the window. your stop is not longer than fifteen minutes away, but you allow atsumu to hold you steady with one hand on your waist and the other on the rail above him. you fill him in on the tour you’re planning to take him down to the shopping district where you know people would go about their days not realizing who they were (celebrity athletes).

“you two look good together, isn’t that right hue?” 

“thank you granny,” you said with a smile at the elderly woman who sits a few rows to your left. her husband nods with a funny smile. you really sell it with the way you place your hand over the one he has on your waist when the traini comes to a stop. 

you and atsumu, once you make it to the surface head into the east village where you see the local trattorias begin setting their outdoor seating arrangements and one of the servers stops you both asking if you’d like to part take in a taste testing for his family’s restaurant.

“senpai’s amazing,” the server says like it’s the easiest answer he ever had to say. “she paid for auntie’s medicine last time she visited here. you really are lucky to be on a date with her.”

after your orders are put in, atsumu decides for once to not be a complete jackass, somewhere sakusa runs into a butterfly and he chuckles to himself because it means someone was using their brain properly. and in the quiet hours of a local village fifteen minutes away by train, a miya twin is falling back in love with his date one minute at a time. 

“are you ok atsumu?” you ask as you pour some apple juice from the carafe into your glass. it was then you had your epiphany the moment he asks you if you’d like to visit his brother’s store on a dinner date before you head out for the taping of the opening ceremonies. 

“i’d like that,” you reply. “but let’s make it through this one first, mmk?”

“good because i couldn’t look you in the eye if ya said no star-chan.”

“star-chan?”

you lean back in your chair and tilt your head to the side in thought. your brows furrow together a bit confused by the nickname therefore atsumu enlightens you to the best compliment anyone had given you (in your young adult life):

“because i finally see what meian says when he says he loves the sunspot in his life,” he sheepishly admits. you can tell he was being sincere when you glance at the way he becomes more flustered when you encourage him to hold your gaze for a few seconds.

“seven out of ten,” you say with a rosey lilt in your tone. at this, your companion at the table leans in clearly annoyed with your score. “but given the fact that you’re here with me now at eight twenty on your day off, and the smoothness of that confession, you’re clearly a nine overall because i highly doubt you’re not going to let me go again, right?”

he nods. he finally replies to his message from earlier last week from his brother after taking a self-ca with you on the promenade before you head back to the train station around two in the afternoon.

yeah ‘samu. you could say i am.

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#miya osamu x fem!reader #msby!miya x olympic!reader