Chapter Text
Atsumu is engaged. Has been since he was a kid, actually.
Well. Kind of. Not really.
One of the twins was promised to the child of a business associate as part of a deal when they were still trying to propel each other over their elementary school fence via the playground seesaw.
Then they’d hit puberty and presentation reared its ugly head– Osamu was an omega and therefore the sacrificial lamb. It was a business contract and since Osamu didn’t seem very concerned about it, neither was Atsumu, they had school to ignore and volleyball to play. Marriage was something that happened in the future and wasn’t worth worrying about.
At nineteen the twins have had and then recovered from their biggest ever fight and things are fine, good even. Atsumu focuses on MSBY and winning their bet and somehow doesn’t notice the signs. Because Osamu might be calm and easy going on the surface, but he and Atsumu are made of the same stuff– stubbornness is a family trait.
In the time spent apart, Osamu has fallen head over pussy in love with Suna (of all people) and now he’s pregnant. Like actually pregnant. Like there’s an ultrasound as proof. And whatever faceless alpha their parents had lined up for him wanted no part in raising someone else’s child. Not so much a dad who stepped up as a man who’s firmly stepping down.
And Atsumu should have figured what happens next because despite Osamu thoroughly violating the terms of a deal, the twins’ parents were only volcanically angry rather than apocalyptically angry; Osamu’s confined to his room but for the six hours a day he spends at culinary school rather than out on the street. Yet Atsumu is still surprised to find out that Osamu’s rejected faceless alpha has a faceless omega brother that Atsumu is now going to marry.
They chose to tell him, rather wisely, at a private dinner at their house instead of at their favourite restaurant. Osamu was even allowed to come and join them to butter Atsumu up.
So yeah. Atsumu is engaged.
He had tried to get out of it, obviously he had; who wants to get lumped with a wife they don’t know? Ugh, telling his team would be a pain and he would spend at least six months being the butt of everyone's jokes, more so than he already is. But of course it wasn’t that easy.
“But why?” he had whined, petulantly, because he knows his father hates it and if Atsumu is unhappy he’s sure as shit going to make everyone else at the table miserable too.
“Do you see this house?” his mother had snapped, throwing down his napkin in annoyance. “Do you remember your apartment in Osaka? The schools you went to, the training camps, the holidays, your car? All thanks to the deal we made. Would it kill you to show some gratitude?”
Atsumu had sunk down in his seat because honestly it felt like it might. He can’t even make dramatic faces at Osamu to deal with this bullshit because his twin is steadfastly staring at his place setting. They’d barely even made eye contact since the news of Osamu’s unfortunately successful creampie reached the family WhatsApp. It's guilt. Because he fucked up his parents’ plans and now he’s fucking up Atsumu’s life. And while Atsumu will absolutely hold this over his head whenever the Mystery of the Missing Puddings is brought up again, he’s going to wait for the baby to be born before deploying it because he’s not a complete asshole.
“What if I refuse?” he’d asked, as if he had a girlfriend to knock up as a get out of jail free card. As if a pregnant girlfriend would be enough.
“Then yer cut off,” his mother had said with flared nostrils. “No allowance, no apartment, no car, no sponsoring yer team or events. And no start-up capital for Onigiri Miya.” Now that got the attention of both twins.
“If you two want to pretend their agreement was never made,” their father had said, “ya can live without the lifestyle it’s funded for ya.”
And that was that.
Because Atsumu is a selfish man. He’s arrogant and abrasive and only thinks about volleyball, but he loves his brother. He could probably survive on his pay from MSBY, even if it meant downsizing and downgrading, and getting a personal training gig in the off season, but Osamu… he’s not going to get a business loan as a pregnant nineteen year old. He might not even be able to finish culinary school.
Atsumu’s going to win their bet– he’s going to die happier– but he’s not going to do it by sabotaging Osamu’s dream.
