Here's a little late Valentine's Day fic! Minors DNI.
Genre: mild angst, fluff, and smut (the holy trinity!) oh and a little comedy
Warnings: some light couple fighting/bickering, cunnilingus, fem reader.
Word count: 2.6k
Atsumu nearly loses it as you clench around him, body writhing beneath his. Your eyes flutter shut and your mouth parts open to let out another breathless moan. He fights back every urge he has to bust in you now, not wanting to end the pleasure for either of you.
“Tsumu,” you whine, your eyes opening, glossy with love and lust.
He can’t take it anymore. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself. He cums deep inside you with a final thrust, his breath catching and then a groan escaping. He opens his eyes to look at you, but you start to fade from view.
Atsumu wakes up abruptly, jerking his arms and sitting up. His forehead drips sweat as he shakes his head. Another wet dream, he realizes. Flipping the covers off him, he sees he’s made a mess of himself again. He flops back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing you’d just come home already.
Looking over at his alarm clock, he sees it’s 3:34 am, just after lunchtime for you on the east coast of the United States. He never imagined you’d go no contact while visiting family back home, but he also never imagined you’d have such a detrimental fight just hours before your flight.
–
2 Weeks Prior
“That’s really close to Valentine’s day, right?”Atsumu asks you, peering over from the couch. You’re surprised to see he’s looked up from the volleyball game he put on half an hour ago.
“Yeah, I’ll get back here on the 14th, actually.” You tell him, drying the final plate and putting it away in the cabinet.
When you look back at Atsumu you see he’s frowning.
“Look, I didn’t buy the ticket. If you have an issue with it, take it up with my dad.” You walk over, sitting down beside him on the sofa.
He wraps his arm around you and you lean into him, curling up on the sofa beside him. His fingers lazily stroke your arm as you sit with him in silence. He’s watching the Argentinian team again, the one you can never remember the name of. All you do know is that one of the players is from Japan and going to be playing in the upcoming Olympics against Atsumu this summer. You assume he’s keeping tabs on him.
“What if you didn’t go? I’ll pay to change your flights so you go after Valentine’s day and once practices pick up and I’m not home as often. I-”
“Atsumu, why don’t you want me to go home?” You snap, sitting up and moving his arm off your shoulder. “I haven’t been home in over a year and missed Christmas with them.”
“Baby that’s not-”
“No, it is. You’ve been whining about this trip since my dad booked the flight.” You stand up, storming out of the room and to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.
Atsumu has never made a big deal about Valentine’s day before, given you’ve spent two previous together you didn’t think it would be bad getting in on that day. Sure, you’ll be jetlagged and exhausted, but you’d still be able to go out if he wanted to, but last year you had takeout in your pajamas after a particularly long practice. Why would it be any different, especially since his prep for the Olympics has already been so intense, and will only begin to pick up more?
Either way, he’s not getting his way this time. It's not like you’re keeping score, but you tend to give in to his wants more now that you’ve moved in together, even sacrificing Christmas with your family to spend it with his family and meet Osamu's baby. How does he not understand that you just need a few weeks to spend with your family as well?
You grab your suitcase from the closet and begin to fill it, rather haphazardly. You’re more productive when you’re worked up, anyways so you might as well use the energy. Plus you leave tomorrow night, it’s not like you have too much longer to get your stuff together.
A light rasping knock draws your attention to the bedroom door. “Baby, I’m sorry, I just am going to miss you is all.” He says opening the door and leaning on the frame, looking rather defeated.
“It’s fine,” you tell him, going back to packing your bag. “I just need some time to pack and then sleep before the trip tomorrow.” Atusumu looks defeated but smiles anyways and leaves the room.
Even though it’s clear he feels terrible about pestering you, it’s too late now for your attitude to shift. It’s not like you enjoy your sudden shift in mood, but once you're feeling foul there isn’t much you or anyone else can do about changing it. Overall, it’s just better to let you ride it out.
–
Your nails bite into your palm as the plane starts to land. Flying has always been fine, but the landing has always made you nervous, mainly because you hatehow it makes you bounce around. Luckily, you didn’t have anyone beside you for the flight back home to Japan, so you have been comfortable for the long journey.
You find yourself picturing Atsumu fighting the airport traffic, cursing and threatening to honk at the people in front of him. Usually, he’s the one at fault, but you’ve learned to just let him rant and rave since he never actually makes a fool of himself to others… just threatens it.
