desc: you get a back massage from a gremlin your fiancé
a/n: @gahdam-beb hollz, thank you bunches for this cuteness! he absolutely would give good back massages. may or may not have gotten super carried away here – i meant for this to be like,, 200 words. not proofread & it’s all lowercase :,)
warnings: language, mentions marriage, mentions stabbing (i promise this entire fic is pure fluff though)
wc: 1.3k
—
so maybe the couch isn’t the best place to sprawl out on.
but you could hardly make it through the apartment door, much less all the way to your bedroom.
a leg dangles limply off the side of the worn-down sofa while the rest of your body merges with the cushion. the smell of pizza from last night’s takeout lingers on the soft material. an air conditioner unit whirs on and a chill streams across your skin, making your hairs stand on end.
unfortunately, all the throw blankets are either in the dryer or on your bed. and your fiancé? well, Atsumu is nowhere to be seen.
you sigh into a pillow.
it’s not every day you feel deprived of his presence. the blond is a lot to handle and he has a habit of bringing chaos with him wherever he goes, whether it’s a quick jaunt to the kitchen or across the country at a volleyball game.
but you can’t help but miss Atsumu, his chaos included. you’re quite endeared to him, actually.
i mean, there’s certainly a reason you’re wearing that silver engagement ring.
but right now it’s not just him that you’re missing. it’s those warm hands of his.
they tickle and prod and they’re not the softest things in the world... but they sure make for a back’s best friend. if you could wish for anything right now, it would be a back massage — for someone to rub and smooth away the tension of another long day.
but he’s not supposed to be back for another hour.
you shut your eyes, choosing to nap until he eventually walks through the door... but a tapping outside keeps your ears perked at attention.
the steps grow heavier in the corridor and, alongside that noise, your heart starts to thrumb louder too. you got off work early and your neighbors don’t typically come home til late... so you’re definitely not expecting anyone.
soon you realize the footsteps are just outside your door.
your heart jumps as the door clicks open and, from it, a rather refreshed-looking Atsumu emerges.
you thank the couch gods that it’s just him.
you would’ve rather been stabbed than defend yourself — you’re too tired to deal with that bullshit. but you’re glad that the universe hadn’t sealed your fate just yet.
“i’m home,” he calls, drawling out the words, “did ya miss me?”
you acknowledge him with a pitiful groan into the couch. it was an attempt at saying “yes” but even you aren’t sure of the unholy sound you just made.
“i don’t speak gremlin,” he chuckles.
you lift your head, shooting him a look.
“that’s unfortunate since you pretty much are one,” you say, dryly.
his jaw drops.
“i’m gonna tell ‘Samu you said that. we have the same face, y’know.”
okay, maybe you should be a little nicer if you want him to put his hands all over you... in a nonsexual way... at least for right now.
you don’t respond to him.
but that doesn’t stop him from talking.
“did somebody have a bad day?” his voice is high and he juts a lip out, taunting you.
you frown violently (if that’s at all possible). yes, he’s joking, but his face looks a fraction more slappable now.
“not particularly,” is your somewhat honest answer.
he shrugs off his jacket, the fabric tussling as he tosses it onto a wooden coat rack. there’s a clink of keys and the plop of a wallet on the countertop.
soon, those heavy steps you heard from outside are treading in your direction until he reaches the corner of the couch – right where your face is. without any hesitation, he sinks into a squat until you’re at eye-level with the giant.
you don’t move an inch, but even though you’re irritated, you kind of wanna kiss him.
“you’re home early,” you mumble, instead of grabbing his face and crashing your lips into his.
Atsumu tilts his head, “i wanted to surprise ya ‘cus i knew you’d be off early.”
he looks annoyingly attractive under the dingy living-room light. where are his dark circles? why are there no wrinkles on his forehead?
you, on the otherhand, probably look like a sloth on its last leg... arm? sloth appendages are confusing and you’d rather not think about that right now.
“is there anything i can do for ya?” he asks, softening at your grumpy expression.
yes.
“no.”
why are you making this difficult for yourself? it’s obvious you’re not doing too hot... and you really want that back massage – your muscles are practically screaming at you for relief.
he leans in closer, brushing his knuckles across your exposed cheek. they’re gentle on your skin.
“are ya sure?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper.
okay, sometimes he’s sweet. but only sometimes.
“can... you give me a massage?” you mumble through pouting lips.
a gentle smile forms on his lips, “yeah.”
he stands, long legs replacing the space where his face once was. Atsumu then shuffles to your side, but it takes him a moment to get situated.
the couch dips as he places a knee on either side of you, straddling your hips. Atsumu makes ass-to-ass contact. the most romantic of positions.
you squeal as he crushes you beneath him.
“oh, c’mon i’m not that heavy,” Atsumu snorts.
“says the guy who’s not actively being squashed into a couch.”
although you’d rather this than the burning ache under your skin.
he grumbles under his breath, but you choose to ignore it. suddenly, fingers are pressing deeply into your upper back and grazing your shoulder blades.
a quick gasp escapes your lips and you instantly regret it.
his deep chuckle shakes his body and, in turn, yours too. thankfully, his lips stay sealed.
you wish you could see that little smirk of his, as much as it bugs you, while he works his magic on your tight shoulders. there’s something so charming about that lopsided grin – it’s part of why you love him so much.
he adjusts again, accidentally kneeing you in the side.
“shit! be careful,” you jolt, warning him.
he smooths a hand down your hip and mutters out a genuine “sorry,” atoning in both word and deed.
in doing so, a metallic coolness brushes against an exposed patch of skin, making you shiver. you peek over your shoulder to see what it is.
it’s the ring on his finger...
and suddenly you can’t fuss at him anymore.
instead, warmth travels steadily throughout your body and his palms burn against your skin.
how can you be marrying him and still flush over the silliest things? in your defense, the ring is a relatively new thing in your relationship. it throws you for a loop anytime you catch sight of it.
Atsumu kneads firmly into the tissues, loosing stubborn knots and waking up your tired skin. his hands are large and stable; like a potter to unshaped clay, the digits mould and shape and indent.
slowly, but surely, your body relaxes and your mood lifts. a soft, virtually undetectable smile is on your lips.
Atsumu could be hellish and rude and a brat about the oddest things. he’s pretty gross and always tries to hug you when he’s dripping sweat. you’re also certain, positive, without a shadow of a doubt sure that he’s the more disagreeable twin.
but you’re probably the only person who can put up with him.
and he, you.
it’s a good thing you found each other... and even better that you can both give great back massages. it’s likely that’s what’s preserving your relationship.
hopefully, that same tactic works in marriage too.
you hum to yourself and your eyes, already drooping, finally close. Atsumu softens his touch, tracing the curves and contours of your body, lulling you into a hazy state.
Atsumu, rough and tumble as he is, could be gentle when he wanted to be — a side of him that easily made you see stars and super novas where only golden eyes and blond strands exist.
at some point, you think you feel a ghost of a breath against your skin.
maybe even a pair of lips pressing to your neck? you’re a little too out of it to tell.
but as soon as you find yourself drifting off, his hands peel away from you. it’s like you just lost a piece of yourself because you’re desperately searching for that missing warmth.
you whine in protest, turning to face the cruel man. after such a long fucking week, he chose to stop. and you were almost asleep too.
but that bastard.
that disgustingly adorable bastard.
he’s smiling as wide and bright as the milky way. there’s not even a hint of guilt.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news but something being your special interest doesn't make you an authority on it or prevent you from being absolutely completely bass-ackwards wrong.