The silver lining of this turd of a cloud is that he doesn’t have to do any wedding planning. That’s handled by the bride’s mother with a little input from Atsumu’s own. All he has to do is clear a weekend for the wedding and attend the fittings for his kimono. And show up, of course.
The only real hiccup had been when they’d had to cancel the engagement photos because Atsumu still had a shiner and a fat lip from getting into a fist fight with Suna. Their mother had been furious and yelled at him for a solid twenty minutes, but that had been somewhat undercut by their father, who had looked quite proud because, one; Atsumu had won that fight, and two; Atsumu had felt defending his brother’s honour was warranted. Leaving Suna in jail overnight while only bailing out his son probably helped too.
Osamu had also yelled at Atsumu, but since a bloody nose, two black eyes and a night in a holding cell was the sum total of Suna’s punishment he didn’t have the energy to stay angry. What with growing a whole new person and all that, he doesn’t have energy for much.
In hindsight, literally at the altar, he can see that it would have been better not to meet his bride for the first time at their wedding, but Atsumu’s been busy; he has an actual job and a niece or nephew to support. It’s not like their marriage is going to be real in any sense but legal, so what does it matter?
The ceremony is a weird mishmash of western and traditional. Apparently his in-laws are catholic so it’s happening in a church, but everyone is dressed as if they’re going to be at a temple.
Atsumu stands next to the priest, an old guy who looks like he’s one stiff breeze away from expiring, and waits for his bride to walk down the aisle so that they can get this whole thing out of the way. There’s a French league game on that Atsumu really wants to watch and he reckons he can probably hide away for a decent chunk of the reception to catch up on it if he’s smart about it.
He’s mulling over player stats when he finally sees his wife-to-be enter the church. He does a double take that must look fucking hilarious because he can hear Gin, a few pews deep, being shushed by Aran for laughing. It’s probably been caught on film too since there are a very expensive looking videography team flitting about too.
It’s just. Walking down the aisle, in a traditional bridal kimono, on his father’s arm, looking like he wants to set the whole place on fire, is Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi.
Atsumu’s kind of aware that he must be staring like a concussed caveman, but he genuinely has no control over himself right now. To think, if Suna hadn’t aimed for his face, Atsumu would have had a full six months to annoy the fuck out of his high school rival. He’ll have to make up for lost time.
Hell, maybe his chances of watching that French league match have shot up, because, as stiff and humourless as Sakusa is, he’s a volleyball idiot too. No one wins nationals without being one, especially not as their ace. Plus… Sakusa Kiyoomi is kinda hot. He’s always had that aloofness to him that drives alphas crazy trying to get him to notice them, not to mention his sleek hair and perfect skin.
Atsumu flashes Sakusa a smile as he reaches the altar, and symbolically takes Kiyoomi’s hand when it’s passed to him by his imminent father in law. The look he receives is withering, but since they have a monster of a ceremony to get through, nothing is said out loud.
Christians, it turns out, like to sit and stand constantly in their rituals. Sit for prayers, blessings and liturgies (whatever the fuck those are), stand for introductions, songs and a whole ass sermon, then they have the have a snack and it comes with barely a mouthful of wine. Atsumu hopes the reception is better supplied or there might be a riot started by his cousins.
They say their vows (hilariously declaring that they’re here without coercion, as if that’s true) with varying degrees of seriousness; lovingly accepting children from God? Like Sakusa Kiyoomi is going to let Miya Atsumu anywhere near his pussy. Then they’re finally allowed to leave the church. Atsumu hopes that Sakusa isn’t a deeply religious person, he’s never heard him talk about god in any capacity so the odds seem good, because he never wants to go back into a church again. Creepy building, creepy blood rituals, very boring company.
There’s a show of getting into a special car, as if they’re actually going to drive themselves to the party, mostly for the photographer and the videography team, but once that’s done with Sakusa is whisked away by his mother for makeup retouching and Atsumu makes a beeline for Aran.