The next half hour goes by in a flash, it’s grabbing carry-ons, waiting in line, and fighting for bags at baggage claim. Next thing you know, your phone is buzzing with Atsumu’s picture as he calls you.
“Hi baby,” you answer softly, but loud enough to be heard over the airport chaos.
“I’m right outside your terminal. Are you already off the plane?” He asks, not sounding as excited as you expected him to be.
“Yeah, I just grabbed my bags.” You tell him.
“Alright.” He’s in a mood, you assume. He’s rarely this short with you.
Okay, I’ll be there soon.” You hang up as you head towards the exit doors.
You see his car before you’re out of the doors. He managed to get a good spot right up front. Dragging your suitcases behind you, you manage to make it to the car without pulling anything. You’d only brought a carry-on home, but your parents had gone overboard to make up for your missing Christmas, you had to pay for two checked bags to bring back.
Atsumu jogs towards you, taking the bags from you and loading them into the car, silently. He smiled, but that’s the most affection you received from him. You slide into the passenger seat, pulling out your phone, and scrolling to find some pictures to show Atsumu on the drive home and tell him about your trip. He hadn’t texted you much during the time you were away, so you assumed it was because he was so busy with practices so you didn’t bother calling or texting him more either.
Atsumu gets in the driver’s seat and starts to take off. “Want to see some of the pictures from my trip?” You wave your phone around smiling. “Everyone missed you this time.”
“Everyone?” He side-eyes you, and you frown.
“What’s up your ass?” You ask, putting your phone away in your pocket. “I thought you’d be excited to see me.”
He sighs, gripping the steering wheel harder. “You texted me twice, in two weeks. You never called. You were angry when you left. So, sorry if I’m not the Mr. Sunshine you expected.”
“You’re seriously mad at me?” you almost laugh but decide it’s better if you don’t. It’ll probably only antagonize him more. “You could have texted or called me, but you didn’t.”
He looks over, his brows furrowed. Opening his mouth, it looks like he’s about to speak but then he closes it again, deciding against whatever he was going to say.
“Happy fucking Valentine's Day.” You sigh, leaning against the door of the car, looking out at the city as it passes you by.
The rest of the car ride home is deadly silent. Neither of you even bothered to put on the radio or Spotify. It’s awkward but you refuse to give an inch and apparently, Atsumu feels the same way. You sneak a glance at him as you pull into the parking garage of your apartment, seeing he looks exhausted. How hadn’t you noticed that before?
Maybe you should give in, you think to yourself. Before you left you had been snippy with him, even if you felt like he was trying to get you to not visit home. It’s stupid, how high your temper can run without stopping over little things like silly comments. You hadn’t even thought about it while you were gone, only focused on visiting and getting back here; home.
Atsumu parks the car, and you look over at him again. His knuckles are still white from gripping the steering wheel.
“Let’s not fight anymore.” You suggest softly, knowing his stubbornness won’t let him give in. This could be worse than the Cold War if you let it continue.
He sighs, his hand reaching up to his forehead. He runs his fingers through his blonde hair, pushing it back from his face. “It’s been hell. These last two weeks, absolutely agonizing.” He admits, leaning back against the seat and looking over at you.
“I’m sorry, Tsumu, I didn’t know.” You tell him, reaching out and taking his hand.
“Wanna know something funny, though?” He smiles, the silly grin you love so much.
“Sure,” you squeeze his hand softly.
“I kept dreaming about fucking you, I couldn’t get it out of my head.” He laughs, tilting his head back and looking at the roof of the car. “God, I even came a few times in my sleep. Can you believe it?”
“Oh god,” you laugh with him, imagining the way he must have been mortified waking up to that not only once, but a few times. “Maybe we can make up for it after dinner tonight.”
“Dinner?” He looks confused as you nod.
“It’s still Valentine’s day. It’s not too late for us to get ready and go out. I can be fast,” you open the door and get out of the car.
Atsume follows, popping the trunk and getting your luggage from the car. You're quiet again as you take the elevator up to the apartment, but not the awkward kind as you rode in during the trip home. You hold his hand, leaning your head on his shoulder when you can until you’re out of the elevator and making your way to the apartment.
