Thread by @murcielagoAO3

#miyacest #nsfw

osamu didn't mean to pry when his brother's phone buzzed with a new text. he just unlocked the phone to check the message and didn't think anything of it.

they were expecting a message from kita with an update on his eta for their dinner outing, anyway, and

osamu needed to know whether or not to order another coffee, so when the notif came in, and atsumu was in the cafe restroom, osamu didn't think twice about taking a peek...

...and instantly realizes his mistake. the message was /not/ from kita. nor aran. nor anyone he knew.

"your bf sounds like a slob.🤡how about you come shopping with me again next time? ⌚️👞👔💼🍸"

osamu grips the phone so hard he nearly cracks the screen, rage buffeting his ears.

who the /fuck/ was this "mori-mori" dude hitting on atsumu? offering him watches and shit, like

some goddamn sugar baby? what the literal fuck!

osamu closes the app and puts the phone back facedown at their table, grinding his teeth. atsumu comes breezing back eventually, and sits back down in his seat, bumping osamu's shoulder in greeting.

"heard from kita?" atsumu asks.

osamu grunts a negative, and folds his arms over his chest. he keeps his eyes on the table, afraid to look in atsumu's direction as he opens his phone. osamu can tell when atsumu finds the message, because atsumu snort-laughs, and starts typing furiously in reply. osamu's hands

clench into fists. he's not such an asshole that he'd suspect atsumu of cheating on him by sleeping with someone else. but the thought of some other man taking atsumu out and gifting him expensive things just gets in his craw. makes him feel /incensed./

"oh kita says he's here."

atsumu stands up, looking around, and then waves kita over from the side entrance. "kita-san, over here!"

osamu stands up to greet kita as well, accepting his handshake and then shifting his seat around the table - further away from atsumu - making room for their friend to join.

kita shoots osamu a curious look, but accepts the vacated seat and opens the menu. "'m glad 'm not the only one in a t-shirt an' flannel," kita says, meeting osamu's gaze then turning to atsumu. "when ya said t'meetcha at a bistro, wasn't too sure how to dress."

Atsumu laughs.

"who cares how ya dress? it's just us here, right 'samu?"

osamu glowers, lips pressed thin.

kita tilts his head at atsumu. "says the one sittin' here with expensive cologne, polished shoes, and a tailored jacket."

atsumu preens, and waves this off. "what, these old things?"

kita chuckles. "yer always put together, 'tsumu. dressed a level above the rest of us." he looks down at his clothing, and then looks over at osamu, a smile quirking his lips. "maybe a couple or three, at that."

atsumu looks at them both through his lashes. "so i like to look

good - doesn't mean 'm too embarrassed to be seen with either of ya shlubs." he finishes this gentle insult with a mischievous smile. "ready to order? i'm starvin!"

osamu glares at atsumu's coiffed hair and his glowing skin, knowing just how much time he spends primping before

they go out anywhere - whether to meet a friend at a bistro, visit the grocery store, or even take out the trash.

it's such a waste of time and energy to osamu, unnecessary effort, and it truly sucks because atsumu really /is/ attractive all the time.

osamu's just not fussy.

he keeps himself clean, and he's good with the basics. comfortable jeans, shoes with good tread, flannels and hoodies. it's just how he rolls.

/so what?/

so what if he doesn't own a single pair of ferragamos. he's never felt any lesser for it.

until tonight.

TBC! time to zzzzzzz <3

they order and eat, although osamu's food is tasteless. as usual atsumu is the one to carry the conversation so osamu's reticence goes relatively unnoticed. or at least kita doesn't press, just gives osamu a look that means he's welcome to talk, or not, when he's ready.

atsumu's so caught up in his usual one-sided chatter that it's not until they're exiting the train at their station and it's just the two of them walking around back of Onigiri Miya to their residence that atsumu catches onto his mood.

"ok this is quiet, even for ya, 'samu -

somethin' on yer mind?"

osamu unlocks the door for them, and they take off their shoes. "nah. got some bookkeepin' left to do. gonna be in my office."