“I can’t believe you’re married,” his friend says with a look of horror on his face.
“Me neither,” Atsumu laughs, but then his smile drops as there’s pang in his chest. “I can’t believe ‘Samu isn’t here to see it.”
It makes sense that the Sakusas wouldn’t want the twin that rejected their son to be at the wedding, and it makes sense that the Miyas want to hide their shameful harlot from public view, but Atsumu doesn’t care about any of that. He’s just signed his life away, he should have his twin here. He should have had Suna too.
“At least without him to eat half the buffet there might be some left for us,” Gin says, attempting some levity.
“Sorry Kita couldn’t come either.” Aran makes a disgruntled face.
“There was some bullshit politics about me not inviting any does, so as not to upset my wife, or his family or whatever.” Atsumu scowls. “I basically only got to invite two people to my own goddamn wedding.”
At least Atsumu’s mother’s happy. He’s flitting between guests networking like it’s a corporate event and not his son’s wedding. Bitch.
The reception is held in some historic building– possibly from the Heian era, possibly not, Atsumu has never cared much for history– with a few rooms and a fancy honeymoon suite upstairs. The main hall is set up for the party with an open bar and wine on every table, and, contrary to Gin’s assumption, the wedding meal is brought out from the kitchen by a flurry of servers. Real fancy shit too– aged steak and expensive sea food– it’s honestly a waste that Osamu isn’t here. Perhaps there’ll be a moment where Atsumu can slip out and persuade a chef to make up a to-go box, he’s the groom, he should be able to make requests, right?
He’s seated at a long table on a raised stage, next to Sakusa Kiyoomi of course, with each set of parents on either side and a gigantic centerpiece of flowers between them. It’s not an arrangement that lends itself easily to in depth conversation.
Not that Atsumu’s mother cares; she keeps making him say things to Kiyoomi– tell him he looks beautiful, tell him what you thought of the ceremony, ask him if he’d like more wine. Which Atsumu dutifully does once he’s had his ears boxed for the second time. It’s pretty pointless given Kiyoomi would clearly rather be eating his meal than answering inane questions, especially since his own parents are talking his ear off from the other side too.
Fortunately there’s only so long a meal can go on for, so once the plates have been cleared away and the cake ceremonially cut (there’s a moment where Atsumu considers rubbing a dollop of buttercream onto Sakusa’s face, but is met with a glare so ferocious that the impulse is soundly squashed) Atsumu can make his escape to a quieter part of the venue.
He does contemplate just hiding under a giant staircase to watch volleyball and everyone else can go fuck themselves, but there is something he needs to do first.
“Scrub,” he says as soon as Osamu picks up.
There’s a scuffling sound on the other end of the line, and Atsumu hears Osamu snap something like “it’s ‘Tsumu, stop it”, then a grumbling that sounds suspiciously like Suna.
“Seriously, he’s there?” Atsumu complains. He doesn’t want to think about what Suna was being told to stop doing.
“Yeah, he’s here,” Osamu shoots back. “He’s my boyfriend. Still. No thanks to you, by the way.”
If Suna was going to dump his twin over an angry scrap then he didn’t deserve Osamu in the first place. Atsumu rolls his eyes in contempt and hopes that Osamu can sense it through the phone.
“Well I thought ya’d want the choice of steak or lobster for me to bring back for ya, but if yer still mad at me then I won’t bother. Won’t bring ya any cake either.”
“‘Tsumu, ya have to bring me steak,” Osamu begs. “Please, please, please.”
“All he wants is red meat,” Suna says, somewhere in the background. “I think he should get his iron tested.”
“You want the potatoes too?” Atsumu teases. “It’s all western food, so they’ve put a tonne of cheese and garlic in it. Done something fancy with broccoli too, got bacon bits in it and–”
“Get me everything,” Osamu groans.