The next bit is a rush, playing out in front of you like it’s not real. Maybe it’s jetlag? You had just traveled for upwards of 18 hours. Or it’s the rush of knowing after weeks you’re finally going to sleep with your boyfriend again? Not even the dirty kind, just the excitement of sharing a bed, your bed, is exciting after weeks of sleeping in the guestroom of your parent's house.
After your shower, you dress in an emerald green dress that has a golden sheen to the fabric. Underneath, you made sure to pick out Atusmu’s favorite pair of lingerie underneath a honey gold set with thigh straps attached to the thong.
“Holy shit,” Atsumu leans against the door frame of the bathroom as you’re applying your last coat of mascara.
You smile sweetly, turning to look at him. He’s dressed in navy blue slacks and a cream button-up shirt. “I’m ready to go.”
Atsumu pulls you by your hand into him, wrapping his other arm around you. “I’m not.”
He kisses you, pulling you closer against him so you’re flush with his body. Your dress rides up in his hand, exposing your ass. He smacks it once, making you yelp against his lips. He laughs deeply.
“There’s no way we’re making it out tonight.” He mumbles, his voice gruff.
You giggle as he pulls away, pulling you with him and pushing you against the bed. Your dress has now risen above your pelvis, bunched up underneath and around you. Atsumu takes one look and groans, smiling wildly at you.
“You fucking angel,” he drops to his knees in front of you. He licks you over the fabric of your thong, sending shivers down your spine in anticipation. “Would it be stupid if I told you you taste sweeter than honey?”
You laugh, sitting up on your elbows. “Yeah, a little. But I like it.”
He grins at you from between your thighs. His tongue pokes out again, slowly circling the fabric over your clit. The teasing pressure is too much, you want his tongue on you. Whining, you push yourself closer to the edge of the bed and he pulls back.
“Ah ah ah, no rushing this. I’ve literally been dreaming of it for weeks.” He says after pulling away and lying his face on your thigh. He looks ungodly pretty like this, and you hate him for it.
“Please, Atsumu I need you.” You whine, pouting your lip out.
He grins again. He loves seeing you beg, even when it’s as half-assed as that. You can’t be expected to give more though, after all the day is starting to wear on you.
He pulls the thong aside and drags his finger down your cunt, covering it in your wetness. “Fuck, you’re so needy.”
You nod, closing your eyes and letting yourself fall back against the bed. As you bounce lightly against the mattress, Atsumu takes advantage, pressing his tongue against your clit. You moan, gripping the sheets and forcing yourself to stay still.
He sucks lightly, sending waves of pleasure from your spine to your toes.
“Fuck me,” you whimper, eyes fluttering open to watch him as he eats you out. He doesn't notice, too lost in you to care about what else is going on. His tongue slides down, teasing your entrance when you feel his fingers slip in.
The stretch overwhelms you. You can't keep your eyes open now, closing them tight as he starts to finger fuck you while sucking your clit again.
“Tsumu, of god,” you mumble out with moans traced between words and syllables.
Gripping the bedding harder, you fight back the overwhelming urge to cum now. You hadn’t even masturbated while you were gone, and now it’s so much at once you’re struggling to stay afloat. Atsumu must know, the way he flicks his tongue and twists his fingers in sync sends you over and you cry out. Cumming you can’t help but arch your back and press your cunt further against Atsumu’s pretty face.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant quietly, trying to regain some composure after the waves of pleasure start to roll off you.
“Oh, Angel, you barely lasted five minutes.” He crawls on top of you, his face shiny from being between your thighs. He kisses you softly on the lips.
“Who can blame me?” You laugh, taking his face in your hands. You kiss him again, closing your eyes and feeling the exhaustion taking over your body. “I doubt you’ll last much longer.”
You push him off you, flipping positions.
You pray he cums quickly as you pull his pants down his thighs. Not for any normal reasons but you’re not sure you can stay awake much longer. The eager look on his face suggests you might not have to.
He is going to go crazy. Your sweet scent is everywhere. It's unfair that you sleep so soundly while he is in this hard situation. He is struggling to find a comfort position, rolling and rolling. Fuck. You are moving on his side of bed. He is cursing as he feels hot, you are getting closer to him. Close..too close. "Yer a fucking tease, babe" he angrily huffs out "I know" without opening your eyes you murmur, while smirking as you roll over on your side, making him embarrassed. You were awake all this time...well be prepared to be awake whole night.
