call you mine [miya atsumu] pt. 1
warnings: friends to lovers, slow burn, pining, and tbh bad writing (it’s been a while since i’ve written something), some sexual references but nothing specific
You were seven years old when you first met Miya Atsumu.
He had poured his goldfish crackers on your head after you told him that his twin brother, Osamu, was cuter than him.
Despite all of the constant yelling and bickering and arguing and tantrums that plagued your early relationship with him, you found yourself growing closer and closer to the annoying little rat named Miya Atsumu.
He stuck to you like glue, always there to jab playfully at you and pull your pigtails and steal part of your lunch, sticking your tongue out at you when you protested. But his actions never came with malicious intentions, and both of your were well aware of that.
And eventually, he became your best friend.
Atsumu was and (is) infuriating, bratty, whiny, childish, arrogant — the list goes on and on. Yet, silly, foolish you developed a crush on him when you were in your freshman year of high school. It didn’t help that you had to spend nearly every waking hour with him near you, since you had been the manager of the Inarizaki Volleyball Club. When Osamu found out about your crush on Atsumu, he never let you live it down, constantly teasing and poking fun at you like the little shit he is. Yet, Atsumu never seemed to mind your obvious crush, or even notice it — what a complete blockhead.
You couldn’t help yourself, either. Not only did this boy have the looks, with his tall, sturdy stature, warm chocolate eyes, and a soft-looking undercut that all girls would die to run through hands through (which he dyed piss-yellow in high school, something that you made fun of him for for weeks, until you realized one day how good it actually looks on him and you shut up quickly), but at least to you, he always gave the best of him.
Sure, to other people (and still occasionally to you) he was, and is, an inconsiderate asshole without a filter, but you knew he truly did, and does, care for you. It’s always the little things, from bringing you your favorite baked goods when you’re sad, or trying to help you with homework even when he’s just as clueless, or helping you put away the volleyballs and close up the gym at the end of practice… those little things, that made you fall harder and harder every day.
When you graduated from high school, you planned to attend a university in Tokyo. Atsumu had told you of his goals to go pro, and he, too, chose a school in Tokyo, mostly to continue his training. Just when you thought you’d have time to get over your crush on Atsumu, now you’d be his only close friend from high school in the area, since Osamu had chosen to attend a university in Hyogo.
The two of you grew ever closer in the few years you’ve spent in Tokyo. You used to meet up every day after class to hang out in a coffee shop or a burger joint, just like your old high school days, except this time, it was just you and him, instead of you, him, and the rest of the Inarizaki team.
To say you didn’t fall for him even harder, was a complete lie. At times, you liked to indulge in the thought that maybe he liked you back. It was just those moments when he would hug you just a little too tight, or when he would lean down to nuzzle your neck when the two of you lay together on your couch with a movie playing in the background, or when he would kiss your forehead his lips lingering for a few seconds more.
And yet, he was, at the same time, unattainmable.
Being a hotshot student athlete with a strong, muscular build and a frustratingly handsome face to match, he had more than his fair share of female attention. Multiple times, he had cancelled plans with you to go on dates or, well, to spend quality time with girls.
You didn’t mind, though, or at least, you tried not to. After all, you were just his best friend, and you’ve spent your entire life being nothing more than that… why should start thinking that you couldn’t survive that way, now?
When he passed the tryouts to the Black Jackals, you were the first person he told. He had called you immediately, practically brimming in excitement as he revealed the great news. The two of you were ecstatic about his achievement, and celebrated with a pizza and movie night to boot.
Since then, though, he’s been much busier. You hardly ever see him anymore. Atsumu’s busy schedules filled with practices and games made it so it was difficult for your free times to align, with you being in your last year of university and studying your ass off.
Above all, you love Atsumu as a friend. But this unconditional love you have for him gets you into trouble. A lot.
You had been peacefully sleeping after a long day of boring lectures, piles of homework, and countless hours of poring over textbooks for upcoming exams.
That is, until your phone rings, obnoxiously loud, with a call from none other than Bokuto Koutarou himself.
You shoot up from bed in shock, your heart pounding wildly from the startling sound, before your mood immediately sours.
Bokuto had had your phone number since that one training camp in high school when he, Akaashi Keiji, Atsumu, Osamu and you decided to sneak out of the dorms to get ice cream at 2 AM. Your coaches were not happy when the five of you got caught trying to get back into your dorms undetected. When you learned that Boktuo was one of Atsumu’s new teammates, you were pleasantly surprised to see him again. He truly is a good guy. Bokuto still constantly texted you memes and stupid shit he found on social media, but he hardly ever called you.
Bokuto calling you at 2 AM on a Saturday at the butt-crack-of-dawn can only mean one thing — Miya Atsumu, your best friend, had done some stupid shit.