Atsumu laughs and describes as many of the dishes as he can just so he can hear the avarice in his ear. It’s also that food is one of the few things they can talk about right now. It’s not that Atsumu doesn’t want to hear about his growing niece or nephew, it’s just, he doesn’t know how to ask without all the anger and upset about the pregnancy and their parents and Suna looming over them. Osamu’s culinary classes are coming to an end in preparation for the baby and Atsumu’s still sore about playing without him so they can’t even talk about their everyday life.
He’s midway through explaining the layers in some mousse dessert when Atsumu’s mother finds him, anger radiating off him, and he clears his throat threateningly.
“I’ve gotta go,” Atsumu complains, because it’s not like an extra ten seconds is gonna kill his mother. “Ma’s here and he’s got a face like a slapped ass.”
Atsumu’s cuffed around the back of his head for that, which he probably deserves, and hangs up.
“This is yer wedding,” he says.
“Oh don’t start.”
“Yer bride is alone out there,” his mother snaps, very much starting. “There is dancin’ and I’m sure he’d like it if his husband was there to dance with.” From what Atsumu knows of Sakusa, he severely doubts that. Sakusa would like to be left the fuck alone, except for maybe his funny eyebrowed cousin.
Nevertheless, Atsumu returns to the party and makes sure he dances with both of his grandmothers and his new mother-in-law like a good son. He honestly would have gone to Sakusa if his new wife wasn’t either surrounded by his family or sequestered away at the table with Komori. So instead he gets slightly drunk on champagne, sucks up to the relatives his mother points him towards, and slips a waiter a few bills to get the leftovers boxed up. Aran looks at him, beleaguered, when he’s given the doggybag but agrees to ferry it back to Osamu. Their parents are staying at the venue overnight too so Aran might as well take the chance to see Osamu while the opportunity is there.
Atsumu makes it to eleven at night before enough guests have trickled back to their homes or hotels or small children that Atsumu starts to wonder what he’s going to do for sleeping.
Because, of course they have the honeymoon suite at the venue, but he’s assuming that Sakusa would rather pull out his own teeth than actually share a bed with Atsumu. Which– fair. Hurtful, but fair. A second bed in the room is definitely out of the question for obvious reasons (it’s a honeymoon suite) but maybe it has a sofa.
When most of the guests are gone and Atsumu has had his last drink removed from his hand, he debates whether he should just go to the front desk now to ask for an additional duvet or if he should see if there are spares already in a cupboard in the room somewhere.
He’s interrupted before he can make a decision by his smiling mother. Honestly, the fact that he’s smiling after all the things Atsumu’s done to piss him off that evening should have been his first clue that something was amiss. But Atsumu is pleasantly drunk and he’s had more fun than he thought possible at his own arranged wedding so he’s disarmed. Underprepared. Off guard.
“Atsumu,” his mother says, “go upstairs, Kiyoomi-kun is waiting for you.” A room keycard is pressed into his hands and, given the hour, Atsumu wanders to the elevators so that he can get to the top floor, receiving a curt nod from Kiyoomi’s father, still in the foyer with her friends for some reason, before the doors close.
Given how the parents are reacting, Atsumu wonders if maybe Kiyoomi doesn’t mind him as much as he put on during high school; they were rivals after all. And he does have an older sister, briefly introduced part way through the reception, so there was another option… maybe Kiyoomi is more on board with this previously assumed.
He swipes the key and, after the door beeps with a green light, steps into the honeymoon suite. It’s grandiose, with a plush carpet and expensive looking wallpaper, and there’s a full bathroom off to one side, the pool-like bath visible through the open door.
The bed is protected from the doorway by a privacy screen, but the silhouette of Kiyoomi can still be seen through it: he’s lounging on the bed, and on the floor, just poking out past the screen, is strewn his wedding clothes.
Oh.
Cautiously, Atsumu rounds the screen to approach the bed and then stops in his tracks because Kiyoomi is waiting for him, reclined on his elbows, totally naked.
He’s breathtaking.