To anyone else, a couple sitting together at breakfast not speaking to each other may seem odd, but for you and Kiyoomi, though, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
“So, you’re away for a game this Friday, right?”
His response comes in the way of a slight nod, eyes narrowed in focus on the plate of food in front of him.
“When will you be home? Monday?”
He nods again, and your eyebrows crease in confusion. You open your mouth to question why he’s suddenly acting so strange, but before you can, Kiyoomi’s tilting his head in the direction of the table to your left. And then you hear it — the gossip.
“I just can’t believe she would do that! I thought she was my friend, ya know?”
Your mouth snaps shut in an instant, anxious to hear what unfolds next.
“Well,” the girl on the other side starts, clearly apprehensive, “she has liked him since high school. I thought you knew that.”
Silverware clatters down to the table. Whatever answer the first girl was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. You and Kiyoomi share a pointed look, your mouths full of food.
“He’s my ex-fiancé. Are you serious right now?”
You have to control your face, taking a sip from your coffee mug to hide your surprise. Kiyoomi’s no better — eyes all but bulging at the new bit of information.
“I think you’re being a little unfair.”
You and Kiyoomi lock eyes in an instant, sharing looks that scream “oh shit.”
“Unfair?” The first girl is incredulous, and you can tell she’s biting back the volume in her voice. You have to strain to hear what she says next. “They started hooking up the second him and I broke up.”
Kiyoomi hides another expression behind his fist, cheeks stuffed with pancakes. His eyes widen, brows raising as he looks at you over his hand. You’re familiar enough with what you lovingly call Kiyoomi-speak to know he’s saying, “Can you believe this shit?”
Your expression mirrors his own.
You spend the rest of your meal digesting the conversation coming from the table beside you, and as you walk back to your apartment, Kiyoomi’s hand in yours, you unpack it together.
“Her ex seems like a dick.”
“He does! The friend is no better either.”
“Mm,” Kiyoomi’s brow furrows. “That friend she was eating with kind of sucks, too. It seemed like she was pulling out all of these excuses for the other girl.”
“That’s what I was gonna say! She probably knew all along.”
“Mm, probably.”
You continue to chat the whole way home, and as silly as it sounds, the idle conversation has warmth thrumming beneath your skin. It’s nice, you think as Kiyoomi delves into the theory that the poor girl was probably cheated on. To have someone who understands you, someone you can always rely on to people watch and gossip with you.
The knife barely misses the tip of Osamu’s finger as your voice, one of his regulars, slips through the crowd.
Onigiri Miya is packed with people watching tonight’s MSBY match and Osamu spares a quick glance your way.
You’re staring heatedly at the game with a few of your friends and tracing the rim of your glass.
“As if he’d let you,” one of your friends says with a smirk.
You snort. “Of course not. But god if he did, I’d lick him clean.”
Your friends laugh.
Osamu wants to know who you’re talking about but the crowd swallows the rest of what you’re saying.
Damn.
Obviously it’s a Jackal because you’re always in their merch but there’s never a name. No number. And you’re one of the few regulars-and-MSBY-fans who hasn’t tried to weasel their way into meeting the team through Osamu.
He enjoys having you in the shop because you get along with everyone and you’re one of the few people he considers a friend outside of the business owner-patron relationship so he can’t help it.
He’s curious.
He waits for clues as to who you were talking about but you don’t give anything away; you shout and cheer for everyone.
He fills more orders, deftly manages his staff, and takes an opportunity to walk the floor.
“How’re the boys doin’?” he asks when he stops by your table.
Your group shifts to include him, a few of your friends hungrily eyeing his fitted black t-shirt. “Not as good as you, handsome.”
He smirks appreciatively. “Obviously.” Then he juts his chin at the screen. “But they’re in the lead, at least. ‘Tsumu givin’ them any trouble?”
You snicker. “Nothing more than usual.”
Osamu nods, trying to hold back another smirk as he asks the group “did I hear somethin’ about one of them sweatin’?”
Your friends crow salaciously and turn to you as you suck your lips in, eyes bulging.
“OOOH, He heard y-” One of them breaks off with a lurch like you’ve kicked them under the table as another jeers.
“Why? You jealous, Miya?” They wiggle their eyebrows. “You miss being oogled?”
He chuckles lowly and puts a hand on the back of your chair, noticing the way you’re avoiding his eye. “And who exactly are y’all ooglin’? Better not be ma dumb brother.”
