of fanfics & funsies

Omi pops out of the frame in 50 shades of black: from his eyeglasses, his mask, his tank top, his leather jacket, dark jeans, and shoes. Then he pulls Atsumu into the shot, dressed in a low multi-colored halter top, light jorts, silver Mary Jane sneakers, pink heart-shaped glasses on top of his head, and a myriad of sparkly accessories.

One too many shots in, Atsumu reveals one of his useless talents is tying a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue—a seemingly innocuous confession requited with low chuckles and curious hums.

Yaku licks his lips slowly, mischief flickering in his eyes.

Bokuto pauses mid-sentence, his mouth left hanging open for a few seconds before finally closing, then he visibly gulps.

Kageyama and Hinata exchange knowing glances at each other, a silent understanding shared between longtime partners.

Ushijima maintains a stern facade, but hidden from view, his leg starts bouncing as if a tribute to a dormant urge suddenly awakened without warning.

Aran gleams, a Cheshire grin across his handsome face. “Ya sure can,” he remarks with a smug look as he ruffles Atsumu’s hair.

Suna downs his shochu in one guzzle, cheeks heating up as if recalling a not-so-distant memory rather than from the alcohol.

Sakusa shortly excuses himself from the table to return to his room ahead of everyone else. He doesn’t get much sleep that night. (And he’s had to shower twice… for reasons too shameful to admit out loud.)

Hoshiumi begrudgingly ushers Gao to the restroom to wash the drool off his face.

“Nice to meetcha, Mrs. Sakusa. Thanks fer having me.”

“An accent! How adorable,” she coos as she nips at Atsumu’s cheeks. “Call me Nana. Oh, what pretty brown eyes you have!”

Slowly easing into consciousness, his back arches towards the familiar warmth pressed against his body; his eyes flutter languidly and survey his line of sight.

When Atsumu is awake enough to take in his surroundings, he’s greeted by the minty sighs and Kiyoomi’s low hums against his lips. Atsumu’s jaw slackens on command, ever pliant to his beloved’s touch even in half sleep. But before he could open his mouth fully, realization hits him and coaxes his eyes wide open; he hops out of bed and scurries to the bathroom.

After a few minutes, he returns and finds Kiyoomi sitting on the foot of bed with knots on his forehead and a small pout on his lips, the sight amusing as it is endearing, it makes Atsumu giggle.

Atsumu puts his arm around his Omi’s neck and straddles his lap in lieu of an apology, revelling in the sultry gaze he knows is reserved only for him. “Now ya can kiss me,” he coos, pressing his lips sweetly on Kiyoomi’s cheeks. “G’mornin’, Omi-Omi.”

The gesture instantly placates Kiyoomi’s sour mood, Atsumu swears he could see his imaginary tail wagging delightedly. “Morning...” Kiyoomi mumbles.

“Ain’t no good in it?” Atsumu teases, not missing his lips this time.

Kiyoomi squeezes him by the waist and pulls him closer, positioning him to an angle he likes that grants him easier access. “Mhm, there is now.”

“That’s more like it,” Atsumu lets out a pleased moan, lips curling to a lazy smile, imploring for more.

And Kiyoomi, eager to oblige, dives right in to get a proper taste of Atsumu on his tongue, the cool scent of vanilla and peppermint toothpaste mingling between parted mouths, affection swelling from his chest. He vows not to let another day end without popping the velvet box tucked between his spring wardrobe in their shared closet.

Kiyoomi, who has an abundance of dark, lush hair in the right places except his face, grows increasingly envious of Bokuto getting all of Atsumu’s attention so he sets himself on a mission: operation grow some facial hair.

(There’s a voice in his head that sounds like Motoya telling him he should start ‘operation grow some balls to confess’ instead but he blatantly ignores it.)

So at half past midnight, Kiyoomi was still up browsing through forums and product catalogs even though he rarely ever stays up late on weekdays when someone knocks on his bedroom door.

Annoyed by the interruption, Kiyoomi begrudgingly answers the door and finds Atsumu in his mismatched print pyjamas and fuzzy headband, a warm cup of tea clasped between careful hands.