“Hello?” you snap into the phone, an exasperated expression already marring your features.
“Hey hey hey, (Y/N)-chan!” comes Bokuto’s enthusiastic, booming voice, which makes you cringe slightly at its contrast with the silent darkness of your bedroom. “Uhh, I’m in front of your apartment building. With Tsum-Tsum.” You can’t help but crack a small smile at the silly nickname he had for Atsumu.
“What happened this time?” you question dryly, already dragging yourself out from underneath your warm covers to grab your jacket and keys.
“We went out for drinks after practice, and uh. He got kinda shit-faced drunk,” Bokuto responds cheerfully, and you can faintly hear a pained moan in the background, one that you can assume is Atsumu. “And we couldn’t find his apartment keys, so we thought we’d bring him to your place.”
“And why my place?” you mumble irritably as you leave your apartment, not bothering to hide your annoyed grumbles since your roommate, Mika, was spending the night with her boyfriend.
“Aren’t you his girlfriend?” Bokuto quips plainly. You nearly choke on your own spit, almost slamming headfirst into the wall when you trip over the flimsy material of your Hello Kitty slippers on your way to the elevator.
“No!” you exclaim, your voice bouncing off the hallway of your apartment building, echoing embarrassingly loud. You clap a hand over your mouth, as if that’s supposed to help, and sheepishly press the ‘Down’ arrow for the elevator. “He’s not my boyfriend, Kou. We’re just friends.”
“Really?” Bokuto sounds genuinely puzzled. “But Tsum-Tsum has been — “
“Bokkun~” you hear Atsumu’s sleepy, intoxicated voice from the other end of the line. “Izzat (Y/N)?” Before Bokuto can answer, you hear slight scuffling and a noise of protest, as Atsumu apparently snatches Bokuto’s phone.
“Tsum-Tsum, what are you doi — “
“Gimme jus’ a sec, Bokkun,” he slurs reassuringly. There was a few seconds of silence and some fumbling, and you can’t help but be slightly amused by this. The elevator doors open, and you step in, waiting for Atsumu to speak. “Hey (Y/N),” he drags out your name. “Are ya listenin’?”
“Yes ‘Tsumu. I’m here.” You roll your eyes even though you know he can’t see it.
“Good.” You can vividly imagine the dopey grin that’s probably painted on his face right now. “Yer comin’ to get me, yeah?”
“Just arrived in the lobby, ‘Tsumu,” you respond mildly, just as the elevator dings, signaling that you’ve arrived at your desired floor.
“Good,” he says again. “’Cuz I loveeeee yaaaaaaa — “ Atsumu’s cut off by Bokuto pulling the phone away from him.
“Hurry up and take him away from me already, (Y/N)-chan,” Bokuto pleads playfully, earning an indignant ‘Hey!’ from Atsumu.
“I’m here,” you reply with a sigh before hanging up. As soon as you step out the front entrance of your apartment building, you’re engulfed by a large, heavy body that practically squeezes the life out of you.
“(Y/N)!” Atsumu exclaims happily, literally crushing you against his chest while you wheeze in pain.
“’Tsumu — you big lug — get off — me — “ you gasp out between breaths as Atsumu begins to nuzzle his cheek in your hair. It’s an action that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.
“You two really aren’t dating, (Y/N)-chan?“ Bokuto asks with a raise of his eyebrows.
"No, we’re not” you insist through the limited amount of air in your lungs, courtesy of the dumbass you call your best friend.
“Alright then,” he concedes with a nonchalant shrug and a grin. “I’ll leave you two to it, then.”
“Bye, Kou,” you call after Bokuto as he makes his way over to his car, and he waves happily in response.
“(Y/N)… yer hair smells good… like strawberries…” Atsumu had thankfully loosened his grip on you so you can actually breathe, but still had his long and muscular arms wrapped tightly around you. You fight back the urge to hug him right back and instead place a hand against his broad chest and push him back. He gives you a look that resembles a kicked puppy.
“Come on, asshole. Let’s get you showered and in bed. You stink.” The smell of cheap beer and wing sauce covers Atsumu’s usual comforting, musky scent, one that you had grown to love over the many years that you’ve known each other. Of course, you wouldn’t admit it to his face; he’d never let you live it down.
“Lemme hug yaaaaa,” he slurs out, reaching for you again but you dodge his arms, and instead grab the sleeve of his hoodie to start dragging him into your apartment building.
On the elevator ride up to your floor, Atsumu continues to absentmindedly mumble to himself, pausing every few moments to stare at you, blinking owlishly before breaking eye contact and resume his rambling.
