parents
miya atsumu x f!reader
atsumu is determined to defeat the final boss: your parents, armed only with volleyball muscles and wife-guy agenda.
wc: 1.4k, requested
there are many terrifying things in this world. darkness. heights. ghosts. but nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the looming presence of your parents sitting stiffly across a small dining table like two government officials ready to interrogate a criminal mastermind.
and unfortunately… the criminal mastermind tonight is miya atsumu.
he’s wearing his best shirt—which is admittedly just a button-up that he ironed three times because osamu told him wrinkles were a “sign o’ weakness”—and he looks like he’s about to either propose or perish. potentially both.
your parents had made it very clear for your Entire Life™ that boys were a mythical threat, like dragons or bad grades: never let them near you.
so naturally, atsumu is here. determined. unstoppable. a golden retriever with the unwavering confidence of a man who has decided you are the love of his life … and your parents simply do not know it yet.
𓏵
you try not to look nervous, even though your entire soul is screaming like a kettle on the stove. meanwhile, atsumu is smiling like this is the best day ever.
“mr. and mrs. l/n,” he says in his thick kansai accent, echoing with way too much enthusiasm for someone under a death ray, “thank ya for havin’ me. ya’ve raised the most amazin’ person on this whole planet. i’m honored ta breathe the same air.”
your mother blinks. your father does not blink at all. he stares like he’s trying to unlock atsumu’s brain with laser eyes.
you kick atsumu gently under the table. slow down. breathe.
he beams even brighter, thinking you’re encouraging him.
“yer home is lovely too,” he babbles. “smells like peace… and fabric softener.”
your father clears his throat—one of those intimidating coughs that sound like thunder. “what… are your intentions with our daughter?”
oh no. The Question™.
atsumu doesn’t flinch. not a twitch. he straightens his back, suddenly a man ready to fight every deity ever.
“ma intentions?” he repeats. “simple. i plan ta marry her, give her the happiest life in the whole universe, and treat her better than anybody alive.”
you choke on your own oxygen.
your mother’s hand pauses mid-reach for her teacup. “marry?”
atsumu, unaware of your soul leaving your body: “yes ma’am. already got the whole thing planned in ma head—venue, vows, honeymoon. oh! and grandkids that’ll be star athletes too, maybe.”
your father blinks once. slow. like a predator.
“aren’t you two… in high school?”
atsumu nods wisely. “yep! perfect time ta plan the future when yer brain is still at peak imagination.”
you want to crawl under the table and befriend dust bunnies.
𓏵
the dinner proceeds. and to your utter shock… atsumu is winning.
like, actually winning.
he eats politely (osamu probably drilled him for hours), compliments every dish like your mother invented food, and listens with wide puppy eyes every time your father talks about his job.
he even laughs at the dad jokes. convincingly. loudly. passionately. as if the jokes cured his seasonal depression.
your parents soften little by little. tiny cracks in their concrete armor.
but then dessert arrives. and dessert is where everything could fall apart. because it’s your favorite—and atsumu knows that.
when your mother places a plate of cheesecake in front of you, atsumu watches you with the focus of someone studying ancient scripture. his entire expression warms, cheeks burning soft pink.
he looks at you like someone staring at the sun.
like loving you is not a choice—it is gravity.
your father coughs again. “son, why are you staring?”
atsumu doesn’t even pretend. “sorry sir, she’s just… the prettiest sight ma eyes have ever seen. it’s a bit distractin’, y’know?”
your heart does a whole gymnastics routine. your parents… look away. embarrassed? flustered? confused by this level of devotion?
yes.
success.
𓏵
after dinner, your parents move to the living room. “just a chat,” they say. more like a final review.
you stand behind atsumu, lightly touching his sleeve—a silent i’m here. and for a moment, his shoulders relax. just a moment.
“tell us,” your mother says, “what do you like about our child?”
atsumu doesn’t pause. not even a second.
“everythin’.”
the word lands with the weight of the world.
he continues, voice softer than you’ve ever heard:
“i like the way she laughs like she’s surprised by happiness. the way she holds her pencil like she’s signin’ autographs. the way she gets nervous but still tries her hardest. the way she talks ta everyone so kindly. the way she cares for people even when they don’t deserve it.”
he swallows, eyes dropping to his hands.
