MAK I MISS U MAK I MISS U MAK I MISS U MAK I MISS U MAK I MISS U MAK I MISS U MAK I MISS U MAK I MISS

how r u mutuals with everyone:/

honestly i couldn’t tell u LOL i guess i just became mutuals with my mutuals , mutuals we’re basically all connected in some way…?

why do ppl not let me retire from cherrysurf 😭😭?? anons need to leave me alone….

LAST SEEN WITH:

DON’T FREAK OUT, DENKI KAMINARI

DESCRIPTION: a series of texts leading up to a pivotal moment in you and your best friends relationship.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: smau. pls ignore any mistakes. profanity. friends to lovers. they/them jirou propaganda. mina appearance. reader calls denki fat. accidental confessions. brain rot language. ex-boyfriend! yo shindo mentioned.

pregnancy cravings with miya atsumu.

Pregnancy cravings never really made sense to Atsumu. Then again, he never got to the part of anatomy and physiology when he was studying physical therapy before he decided to go pro as a volleyball player.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t supportive; no, he prided himself on being a great husband. And now, with you, his wife, pregnant with your first child, he was determined to be the most supportive, loving, and accommodating partner ever.

Nothing was going to stand in his way—not distance, not logic, and certainly not impossible cravings.

It started simple. Like it always did.

You wanted a specific pastry from a bakery on the other side of Japan? Done. He booked the fastest delivery service he could find, and when that wasn’t an option, he flew there himself, picked it up, and brought it back.

Talk about rich.

Homemade food? Good thing Osamu had drilled the basics of cooking into him, though he still got yelled at by his twin when he accidentally burned rice. But hey, effort counted, right?

Then, the cravings started getting weird.

You’re sitting on the couch with a blanket over your lap when you look up at him with serious eyes. “I want Osamu’s cooking.”

Atsumu blinked. “Alright, I can ask him—”

“But I don’t want to eat it. You eat it.”

He frowned, confused.

“Huh? Ya want me to eat ‘Samu’s cookin’?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Atsumu scratched his head, wondering if this was some kind of test. “And that’s gonna make ya feel better?”

“Yes.”

“… Even if ya don’ eat it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Atsumu blinked. “That doesn’t make no sense.”

“Atsumu, please don’t question me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Osamu. “Oi, ‘Samu, I need ya to cook somethin’—no, not for [Name]—for me.” There was silence on the other end before Osamu sighed heavily and reluctantly agreed.

That night, Atsumu sat at the dining table, stuffing his face with his brother’s food while you sat across from him, smiling in satisfaction as you watched. Osamu just did his part as a supportive brother for his twin.

The next day was even worse.

“A seedless mango,” you murmured, rubbing your belly.

...

“A what?”

“A seedless mango. I want it.”

“… [Name], sweetheart, baby, I love ya, but that don’t exist.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I want it.”

Atsumu groaned. “Where am I gonna get a seedless mango?”

“Figure it out, please?”

He spent hours searching online, calling fruit vendors, and even asking Osamu if his suppliers had some secret black market seedless mango (Osamu asked him if a volleyball that was going 120 km/h hit his head).

No luck.

In the end, Atsumu cut up a normal mango, carefully removed every trace of the seed, and handed it to you with a hopeful grin.

You took one look at it and frowned.

“It’s not the same.”

Atsumu wanted to cry.

-

“I need you to wear a face mask.”

Atsumu blinked at you from your bed. “Huh? Why?”

You huffed quietly, fidgeting with the sheets. “Because your face is annoying.”

Atsumu gasped, hand clutching his chest. “My face?! The one ya love so much?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya vowed to look at forever in sickness and in health?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya called ‘beautiful’ when I asked ya if I was hotter than ‘Samu?!”

“I love you, but right now, your face is irritating me.”

Atsumu stared, utterly betrayed, before sighing in defeat. He got up, went to the closet, grabbed one of the disposable masks he’d bought during flu season, and put it on.

“There. Happy now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Very.”

Atsumu flopped onto the bed with a groan, pulling the blanket over himself. As he lay there, sulking, you scooted closer and rested your head on his chest.

“I love you, you know that?” you murmured.

He grumbled. “Ya sure? Feels like ya hate me sometimes.”

You chuckled. “No, I love you. My hormones just don’t.”

He sighed. “Yer so lucky I love ya more than life.”

“I know. Pregnancy is so weird.”

And the worst has yet to come.

-

Atsumu should be asleep by now, but no, he had to be individually popping popcorn. One kernel at a time, as per your request.

He initially told you, “Yer kiddin’.”

You were not.

And that was how Atsumu found himself in the kitchen at three in the morning, painstakingly popping one kernel at a time in a tiny pan. Every time he accidentally popped more than one, you, who were sitting on a stool with your hands on your belly, would click your tongue disapprovingly.

“You put in two, Atsumu.”

“This is torture,” he grumbled, but he kept going.

-

“I want ice cream,” you said.

Atsumu perked up. “Oh, easy. What flavor?”

“I don’t know.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Uh… okay. I can get a few different kinds?”

“I need to taste them all.”

Atsumu frowned. “Like… all the flavors?”

“Yes.”

“… Babe, there are like fifty flavors at the ice cream shop.”

You nodded. “And I need to taste all of them before I decide which one I want.”

Atsumu let out a long, suffering sigh, but being the devoted husband he was, he marched straight to the ice cream parlor and ordered a ridiculous amount of sample cups. The poor employee stared at him in disbelief.

“You… want every flavor?”

“Yeah.”

“Every single one?”