“Omi-Omi, ya still up? I saw yer lights were still on so I wanted to check if ya wanted some-”

A long pause stretches between them. Kiyoomi revels in the comfortable silence while relishing how soft Atsumu looks in his sleep clothes.

“Ya… ya wear glasses?” Atsumu stares at him wide-eyed, unable to tear away his gaze from the thick rimmed glasses framing Kiyoomi’s face.

“Hmm? Yeah, just when I’m in front of a screen for too long. You know, the blue light filter kind? I haven’t worn it much since university, only occasionally now.”

What a waste, he swears he hears Atsumu mumble.

“Say that again?” Kiyoomi asks him, but Atsumu merely shakes his head and pretends not to have said anything.

The deepening flush on his cheeks betrays his feigned nonchalance though, just enough to corroborate what Kiyoomi thinks he’s heard.

And… oh.

Oh.

On days nearing their cycles, it’s not just the setters showing signs of pre-heat, their alpha and beta teammates manifest symptoms too.

Team trainer Iwaizumi insists he’d do their nail care routine for them before practice then treat them with a deep massage after.

Captain Ushijima maintains his usual calm aplomb but will silently hover around the two omegas wherever they go, staying on guard and letting his mere presence serve as a warning (threat) to anyone who dares make their approach.

Vice captain Bokuto scents their omegas to ward off unwanted lurkers, shooting sharp glares at strangers who look their way with veiled intentions. (Fans call it his ‘dark mode’)

Komori and Hinata are the designated collectors who gather everyone’s used clothes—the stronger the stench, the better—and pile them on a vacant bed which they use as a staging area. (The omegas get the final pick which pieces of clothing end up in their nests, of course)

Suna and Aran who normally initiate banter at Atsumu’s expense turn defensive and switch on protective mode, quick to throw hands at anyone making jokes about Atsumu.

Hoshiumi and Yaku alternate sending Gao and Hakuba to run errands and buy treats from specialty stores.

Sakusa becomes more sensitive to pheromones, persistently ridding any foreign scent from the two—especially with Atsumu.

Atsumu was in awe when he noticed it since his prickly teammate barely smiles—the genuine kind of smile, not the ‘heh’ smirk he usually wears—and the little indentation peek-a-booed from his mask.

He wondered if it was inborn or if it was acquired from perpetually grinning lopsidedly as a child hence the appearance on one side of his face.

Kiyoomi argued it’s a genetic trait and not something obtained without a medical procedure to restructure one’s facial muscles.

And yet Atsmu took any chance he got to poke at Kiyoomi’s right cheek, hoping to drill a semi-permanent hollow to mirror his left dimple.

Kiyoomi always acted annoyed when he did yet he never asked him to stop, only clicking his tongue and narrowing his gaze at the setter who would then act nonchalant, lips in a pout.

Then one day, the spiker seemed to in the sourest mood, his chagrin pinched between furrowed brows and a scrunched nose that no one dared to be within breathing distance from him.

Nobody except one oblivious darling, that is.

“Omi-Omi!” Atsumu had a hand hovering Kiyoomi’s shoulder ready to launch a surprise attack as he called his name, his finger prodding the soft flesh of Kiyoomi’s cheek when Kiyoomi turned towards his direction. “Boop!” Atsumu beamed, his teammates’ faces morphing to sheer horror as if they’re anticipating a jump scare at any moment.

But to everyone’s surprise, Kiyoomi’s jaw slackened and his expression melted to helpless defeat, almost resembling fondness. “You’re an idiot,” he groaned, but his soft gaze belied the bite in his words.

He wasn’t in it for the hot sex even, although it certainly is a nice bonus—especially when they’re a bit rough and eagerly thorough, exactly the way Atsumu likes his playthings. He has a plethora of toys to pleasure himself with and he’s acquainted himself with the sweet spots that make his body ascend to the stratosphere before anyone else, the deepest satisfaction only he can tap into.

No, Atsumu was in the sugar baby business purely for self-indulgence. For what else is more thrilling than a pretty little omega getting older alphas succumb to his whims and jump through hoops to enthrall his attention?

Over time, he’s gained a range of clientele—betas, alphas, even a few omegas—and he’s cherry picked the ones he grew fond of regardless of dynamics, keeping a loose hold of their leash.

“Heading out already?” Oikawa asks as he shimmies behind Atsumu in the vanity room.

