min_mintobe
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"How many people have you had sex with," Sakusa asks later that morning, with absolutely no preamble. Atsumu chokes on his breakfast and turns away to swallow heavily before answering.
Sakusa waits.
"Why?" Atsumu finally says, giving Sakusa his most charming smile. "You looking to be the next in line?"
Bad sex, good food, and the benefits of being friends.
(Or: a teammates to lovers fic spanning five years, three kisses, and many detours.)
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"Hello, princeling," the Avatar says, tongue curling out of his mouth, smiling. "I hear you’ve been looking for me. What are you going to do with me now?"
“Restore my honour,” Kiyoomi answers.
A hundred and twenty years ago the first dual-avatars are born.
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He's not good enough.
There is nothing new he brings to the team, nothing the dozen setters before him haven't already tried. Atsumu knows he's good, very good, but no one is very impressed. Everyone here is very, very good at what they do.
Miya Atsumu, and the years in between eighteen and twenty-two.
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But there's one setter out there Sakusa has only played a handful of games against, and even fewer games beside. His tosses leave Sakusa breathless with delight at sixteen, and he never feels quite as satisfied again in the six years after.
Feelings, of the sporting kind, and one kiss.
ft. team spirit, philosophising, and early morning misunderstandings.
Sakusa POV.
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But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.
Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.
ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.
Atsumu POV.
Recent bookmarks
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it’s a quiet evening when meian hands atsumu a folder of his next target, sakusa kiyoomi’s headshot greeting atsumu as soon as he opens the file. the wire transfer description calls them professional services and atsumu supposes that’s general enough; professional services covers just about the breadth of what he does, though the inclusion of “pretend to be hung up on the ex who dumped him ten years ago” and even “accept a hit on his ex” is debatable.
but it’s twenty million yen, which is just about where even atsumu swallows his pride.
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The plan was that when Kiyoomi met Atsumu again, he’d no longer be in love with him... but Kiyoomi has always planned lines and buildings better than the matters of his heart.
Series
- Part 1 of Penrose Steps (a sakuatsu inception au)
Bookmarked by min_mintobe
08 Jul 2021
Bookmarker's Notes
I want to be stuck in limbo forever with this fic
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Ginko is called to a remote beachside town where villagers are said to become ill from a “soul-wasting disease.” There he encounters a silkweaver and salt harvesters whose souls appear to have been devoured by what seems to be the soul-feeding sanekui mushi, though nothing is ever quite as it appears.
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His brother looks thoughtful, a slight breeze ruffling his hair. “Ya know… There is Sakusa.”
Atsumu chokes out laughter. He knew Osamu was going to say it. “No way in hell. Keep that bloodsuckin’ asshole away from me.”
Osamu rolls his eyes and jostles Atsumu’s body slightly. “Yer dyin’ if ya didn’t realize. Think bein’ picky’s the last thing ya can afford right now.”
“I have standards even on death’s door,” Atsumu mutters and spits out a thick clump of bloody saliva on the ground. “He’s the last one I’ll allow to fuck me.”
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He scans for the newest Volleyball Monthly, fingers moving right to left for the telltale kanji when he catches sight of a pile of curls on the December edition, the face of the player neatly hidden behind a magazine on ramen.
Can't be, he thinks, lowering his hand before he pulls it, there's no way he plays v—
It's really him, it's the same curls— though they're short and parted to the side so he could see a bit of Sakusa's forehead— same delicate features, same eyes, his cheeks still round from remnant baby fat.