“Never!” One of them leans forward as if they’re going to gush but you flick their forehead.
“No one.” You insist with a threatening smile to your friends. “You didn’t hear anything.”
Osamu snorts. “Sure I didn’t.” Feeling high from the thrill of your friends’ flirting he can’t help himself. “I must’a just imagined that comment about someone’s thighs.”
Your friends let out a synchronized cheer and you drop your forehead into your hands.
Osamu laughs but one of his workers calls him away before he can give you any more trouble.
The Jackals win and–to Osamu’s relief–you and your friends stay after the game. A lot of people do, too, caught up in the high of victory as interviews with the athletes play.
Osamu sneaks a text to his twin.
The restaurant’s still full when the team comes in to a raucous cheer and more rounds are ordered. Energy picking up like a second wind.
Atsumu greets his twin with a hug and whispers "which one?”
When they part Osamu directs him to you and your group of friends; Atsumu flicks his brow with a grin and Osamu feels like he’s back in high school.
“Heard we have some fans here,” he says sauntering over as your group shifts to welcome him like you did for Osamu. “Did y’all watch?”
“Of course we did!” one of your friends replies with a starry expression. “You were amazing!”
“Thank you, thank you.” He beams. “It was a very ex-thigh-ting game, if I say so myself.”
Osamu guffaws and chokes on a laugh as your blazing eyes immediately flick to him; your friends’ laughter encourages the setter.
“Did ya see my startl-lick-ing row of service aces in the second set?”
Their laughter roars and your eye twitches, expression scrunching at Osamu who looks away pointedly, torn between guilt and enjoyment.
“Sweat-sational, I’d say. Wouldn’t all of you?”
Osamu cringes internally; that one was a stretch but it was the final straw for you. As your friends break down to tears laughing you shove your chair back and storm away from the table making a straight line toward Osamu.
“Really?” you demand hotly and Osamu feels a fleeting moment of doubt. “You had to tell him?”
“Dunno what yer talkin’ about.” He shrugs innocently. “I didn’t hear anythin’.”
“Obviously you did,” you say tersely, dropping your voice leaning in. “Did you tell him just to make fun of me?!”
“No,” he says trying to sound lighthearted, “I was just try'na get them here so ya could meet whichever athlete it was ya wanted to be licking.”
For a moment he savors the way you gulp under his heavy, hooded gaze until a smirk slowly spreads across your own face.
“I wasn’t talking about an athlete.”
Heart pounding he looks down at the onigiri in his hands. “Oh no? Well who, then?”
You lean over the counter a little further, lowering your voice for only him to hear. “You, obviously.”
i want him in my mouth im actually being so serious. listened to the nine inch nails song while writing this im feral!! anyways enjoy besties <3
cw. nsfw, hickeys making out nothing too crazy
300 words
sakusa kiyoomi who is physically repulsed by the thought of one of his teammates even breathing too close to him, but needs to be touching you at all times. a hand on your thigh, an arm slung your waist to keep you close to him, his head on your shoulder. he likes the comfort of your skin touching his. maybe hes a little overprotective, but you are just too beautiful for him to not feel a little anxious.
sakusa kiyoomi who buys you pretty rings to wear so he can fidget with them when he intertwines your fingers, the cool metal calms his nerves as he sits in your presence. he cant help but to bring your hands up to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles, moving to your wrist then up your arm. he can never not get carried away with you.
sakusa kiyoomi who all but whimpers as you sit on his lap, kissing the moles that line his upper body. he grips your thighs as you softly grind down on him, he lives for the times you take charge, its sexy that you know what you want and that you know he can give it to you. he worships your curves, he loves softly kneading the flesh of your thighs when you kiss him.
sakusa kiyoomi who loves when leaving marks on your pretty skin, and lets you do the same to him. the intimacy of it, the small whimpers and moans you let out as he bites and sucks on the skin. and the morning after when he sits on the bathroom counter and helps you blend your concealer to cover them.
because above all sakusa kiyoomi loves you and will spend the rest of forever showing you how much he does, one kiss at a time.
sakusa is rich, it comes as no secret, and that’s why you tell yourself this was never bound to work. you’re pretty sure he’s got tons of trust-fund-raised family friends that are after his heart anyway, so his options are surely plenty open.
he’ll do without you.
yet, why he’s incessantly knocking on your door, you can’t seem to figure out, the pounding sound ceaseless as he stays persistent. you’re nearly at your wit's end after thirty minutes, stomping over to open the door and face him.