“Mhm… I won’t be back until Sunday so don’t wait up for me,” Atsumu bats his eyelashes coyly, a gesture only his roommate and closest friend would understand.

“Well, someone’s going on another wild sexcapade~” Oikawa teases in a singsong. “Which capital D-a-double d-y are you meeting this weekend?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes but he couldn’t hide the giddy smile on his face. “The pretty one with blue eyes I hung out with at the gala.”

“Already?! You just met last week!”

Atsumu shrugs, nonchalant. “Eh, I mentioned I liked unwinding in the mountains and he said he’d take me to his cabin.”

“Sounds like a horror story in the making.”

“His villa is in Niseko,” he punctuates with a wave of his hand as if that disproves Oikawa’s allegations. “Heard there’s an onsen too.”

“Oh, and there can never be crime in a hot spring in Niseko, can’t there?”

“Exactly!”

The two omegas share incredulous looks before bursting into laughter. They know how outrageous their conversation sounds.

“You’re incorrigible,” Oikawa bumps their hips together and starts retouching his hair. “Why didn’t I join you in this side hustle again?”

“Because you’re head over heels for my brother.”

“That I am~” Oikawa sticks his tongue out, not a hint of shame in his voice. “Have you seen the gorgeous man?”

“Of course, I have.” A sigh. “Almost everyday for the past 26 years. Every time I look into the mirror too, except I see a prettier version.”

“That’s because Osa-chan is more handsome!”

“Yes, yer right!” Atsumu feigns acquiescence.

“Anyway, tell me more about this new beau. I know you wouldn’t spare him a glance if he wasn’t worth your time. Do you think he’s a keeper?”

Atsumu doesn’t respond, but the light blush on his cheeks gives away his thoughts.

“And you think he’s gonna receive a courting gift from Kansai’s sweetheart?”

The insinuation makes Atsumu flush deeper. Oikawa bites back a squeal.

Traditionally, courting gifts were pieces of jewellery that brandished ownership of omegas. Atsumu deems that custom should change, for alphas deserve love in the form of gifts too—exorbitant yet meaningful, small tokens of gratitude for the pampering he receives by a multifold.

A silver necklace for Kotarou, the handsome divorcee he met at the bar who offered his coat when he noticed Atsumu sniffling and shivering from the cold. That night, he bought Atsumu a drink and drove him back to his condo; Atsumu’s lips were still tingling from the alpha’s kiss after they parted.

Matching black pearl earrings for Hajime and Shuugo who were long-term partners looking to spice up their relationship with a younger boy toy so they arranged for a CM at the TV station they own. All to reel Atsumu into their orbit.

A gold bangle for Wakatoshi, the stoic gentleman who showed up at his shoot with a bouquet of roses after showing no interest at the party they met in. Turns out, Wakatoshi was more than interested in him and has been one of his earliest subscribers.

A dial watch for Kuroo, Atsumu’s primary sponsor and the one who pushed him to start streaming. People often mistake him as Atsumu’s bodyguard, for no fans can swarm Kansai’s sweetheart when he’s in proximity.

An emerald pendant for Rintarou, his high school senior, the green complementing his eyes. He’s shared a lot of Atsumu’s firsts and remains his unofficial emergency contact, always one call away.

A moonstone for Kiyoomi, his longtime rival in the industry. They may have started on the wrong foot but their fans shifted from toxic discourse to fiercely shipping them together, earning them pet names of “sunshine and dark night.”

Atsumu and Oikawa’s playful banter is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing, Atsumu gasps and gives his eyebrow one final stroke of the brow gel before checking himself out in the mirror then scurrying to the front door.

“Atsumu, hi.”

The man had thick rimmed glasses framing his blue eyes and a velvety voice that would make anyone melt. “The driver is upfront. Ready to go?”

Atsumu hums, his scent reaching the inner parts of the room.

“Oh, and before we go…” He leans into Atsumu’s space slowly, tentatively—an invitation—and waits for Atsumu to close the distance so they can share a kiss, short and sweet. “You look beautiful, darling. And you smell so good.”

The man slides an arm around Atsumu’s waist and Atsumu slots perfectly in his hold and lets himself be guided out the door. “Thank ya, Keiji-san.”