"awww, nooo," atsumu hugs him from behind. "why dontcha come have a drink with me and lemme rest my head here a bit. miss ya."

atsumu illustrates this with hands sliding under osamu's shirt to grip his pecs, one in each palm, to pull their bodies together.

any other time osamu would accept the invitation for what it is, angle his neck for a kiss and turn to push his twin into the wall, hands above his

head and groins grinding until atsumu's flushed and whimpering and begging to be fucked until he can't walk anymore.

this time, though, osamu catches a whiff of atsumu's cologne and wonders for the first time if atsumu picked it out, or if it was a gift from this "mori-mori."

the scent is /sickening./

osamu takes atsumu's hands and removes them from his body. "end of the month. gotta finish up."

"aww, 'samu," atsumu pouts, but osamu just walks away, and retreats to the restaurant side where he's got a desk and a computer and a couch for naps.

atsumu doesn't follow him; he knows better than to be a nuisance with shop business. osamu exhales a groan, and sits down in his desk chair, rubbing his face.

then he rips off his flannel shirt and tosses it on the couch. what a fucking horrible night of revelations.

osamu takes /good/ care of his brother. puts atsumu's happiness first, and considers him in all things, like aligning his restaurant schedule with the Jackals' practice schedule, or always having fatty tuna on hand, or keeping him wholly satisfied in bed no matter what new kinks

atsumu's into or how frequently he needs it or how little sleep osamu gets juggling atsumu's appetite with his day job duties.

to find out atsumu thinks he's a slob, and worse - that atsumu goes out shopping with some other dude (or are there more?) because of it, is like a

bullwhip across the face.

he's been stinging ever since he saw that text.

osamu /hates/ to think he's missed the mark somehow, but he must have because he knows what atsumu's side of the closet looks like, what he keeps in his dresser drawers, and it's all so glaringly clear.

atsumu likes nice things. he's always been keen on fashion and brand name items while osamu couldn't care less about accessories or shit like that.

he doesn't even own any cologne except what atsumu's gifted him before, and even that he can't remember ever bothering to wear.

god. talk about not having a fucking clue.

osamu takes a deep breath and turns to his computer. one thing's for sure--he's gotta find out who this mother-fucking shopping buddy of atsumu's is or he'll never be able to rest.

he's also got to turn this whole thing around, pronto.

he /never/ wants atsumu to think he's a slob, a shlub, or a sloppy dresser, ever again.

tbc <333 (there will be smut, promise 😅)

on the computer osamu pulls up the national team roster. he knows all of atsumu's little nicknames and it's not someone from msby or suna's bf komori, so it's gotta be someone a little further outside their circle.

he scrolls through the names and then his eyes settle on one.

huh.

osamu frowns, looking up the guy's socials and finds photo after photo of him in custom suits, holding drinks and wearing expensive watches, standing between two towering fair-haired models with a striking family resemblance at some party, all of them dressed to the 9s.

there are pics from foreign countries, too. and notably, one of a man's forearm resting on a high-end boutique counter, palm up, a dozen silk ties draped artfully through his fingers and over lean muscles captioned "decisions decisions..." that sets osamu's teeth on edge.

he /knows/ the fingers on that hand and arm - they belong to atsumu.

he /also/ knows that the fourth tie from the right is hanging in atsumu's closet, right now.

osamu scrolls further down to an image of the man in sunglasses, teeth bared in a cocky smirk.

he glares at the screen and laces his hands behind his head.

yaku morisuke, the little shit, is gonna hafta find a new shopping buddy, because from here on--

osamu's gonna be the /only/ one draping atsumu in silk.

or anything /else/, for that matter.

no one's gonna spoil atsumu better than him. and that's a promise.

tbc!

honestly, the continuation of this thread will be sporadic while i juggle some irl things. should i continue as i have time or just finish it for ao3?

coming up: osamu's attempts at peak romance, and some kinky sex, top!osamu. 💖

osamu knows what he wants to do, but it's going to take some careful coordination.

while he has the privacy of his office, osamu checks their shared calendar and then sends messages to a few of his business contacts to make arrangements for the following weekend. if he plans

it right, the timing should work beautifully.

atsumu's calendar also reveals a lot about his habits and preferences, which makes it even easier to choose what ideas to put in motion.

osamu checks the clock, and looks at his phone. it's a bit late, but his sense of urgency

wins out and he taps out a quick message and hits send. he watches the screen, and sees that the message has been read.

three dots appear as the response is typed, and then they stop. and appear again, and stop again. then appear again, and stay blinking and blinking for a long

while. osamu smirks, imagining the other's face as he types out a novel-length reply. then the dots stop, and after a pause, osamu's phone lights up with an incoming call.

osamu chuckles and then picks up the call. "shame to waste all that time ya spent typin', dontcha think?"