“kiyoomi,” you growl, glaring daggers his way, but he only shoots sharper ones at you through his eyes, piercing you with the obsidian orbs you know all too well.
it feels like he can read right through you, and you hate yourself for letting him get so close—letting yourself get so attached.
“what’s your issue?” he presses.
right.
sakusa is probably the most stubborn, hardheaded, determined, and pettiest individual you’ve ever met. and it’s not exactly a surprise, you’ve learned he’s the youngest and he’s wealthy, a combination that makes it all add up. but still, you’d never expected someone as stoic as him to be so borderline bratty at times.
“my issue? i’m not the one pounding on a door at eleven pm with no pause. what’s your issue?”
“you’re ignoring me,” he pouts.
and there it is, the look that first made you really realize how smitten you truly are for the man before you, and how far from your reach he really is. you’ll never fit in with sakusa’s crowd, and you’re pretty sure he’ll never understand yours, and the inevitable heartbreak seems more crushing later rather than sooner.
so, with the utmost self-control that you never knew you could demonstrate, you force yourself to pull your eyes away from his face—that’s much too handsome to be fair—and look at your feet.
“kiyoomi, listen,” you begin, and his face falls immediately. and so does your heart, all the way down to the pit of your stomach at the look.
“you don’t like me anymore?” he asks almost like a child. “but…i did…i thought i did all the right things. the movies…it worked in the movies,” he insists.
“what movies?” you ask, face twisting in confusion. he looks down bashfully, his face a light shade of pink as he clears his throat.
you try to force your beating heart still at the sight.
“i…i’m not really good at this,” he admits. “i thought…j-just you know, i did…some…research,” he finally blurts out, voice strained.
if it weren’t for your current predicament, and the fact that you know yourself well, and you know you won’t pull away if you lean in, you would’ve kissed his lips senseless at this very moment.
“romance movies?” you grin slightly. he huffs, turning his face to the side as he shifts on his feet.
“yes, romance movies. we were pursuing a romantic relationship, and their genre is romance. it makes sense,” he mutters. and despite the way your head screams to end this conversation now before it’s too late, before you’re too in deep to let yourself pull away, you chuckle, smiling bigger as the flush of his cheeks only darkens.
“that’s cute,” you mumble to yourself. “really, really cute,” you admit.
“so then what’s the issue?” he raises a brow. and it all comes crashing down again, making your smile drop—and he notices, he notices right away.
sakusa kiyoomi may be a bit sheltered, but he’s quick on his feet, he’s perceptive, and he’s a fast learner. he’s learned all your signs and quirks faster than you could hope to teach him. all on his own.
“look,” you sigh, deciding to rip the bandaid off, no matter how bad the wound might sting. “my background isn’t like yours. i’ve never had to use more than one fork and i’ve never had a bread plate.” he crinkles his brows, staring at you bewildered.
“so? i’m dating you, not your forks.” groaning, you rub your temples, mentally rolling your eyes at how dense he can be.
“kiyoomi. your friends and family probably expect you to bring someone home that grew up like you, don’t you think? someone who’s from a bit more wealth?” he ponders your words for a moment before shrugging, nodding at them as though they were any normal topic.
“yeah, they probably do expect that,” he agrees. you blink.
“well i’m not that, am i?” you ask bitterly, flashing him a pained smile. it finally dawns on sakusa what you mean, his eyes widening a fraction before he quickly steps closer to you.
you should pull away, you really, really should—but you missed his warmth so much. indulging in one more moment with him couldn’t be so bad, you think.
“yeah, you’re not. but they never gave me anything even with all that money. nothing like what you give me anyway,” he shrugs. “i like you. a lot. i think…i think i might even…you know? love you?” he asks the last bit in a quiet voice, almost like he’s asking himself.
and under any other circumstance, you’d raise a brow at a man questioning his love for you, but it’s not like that with sakusa. you know him, and you know he’s trying to navigate what love feels like, he’s trying to find the warmth of its embrace in your arms.
it makes your heart skip a beat.
“what?” you breathe. and despite the palpable fear in his expression, sakusa presses his forehead to yours, staring at you with a hard determination you’ve grown to admire.
the same one he sports during games, and practice, and watching recaps to find his mistakes. he gives you that same passion, if not more.