How much did he drink? Damn. Atsumu’s not the type to get drunk easily. Being such a tall and muscular person who’s been drinking since his highschool days (at karaoke bars, where you and your other highschool friends had the lovely experience of hearing a tipsy Atsumu sing), it’s uncommon for him to get this wasted.
“Come on, loser.” You haul him into your apartment, still leading him by his sleeve. You make sure he kicks off his shoes; Mika, who’s a clean freak, would not appreciate any dirt tracks inside the apartment. You sit him on your couch. Atsumu says nothing, bringing his long legs up to his chest and resting the soles of his feet on the couch, tucking his chin in the crook between his knees. He continues to gaze at you dreamily, as if in a trance.
“Yer real pretty, (Y/N),” he tells you with a dorky grin.
“‘Tsumu, you’re drunk. Stop spouting nonsense.” You quickly turn around to hide the blush on your face. You’ve never dealt with Atsumu in this state alone before. Sure, he’s been slightly intoxicated in your presence before, but it was always with a group. You hate how much his flirtatious words are having an effect on you, especially since he's drunk for god’s sake.
You grab him a glass of water, making sure that he doesn’t drop the cup or spill on your couch; you don’t want to be killed by Mika. He gulps the water down eagerly, his chocolate eyes never leaving yours, and you shift awkwardly at the odd intensity of his gaze.
“Wait here. I’ll run a bath for you.” You take the chance to get away from Atsumu’s unwavering stare, as your entire body is starting to heat up in embarrassment. He had never looked at you that way before.
You quickly make your way to the bathroom and turn on the water, and while you wait for the tub to fill, you rummage through your closet to find a spare blanket before grabbing an extra pillow off your own bed for Atsumu. When you walk back out into the living room, Atsumu is still in the same position that you left him in, curled into a ball. He watches you curiously as you toss the blanket and pillow onto the couch next to him.
“Those are for you.” Atsumu shoots you an offended look.
“(Y/N), ya can’t expect me ta sleep on the couch, can ya?!” he exclaims incredulously. You consider his words for a moment. True, with how tall this asshole is, his knees would probably be hanging off the couch. It would certainly be uncomfortable for him.
“You’re right. You can take my bed for the night, I’ll sleep on the couch,” you decide, but Atsumu lets out a whine of protest. You refrain from rolling your eyes.
“Ya don’t hafta do that, (Y/N)!” he whines. “Why don’t we just sleep together in yer bed?”
Your heart skips a beat and your cheeks flush before you can stop them.
“Sh-shut up, idiot!” you stammer. “God, how and why did you get so wasted?” You sigh and turn away from him once more, moving to the bathroom the check on the bath. Atsumu being the way he is, has definitely teased and made of fun of you before, with offhanded comments perfectly aiming to throw you off-guard. But it was never like this. He never crossed the line between friendship and something more.
You hated the part of you that longs for his words to be the truth of what he wants.
You dump some bubble bath formula into the water and watch it foam and rise to the surface. It’s truly like you’re taking care of a child, making a bubble bath for him, of all things. 'Tsumu, get in here. Your bath is ready,“ you call to him, switching off the tap. You hear him shuffle his body off the couch, his heavy footsteps approaching the bathroom slowly and unevenly. He pokes his head into the bathroom, his eyes hooded with exhaustion.
"Do I have to?” he grumbles. “Jus’ wanna sleep.”
“You smell gross. I don’t want Mika to throw a fit if our apartment smells like beer tomorrow,” you insist, pointing at the tub.
“Hmph.” Atsumu does not argue further, so you step out of the room to let him get undressed. You leave the door open a crack just in case he needs something. And low and behold, not fifteen seconds after you left the room, you hear Atsumu whine, “(Y/N)! I caffn'th taffke my shirrrt off.” You shake your head in exasperation before peeking inside the bathroom.
Atsumu has his arms and head tangled in his shirt, half of his face sticking out of one of the arm holes and his arms caught in some kind of bizarre knot above his head.
“Heeurlpp,” comes his garbled request for your assistance. You sigh, helping the idiot pull off his shirt. You do your best not to stare at his upper body, but how could you not? Sure, he had already been well-defined and strong in his high school days, but compared to now, he might as well have been scrawny.
How the hell does someone get their abs to look that good? You eyes nearly bug out of your head. You haven’t seen Atsumu shirtless in years, not since that one pool party that the two of you had gone to in your first year of university. Since going pro, his build had seemed to grow even more glorious, from the perfect outlines of his pecs to the chiseled lines of his abs to the defined muscles in his arms.
It’s taking every part of you not to swoon, and you despise yourself for this. Get yourself together!
“Enjoying the view?” Atsumu has the audacity to say, giving you an obnoxious, lopsided grin.