"you are a menace," the voice on the other end huffs. "and it's your fault for sending me a text like that so late at night. are you drunk?"

osamu laughs. "not even a little."

"god. do i even really want to know, osamu?"

"just say yer free next thursday. two days in advance

is good if saturday's the big day, right?"

"i just can't /believe/ what you're asking me. we're going to get hit by a giant meteor that brings on the apocalypse, aren't we."

"hey, watch it," osamu feigns offense, but his affection for his friend comes through. "there's plenty

in it for you, you know, besides that it's my treat."

"okay this is one thing that i can insist on - this is absolutely MY treat. never thought i'd ever see the day--"

"--oh come on!"

"--and i don't usually do this with others, too unhygenic, but now that i think about it

the results might just be worth it."

"ha, ha," osamu rolls his eyes. "so are ya free thursday or not?"

"i'm clearing my calendar as we speak. just one question--don't you think atsumu will notice?"

osamu bites his lip. "he might. an' if he does, s'not the end of the world."

"if he asks, i'm not lying to him. he's my teammate."

osamu smirks. "well like ya said--who's gonna believe the truth?"

"hmmmm good point. okay. i'll set everything up. you just have to follow my directions."

"got no problem with that," osamu agrees, then adds, "/this/ time."

there's an annoyed grumble. "i'm hanging up now."

"night," osamu grins, the call ended.

the rest of his plans hinge on his email inquiries, so osamu tidies his office, grabs his balled-up flannel from the couch, and turns off the lights, heading back to the apartment where

atsumu's probably asleep.

osamu finds him curled up in bed, phone by his head streaming some tv show but his eyes are closed, and the volume's low, the blue glow of the screen highlighting the underside of his lashes.

osamu strips out of his clothes and brushes his teeth,

joining atsumu under the covers and cuddling up to his back. he reaches over atsumu's arm to gently pick up his phone and close the streaming app, then puts it on the nightstand.

atsumu stirs enough to snuggle back into osamu's arms, and exhale a sigh. osamu kisses right behind

atsumu's ear, and nuzzles into his hair, prepared to ignore the scent of cologne and not get triggered by it this time. but atsumu must have showered for his hair is fluffy and dry, and smells lightly of lavender and wheat, and his skin has subtle hints of citrus that make osamu

want to taste him all over. [cw: pre-consented somno]

so he does. tracing his tongue over atsumu's shoulder to his collarbone, then licking up the side of his throat. his arm cradles atsumu's head and tilts his chin back so he can slide lips along his jaw, free hand sliding down

his bare stomach and hips, fingernails carding through atsumu's treasure trail on the way in-between his legs.

atsumu's breathing quickens, still half-asleep, rocking into osamu's hand where he feels atsumu's cock hardening in his palm. osamu strokes him to full hardness, thumb

collecting the moisture from the tip, as he bends over atsumu's torso and licks across his tightened nipple.

atsumu lets out a soft moan, barely there, really more of a whisper but osamu's got goosebumps at how needy it sounds. he eases his arm from under atsumu's neck, and he

burrows down under the sheets where he can fit atsumu's cock right into his mouth, sucking him off gently but with purpose, getting his brother to twitch and shift his legs, writhing in place from the pleasure. osamu lifts atsumu's legs over his shoulders, and knows just how fast

to go, just how hard to suck, just how long to go to make it really good for his brother, but not so intense that he wakes up before spilling into osamu's throat.

osamu swallows it all and licks him clean, hands stroking the thighs hooked over his shoulders until atsumu relaxes,

exhaling again, his expression smoothing out into one that's completely satisfied.

osamu kisses both of atsumu's thighs before settling atsumu's body more comfortably on the bed. he scoots out from under the sheets, and rests beside his brother, waiting for his excited heartbeat

to return to normal while taking a moment to admire the sleeping beauty next to him.

osamu caresses the slope of atsumu's throat, runs his knuckles over atsumu's wrist, and twines their fingers together, imagining every part of him covered in jewels and precious metals, and

/aching/ because atsumu means so much more than that to him, and always has.

atsumu stretches and yawns, and then rolls over onto osamu's chest, cuddling into him with an arm and a leg draped over him, and breathing snuffled snores right over osamu's heart.

osamu holds him reverently, even more determined to spoil atsumu properly with everything deserves, and more.

tbc! 💖

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