“i think…no. no, i do. i love you,” he whispers. and sakusa kiyoomi is a star athlete, he’s got a car that’s worth more than your entire life savings at the moment being, he’s got trust funds waiting for him, and he’s got a snobby rich family back at home, but he’s got barely anything if not nothing at all without you.
the words knock the air out of your lungs and steal your breath.
“is this you trying to be like those movies you watched?” you murmur.
“i think we could be better. probably less cheesy,” he whispers back through a wet laugh. “but i kind of need a love interest for that.” the watery chuckle you let out makes his heart unclench, the relief rolling over him in waves.
he knows it’s a good sign. he knows everything about you. and even if you’re scared, you can’t help but trust him blindly.
“okay, omi. let’s be better than your stupid romance movies,” you grin. “i love you too.”
and for a second, you’re glad he’s not starring in a film, you don’t think you ever want to share the stupidly handsome smile he gives you with anyone else to see.
i know he uses chopsticks in japan and the fork thing wasn’t entirely accurate pls just go with it okay
˖ ݁ . ࿓ the only witness to our love is the moon warnings. fluff, 1 suggestive line, food, calls you mrs. miya + doll
miya atsumu is a romantic.
you noticed this on your second date (but should’ve realized on your first, when he asked what your favorite flowers were. what man had ever asked you this? not one); when he showed up to your door with a bouquet of flowers in hand, toothy smile plastered on his face.
but you didn’t ask him until you were officially in a relationship — hey, ‘tsumu. are you a secret romantic? y’know. are you in love with love? — he denied it all, though. claimed that he was simply a gentleman and not some hopeless romantic that viewed the world with pink tinted, heart shaped glasses. that he was never into fairy tales. that he couldn’t make love look like an art form.
now you’re married, though. and you’ve summed it up: miya atsumu is a romantic. a sweet, love filled romantic. and you fall even more in love (if that’s even possible — but sometimes you think you’ve fallen in love all over again and you almost shove a pillow on your face, like a lovestruck fool).
“hey — are ya even paying attention to me?!”
“oh! i’m sorry, ‘tsumu. i was thinking of something.”
your husband childishly pouts. “all of yer attention is supposed to be on me and how hot i look making ya carbonara with only a towel wrapped around me.”
you laugh and atsumu’s pout turns into a smile because (something he truly believes) your laugh lights up his soul and his entire being.
“that’s why you refused to get changed?” you hop off the countertop, walk towards him. “because you wanted to act as some sort of sexy chef? hm, mr. miya?”
“so you do think i look sexy cooking in nothin’ but a towel? hm, mrs. miya?” a smirk is quirking his lip upward and you can’t help but smile — because he does look hot cooking with only a towel wrapped around his hips, because he called you by his last name. you could devour the world.
“yeah, yeah. whatever.”
sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to being married to miya atsumu — you drown in his love every day. he feeds you so much of his raw love.
“i love you, by the way.”
his arms wrap around your waist (you’re also only wearing a towel — claimed he’d look silly by himself), stove turned off and carbonara forgotten.
atsumu’s smile is blinding. it’s full of love — it’s a smile only you get to see. a smile dedicated to you. “i haven’t told you so in the past,” his eyes glance at the colorful clock on the wall. then they’re back on you. “three hours. too much time.”
“i love you, too.” your head rests on his chest and he grabs his phone from the counter, quickly types in something — i’m confessin’ by peggy lee — and then his hands are on the sides of your waist again.
miya atsumu is a romantic.
he probably won’t admit it, but you know it — by the way he plays songs that lead to slow dancing, by buying your favorite pastry and flowers every tuesday night after practice, by cooking you carbonara at twelve in the morning after sex and showering.
“i’m confessin’ that i need you,” atsumu sings and it’s kind of broken, perfectly atsumu. “honest i do, every hour — and i can’t live without you.”
you laugh. “that’s not how the song goes.”
“i like my version!”
miya atsumu shows you how much he loves you every day — even at twelve in the morning as he feeds you carbonara. and the only witness to yours and his love is the moon that hangs high in the sky, along with her stars.
dedicated to @miyasann 💋 sweetest person in the world
thanks for reading ⋆ ˚｡⋆˚⸜(♡ ॑ᗜ ॑♡)⸝ ˚⋆｡˚ ⋆ reblogs are appreciated
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