“i like how she keeps goin’. even when life tries ta knock her down.”
then he lifts his gaze—steady, glowing.
“i wanna be part o’ that reason she smiles every day.”
your mother inhales sharply. your father shifts forward, no longer a fortress—more like a man trying not to cry.
atsumu fidgets once, then blurts:
“and i… i’d do anythin’ ta protect that smile.”
your breath escapes in a rush. warmth spreads through your chest, too intense, too much, too good. your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking.
your parents look at you—really look—and see the way you lean toward him like your entire existence is pulled by a magnetic field named miya atsumu.
your mother sighs. “well. he certainly… loves you.”
atsumu’s cheeks burst into red fireworks. “love—?! yeah. yeah, yer right. i do. so much my heart feels like it’s doin’ jump serves.”
your father finally cracks a grin. “if you ever hurt her—”
atsumu jumps in. “sir, if i hurt her, i’ll march straight ta jail myself. no need ta call the cops.”
your mother actually laughs. your father chuckles. the world does a cartwheel.
approval. granted.
𓏵
later, outside your house under the streetlight glow, you both stand quietly. atsumu’s hands hover awkwardly until you take one first, lacing fingers.
he nearly short-circuits.
“did ya see that?” he whispers, awe-struck. “they smiled at me. twice. yer dad even patted ma shoulder! i think we’re basically family now.”
you laugh, leaning closer. “you did amazing, tsum.”
his face deepens in color—a full strawberry spectrum. he bites his lip, eyes flickering between your hand in his… and your lips.
“uh… can i… maybe—maybe i—”
you roll onto your toes and kiss him first.
it’s soft. warm. gentle enough to melt winter. his breath hitches against your mouth, fingers tightening around yours like he’s anchoring to reality.
when you part, his brain is clearly rebooting. “ohhhh… wow… ya kissed me like i just won nationals.”
you grin. “you did. you won against my parents.”
he beams so bright he might power tokyo.
then he suddenly gasps. “wait—if they're okay with me bein’ yer boyfriend now, does that mean i can visit anytime? like… every day? forever?”
your brows lift. “forever?”
his voice is a whisper of absolute devotion:
“m’never lettin’ ya go. not in this lifetime, not in any.”
your heart flips like it's auditioning for the olympics.
“that sounds like a plan,” you murmur.
his smile turns dopey. “best plan i ever made. even better than that time i tried ta invent volleyball pancakes.”
“volleyball pancakes?”
“don’t ask. osamu banned me from the kitchen for a month.”
you laugh into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you like he was built to hold you.
and right there—under the stars, with a boy who ironed his shirt three times because he wanted your parents to like him—you realize something:
love doesn’t always arrive quietly.
sometimes it shows up wearing a poorly buttoned shirt, swearing oaths of eternal affection, and smiling at you like you’re the entire world.
𓏵
atsumu leans back just enough to look at you, eyes shimmering with that ridiculous, cinematic intensity.
“next step,” he whispers, “i’m learnin’ how ta cook so yer parents love me even more.”
you giggle. “tsum, they already do.”
he shakes his head, dramatic as ever. “nah. i’m gonna make ‘em adore me so much they’ll start invitin’ me over without ya.”
you pat his chest. “don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“too late,” he says proudly. “i already planned our fifty-year anniversary speech.”
you kiss him again, because what else can you do when someone loves you with the power of a thousand shōnen protagonists?
and as you walk back inside, hand in hand, you know this:
miya atsumu may not always be smooth.
but he is yours.
and he is perfect.
n: i’m feeling very miserable right now, so sorry everyone 🦧
tsumu’s taglist [1/2]
@cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @briestrom94 @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @tetsurae @asyaacia @rabbitcola @yeonette @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @pelicanpizza @han0vyc @meikstv @babybird-meena @depressinglyobsessed @keiob @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @fiannee @wensurr @emotiandon @alyriaschoenheit @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @griffincorn @snowstormsandavalanches @starzlytoetsie @ceramic-raven @nekoffie @littlemissfix-itfic @kuroofangirl67 @lov3shin @thinc0ck @zombikittykat @jadorejuni @theylovekay
© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !
iloveu