“I’ve seen better,” you shoot back immediately, which causes the smile on his face to instantly drop.
“Who?” he cries out, clearly irritated, but you don’t give him the time of day. Truthfully, you haven’t seen someone better. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing this fact.
“That’s irrelevant, finish getting undressed. I am not helping with your pants.” The two of you simultaneously look down to where a belt buckle held his jeans up. He then looks up at you desperately, and you huff, but comply.
You unbuckle his belt as quickly as you can, avoiding contact with his body and not daring to meet the heated gaze that was practically burning into the top of your head. Your entire being is in fight or flight mode, your heart beating a mile minute.
“Can you handle the rest yourself?” you say after successfully undoing his belt, backing away ungraciously, nearly tripping over your own feet. Atsumu nods, the strange, intense look still on his face. “Okay, I’ll be just outside if you need me.”
“Will ya help me wash my hair?” he asks rather meekly, just as you’re about the shut the door. You crack it open a little to provide your answer.
“Yeah. Sure.” A small, giddy smile spreads across Atsumu’s lips, like he's a kid who was just given candy.
“Okay.” He then proceeds to pull down both his pants and boxers in one fell swoop, causing you to let out a shriek and quickly turn around, hands over your eyes,
You immediately feel stupid for reacting this way; you must seem immature as hell. But then you remember that Atsumu is still intoxicated and probably won’t remember any of this in the morning, and you breathe a little.
You don’t move until you hear the splash of water, signaling that Atsumu had successfully got himself into your bathtub. Cautiously, you peek into the bathroom and see him staring right back at you, an expectant look on his face.
“C'mere already,” he grumbles, pouting. “Yer actin’ like you’ve never seen a naked man before.”
You frown slightly, shifting uncomfortably as you sit on the edge of the tub and grab the shampoo bottle from its place on the rack.
“Whatever,” is the best you can come up with, lathering the shampoo into his hair.
“Wait, don’t tell me.” He goes still for a moment, and you hum in response, beginning to massage the liquid into his scalp. “Yer a virgin?”
“Didn’t say that, 'Tsumu,” you reply, keeping your voice steady as possible even though your internal instincts were freaking out. In your decade and a half together, you’ve never talked about these things with Atsumu.
“You are, aren’t ya?” You don’t reply, suddenly way too focused on the blonde locks of his hair swallowed in bubbles from the shampoo. “(Y/N).” He jerks back, glaring at you with his thick eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. You hold back a laugh, he looks anything but intimidating with a head of bubbles and some stray foam on his cheek. “Answer me.”
“What’s it to you?” you continue to maintain your cool, bringing his head back towards you and continuing to wash out his hair.
“Dunno.” He continues to scowl. “Who was your first, then?” You’re quiet. “So you’re a virgin.”
“Yes, I am. Don’t see how this is relevant, dumbass.”
“So?” You arch an eyebrow.
“Yer twenty-three,” he emphasized. “And you’ve never gotten laid.” You stiffen, pursing your lips. You were surrounded by intimidating volleyball players for most of your high school life so any boy that ever had the desire to get close to you was promptly chased off, and when you had gone to university. you never had any intention to lose your virginity, being more focused on your studies and your job at the local bakery. Frankly, you don’t think your lack of 'getting laid’ is a huge deal, but the way Atsumu seems to be addressing the topic now makes it seem like some kind of crime.
“You seem to be getting a lot more sober, 'Tsumu. I think I’ll leave you to finish washing yourself.” As soon as you stand up from your seat, Atsumu splashes around in protest, his arms waving wildly, soaking you and covering you in bubbles from head-to-toe.
“No!” he whines, while you groan in a mixture of disgust and defeat as the water and foam drips down the front of the ratty old t-shirt you wear to bed.
“Great,” you grumble to yourself. “Thanks a lot, asshat.” Despite your venomous tone, Atsumu seems rather pleased with himself when you sit back down and continue to card your fingers through his soapy hair. “I hate you.”
“You love me~” he sing-songs obnoxiously. You don’t reply, not wanting to accidentally hint at how much those words actually ring true. “Thanks for this, by the way. Yer the best friend anyone could ever ask for.”
His words both melt and break your heart.
This isn’t the first time he’s said this phrase; this isn’t the first time you’ve bailed him out of a questionable situation. And you know he means no harm in any way, and you know that he truly does appreciate you, and you know that you should really just get it through your thick skull that you’ll never be anything more than a friend. But still, a tiny part of you longs for more.
You swear this boy is going to be the death of you.
This was gonna be a one shot but it was getting quite long so lmk if you’re interested in a part 2 and I may continue writing it ok thanks for reading this pile of hot garbage lmaoooo