Like a gravure model, but somehow more tasteful. Silky curls and long legs– Atsumu always knew Kiyoomi was tall but his legs go on forever– then there’s his rosy nipples and flushed cheeks.
Atsumu should be a gentleman, but he can’t help but stare between his wife’s legs; Kiyoomi has a cock. It’s quite big for an omega too, half filled out against his thigh, and behind it, peeking out shyly, is his pussy. He’s been shaved or waxed or threaded (is that a thing for body hair? Atsumu can’t remember) so his inner lips are just about visible, all pink and glistening.
Atsumu has to swallow so he doesn’t drool all over himself. Honestly the only thing missing from this pornographic scene is Kiyoomi’s scent, he’s still wearing his scent patched over all his glands but given he’s naked, Atsumu doesn’t mind being left something to unwrap.
“Hiya, Omi-kun,” he says, and he knows he’s grinning but he can’t stop. How can he, when Kiyoomi is waiting for their wedding night? Kiyoomi, as expected, doesn’t speak, but does give him that disaffected look he often wears. The effect of it is dampened by the fact Atsumu can see his dick and cunt.
Slowly, because he’s still expecting Kiyoomi to deliver a swift kick to his stomach should he put a foot wrong, Atsumu goes to sit on the bed. It’s a delight when Kiyoomi nestled further into the bedding.
Tentatively, Atsumu runs a hand down Kiyoomi’s flank and feels deep satisfaction at the shiver it sends through his wife’s whole body. His skin is warm to the touch and Atsumu wants to stroke every part of him, inside and out. Since Kiyoomi is yet to protest, he leans in to press a kiss to his forehead, just as a test, and when, still, he isn’t rebuffed, he kisses his mouth too.
Kiyoomi is pliant and puts up no resistance as Atsumu deepens their embrace, soft lips part for him and his breath hitches. It’s like a fucking dream.
And it’s not like Atsumu is a virgin. Atsumu has fucked, he’ll have it known. He had a couple of girlfriends in high school and as a professional athlete with access to dating apps, hooking up is pretty easy. But there’s something about a doe being so forward that scrambles his brain in such a primal way. He wants you, it says, and Atsumu’s ego enjoys being stroked.
When they break apart, spit shining on Kiyoomi’s lips, Atsumu uses the opportunity to shed his outer layers, tossing them onto the floor next to Kiyoomi’s kimono.
They should probably be talking first, but Atsumu is still tipsy enough that he just feels good right now and would happily feel even better. He kisses Kiyoomi’s neck, drinking in the reflexive way his wife bares his throat in submission at the act. He is, however, mildly put off by the plastic feeling of the scent patch there.
“Let’s get this off you,” he breathes, and reaches to peel back the covering. Atsumu’s never been with an omega in heat (his parents would have thrown a fit), at the most just smelling classmates in preheat, but even just the scent of arousal from one is enough to drive an alpha insane with want. And he feels like going a little mad.
What would Kiyoomi smell like, he wonders? Sweet and sugary perhaps, or more spiced like male omegas often are– he’s heard it described as cinnamon-like, although that might be an embellishment. Whatever it is, it’ll be mouthwateringly delicious, it’s Sakusa Kiyoomi after all.
The patch lifts and, instead of arousal, the bitter scent of fear and distress fills the air like a smoke grenade. It permeates the room so quickly and pungently that it’s like being punched in the nose by panic and Atsumu physically reels back from in.
What the…?
He can’t parse the terror and grief rolling off Kiyoomi with the receptive and aroused Kiyoomi that he’d walked in on. Atsumu is stunned and can only look again.
Kiyoomi’s is not shivering with want, he’s shaking with fear. His face is not aloofly passive, he’s bracing himself. He wasn’t nestling comfortably into the bed, he was cowering away. And damning of all, the half-hard erection that he was sporting when Atsumu arrived has gone completely soft.
Shit.
Shit.