Meian, blasting Usher on the speakers before manhandling him to the side: Don’t worry. I got ya, babe.

Not that he might lose balance, stumble on the ground, and hurt himself, but because when he does, he falls onto Sakusa Kiyoomi’s lap and makes himself at home there—eyes glazed, cheeks warm, a woozy smile on his pretty face.

“Oh, shit-” Barnes curses, suddenly sober.

“Rest in pieces, Miya…” Shion quips, earning a quick jab from Thomas.

“Omi-san, don’t move! We’ll get him off and clean you up, don’t worry!” Hinata frantically searches for a napkin amidst their mess of a booth at the bar.

Meian is too stunned to speak. He looks like he’s about to pass out.

Startled by the commotion, Atsumu perks up and turns to his frolicking teammates with furrowed brows and a scrunched up nose. “Noisy!” He hiccups as he nuzzles closer to the side of Kiyoomi’s face and points to their teammates, his other arm wrapped tightly around Kiyoomi’s neck like he’s clinging on to dear life.

Dear life he’s about to lose if Kiyoomi snaps and decides to end his despair, they all think.

“Tsumu-Tsumu, stop squirming! And don’t you dare throw up! Not now!” Bokuto panics, a clean towel still nowhere to be found. “Calm down, Omi-Omi! Think zen thoughts. Breathe in, breathe out!” Yet he looks like he needs to catch his breath more.

The group’s trepidation is salvaged—or perhaps escalated—when Kiyoomi lets out a low chuckle, arms circling around Atsumu’s waist and settling on the small of his back. Atsumu seems just as shocked as the rest of them, his back arches as Kiyoomi rubs soothing circles below his spine, their noses almost touching.

“Are my eyes playing tricks on me or is Sakusa actually smiling while Miya is a pliant mess on top of him?”

Barnes chokes. “Whichever it is, I’m out. I need to bleach my eyes.”

“I’m comin’ with ya,” Meian shakes his head and takes out his wallet.

“Eh… eh! Eh?” Bokuto’s expression shift from one emotion to another in a span of seconds.

Hinata squeals.

“Have you and Tsumu-Tsumu been secretly dating all this time?”

Kiyoomi’s lips curl to the side, an unfamiliar fondness veiling his expression. “No, but ask me again tomorrow.”

Hinata squeals again.

Only—half of the time, she’d wander off for an entirely different purpose, and she’d find her way back to her uncle with a random stranger in tow—tall, handsome, perhaps a little grumpy and mean-looking.

Well.

Exactly Atsumu’s type, in short.

“Miya Tamako! Are ya trying to sell off yer uncle?” Atsumu hauls her over his shoulder when he catches her red-handed approaching a stoic man enjoying his coffee by the park benches, Atsumu’s photo card in her hand.

“It’s called marketing! And I just don’t want ya to grow old alone!” Little miss Miya reasons, keen on playing matchmaker. “Also, I told ya I want a baby cousin!” She adds with a giggle, mischief dancing between the crinkles of her eyes. She’s too precious and Atsumu adores her to bits but he truly hopes she learns about biology in school soon.

“I can’t give ya that, silly!” He sets her down and pinches her round cheeks. “How about I take ya to that kitty cafe you like, yeah?”

Tamako huffs petulantly and holds her uncle’s hand, face lighting up when she notices a familiar face in her periphery.

Miles away, Osamu’s twin senses tingle as he molds a heaping of warm rice between careful palms—all ten fingers and his whole heart—just like how Atsumu serves the easiest spikes for him back in high school. The corner of of his lips curl to an unknowing smile that mirrors Atsumu’s own as he mumbles a low, “That scrub must be doing those limbo sets again.”

// spicy

It was an unusually uneventful Friday at the local station, which Daichi didn’t pass on taking advantage of—catching up on piles of paperwork and admin tasks after his routine morning rounds. He affords to clock out at 7pm without guilt so he decides to take a little detour around the neighborhood, maybe text Suga and Asahi if they wanted to meet up for drinks. He’d invite Kuroo too since he’s in town for the MSBY-Adlers game on Sunday, but Daichi knows he’d be busy with final preparations for the long-awaited match where a handful of the Monster Generation will star as the main cast.