“Yeah.”

“Sir, that’s—”

“My wife is pregnant, and if I don’t do this, I might not make it to the end of the week.”

The employee, upon hearing this, immediately started getting to work.

When Atsumu got home, you took one spoonful of each, nodded, and, after going through every single cup, announced:

“I don’t want ice cream anymore.”

Atsumu fell to his knees. Defeated.

-

“I need you to stand in the corner for a while.”

Atsumu looked up from his phone, confused. “Huh?”

“The corner. Stand there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like you should.”

Atsumu squinted. “Babe, are ya makin’ me into a damn decoration?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Atsumu sighed but did it anyway. He stood in the corner of your living room for a full ten minutes while you sat on the couch, happily watching TV. At some point, Osamu FaceTimed him, took one look at the scene, and hung up.

-

The next day, you called him while he was at practice, which was rare in itself because you did just leave messages whenever you knew he was practicing.

“Babe,” you said in a tone that made his stomach drop.

“… Yeah?”

“I need you to bring me a cheeseburger.”

He let out a relieved laugh, wiping the sweat off his brow. “That’s easy! I’ll grab ya one on my way ho—“

“But replace the buns with pancakes.”

Atsumu froze. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I dunno if I did, sweetheart.”

“Pancakes. Instead of buns. Oh, and I want honey to go with it.”

Atsumu nearly dropped his phone.

“Yer messin’ with me.”

“I’m really not.”

And you weren’t. That evening, he stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with the precision of a professional chef before assembling the most unholy creation he’d ever laid eyes on—a cheeseburger with pancake buns, honey drizzled over the meat.

You took a bite and hummed softly. “Oh my god, this is better than sex.”

Atsumu, who had spent hours perfecting his technique in the bedroom, felt personally offended by that.

-

“Atsumu,” you murmur. “I need you to switch sides of the bed with me.”

He sighed. “No.”

“Atsumu.”

“[Name], baby, darlin’—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my side is closer to the door in case of an intruder.”

You chuckled quietly. “Tsumu, please. I need to sleep on that side.”

Atsumu stared at you, conflicted. He had never—not once—slept on the other side. It was unnatural. Wrong. It went against the very foundations of your marriage.

But you were looking at him with those tired, hormonal, pleading eyes. And he was sure you’d tell him you could barely see your feet now and often experience heartburn, all because of his unborn baby.

With a heavy sigh, Atsumu switched sides with you.

“You’re a good husband,” you whispered, patting his cheek.

Atsumu, lying in the unfamiliar position, staring at the wrong wall, whispered, “I’m a broken man.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

literally pls STOP shipping yourself with shoyo he doesn’t want u😭 the only person i’ve accepted to love my man just as much as is mak and it’s only bc i love her sm.

i know i don’t talk abt daichi much but that’s my husband dead ass. None of u bitches love him like me.

also osamu? like pls 🙄 GET BEHIND ME IM FIRST IN LINE.

if i see ONE more person selfship with one of my boyfriends i will scrually get a clairo cut and show U who's boss

@dearru you and shoyo coming to babysit me and samus kid core bc atsumu can do shit

osamu raised a brow. stared. sucked in a breath. then scowled at the thing crawling to him. shook his head and said, "i wanna blood test."

"what?" you gasp, coming out of the bedroom and joining your husband in the living room.

"ya heard me. i mean, just look at him!" osamu picks it up and turns the baby towards you. "looks nothing like me."

"babe-"

"he looks like atsumu. don' look nothing like me is all 'm saying. ain't that suspicious?"

you can't help but playfully role your eyes. "'samu, he's our child." you say, pausing to look at the one year old child in your husband's arm before saying, "we planned this remember? you and me and no one else."

osamu hums and turns his baby boy back to face him, who stares back at him with those big eyes, and the restaurant owner has to try so hard not to break face. "still. been noticing how much he's been looking more like tsumu than me. i mean, can you really believe he looks like him?"

osamu jerks his head towards his twin, who's in the kitchen.

atsumu catches his brother's eyes and smiles at him, completely oblivious to the conversation. osamu feigns a quick smile back before returning his attention to you, who is now standing next to him.

"you didn't sleep with him did you?"

"of course not." you look at atsumu too, the both of you watching as he struggles to prepare a simple snack for your son. "you really think i'd sleep with him? he wasn't even first on the list for being the godfather."

osamu raised a brow at you and sets his child down and watches him crawl towards you. "says the one who wanted sakusa to be."

"i... well-" you stutter out. "well i thought he'd be a good one... at the time."

he laughs as he pulls you in for a side hug, kissing the crown of your head. you both silently watch atsumu again as he moves mindlessly around the kitchen frantically. "why did we agree for him to babysit tonight?"

you elbow your lover. "because he offered to so that we can go out tonight. and," you add quickly, "because he hasn't seen our son since the league started; i think it'd be great bonding time now that the season is over."

"trust me, the only thing he's good at is volleyball and that's it. his brain doesn't have the capacity for anything else."

"i heard that!" atsumu yells from the kitchen, accidentally spilling some of the snacks all over the floor. upon hearing the noise, your son eagerly starts making his way there.

osamu rolls his eyes. "yea yea." your husband sends you a look and you're already making your way to your phone.

"already on it," you peck his cheek before getting your phone to find hinata's number in the contacts.

"so glad we chose him as the godfather," your husband grumbles under his breath, following his son's excited babbles into the kitchen.

hai if u want a moodboard pls send an ask ty

@kawoala cowboy hinata…

 『 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 . . . . 』

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