The first time you gave your boyfriend a blowjob he almost broke up with you.
It was your first relationship, and Suguru had rightfully assumed that you were a virgin. But the second your tongue touched his cock, had him questioning your innocence. With your mouth on him, fists clenched against the couch cushions, he threw his head back, reflecting on your behavior in the first few months of your new relationship.
He remembered how your palms would get sweaty when he would hold your hand for a long time. You would pull away and wipe it against your leg with a shy laugh, and Suguru would just quietly reach for it again.
You would turn away and stutter if he looked at you for too long, your cheeks burning a furious shade of red. And although you still blush now, it was nowhere near as bright as it was in those first few weeks of newly being his girlfriend.
Your first kiss with him, you accidentally bit him. The two of you pulling away, both wincing, he in pain and you in embarrassment. He laughed at your shocked face, pulling you back with a firm grip on your waist, whispering reassurances amid his soft pecks.
The first time he was on top of you with his shirt halfway off and his arm stuck through the hole, you put a hand to his chest and told him that you wanted to go slow. Suguru smiled and spent the rest of the night with soft kisses against your lips, quietly assuming that you were a virgin with no experience.
Albeit you never told him your sexual history outright, only that this was your first real relationship. He didn't care about your past; grateful to you that you never judged him on his own warped, slightly slutty past. He was the last person to have any authority over the morals of past relationships.
He only ever wanted to simply be with you; the night was slowly forgotten as your both slowly walked the new path of this relationship together.
The memories of the last few months together vanished when he felt you moan around his cock, his hips jumping when your hand began stroking him at the base.
He was pissed off right now if he's being honest right now, his fingers relaxed from their clenched form, now stroking your hair back while your other hand began playing with his balls as you took more of him down your mouth
Sinking deeper into these memories, he remembers how, despite the first kiss incident, your tongue just knew how to move against his. You knew how to tug on his hair and how sensually your hips grinded against his bulge in the most sinful way. He tucked his face into your neck, flipping you over, tummy down, and Suguru straddling your thighs so that he was on top, pinning you to the couch, trying to figure out a way to get to the bathroom without you noticing the wet stain on his grey sweats.
No other girl has ever made him cum in his pants before you.
He doesn't know if he wants to rip you off his cock demanding an explanation of why you're so good with your tongue or push his hips towards his face and cum down your throat.
You're looking up at him, eyes wide and expecting, watching his reactions. Your hand is wrapped around him, twerking it as your tongue dances around his shaft. The other is playing with his balls. Palming them in a way that makes his hip jerk forward, every twitch making him believe you had done this before. For someone else.
For someone who's not him.
It takes all of suguru’s strength to not grab both sides of your face and just fuck your face althought you’re probably used to that-
“Fuck” he groans, pushing your head down, focusing on his pleasure and willing the thoughts of you in the same position for another. You gag around him, eyes bulging at the sudden force. Spit trickling down your throat, and all Suguru can think about is how he wants his cum to leak down your chin.
He was pissed imagining some other man-no, boy, getting to see you like this.
Your jaw is loose and your eyes are wide, looking up at him like he held the sun. He notices the wetness around your eyes, which are filled with such tenderness that his hips can't stop pushing his cock deeper down your throat. He wanted to make you forget those boys. Who fucked you, whose fingers were inside of you, and whose tongue were in your mouth.
God, was it Satoru? You got closer to him, and he remembers you laughing at something he said last week. Or was it Nanami? You both worked closely together and were good friends before you became his girlfriend. God. What if it was that asshole Sukuna, he would always check out your ass before-
He felt something knock against his foot. He ignored it, moving your hair out of your face as his movements started growing rougher. His thumbs stroked your cheeks as he pushed you down further when he felt a heavy weight settle against his foot.
"What the?"
His shoe was between your legs with your hips grinding against it.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck!" He grunted as he came down your throat
His hips pushed towards you, his balls slapping against your chin as your swallowed around him. His hands cupped your face, pushing your face deeper into his crotch.
His body was hunched over yours, wayward strands of his hair tickled your face. The broad spam of his back covered both of you in a warped blanket, hiding you from past memories. You heard his ragged breathes above you and his fingers stroking your cheeks. You breathed in his scent, musky and so masculine. God was this the smell of sex?
You didn't know how long the two of you were stuck in this position, but a dizzying feeling in your head signaled you that it was time to come up for air.
Suguru flung himself away from you at the feeling of your nails digging into his thighs. You gasped, breathing deeply as you were torn away from Suguru. His fingers frantically wiped at your cheeks and chin.
God you had cum on your chin-
"Sorry- Christ I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry" The words pushing out of his mouth like a damn flood. He scooped you up, settling you on the couch as he ran into the kitchen.
You giggled at apologies, throat aching and hoarse, staring up at the ceiling. Closing your eyes, you felt content, despite the pain in your knees and in your throat as you swallowed down the remnants of his taste. The taste of Suguru's cum is foreign but not unwelcome. Your fingertips hover above your lips, tracing the outline, not fully believing that you were on your knees and he was in your mouth.
Suguru came back to the living room, the couch dipping under his weight. His fingers ran through your hair, and his eyes traced over you. He looked uncertain, nervous, and your heart flipped at the reversed roles. Feeling powerful that you were able to make your boyfriend, an ex-playboy who has bedded girls and boys for years, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his shadow, was suddenly nervous because of you. His virgin girlfriend.
"I'm okay, " you whispered, your cheek nuzzling against his palm, heavy and warm, your body moving to lay on top of him. He let out a long breath, cradling your head against his chest. You felt his lips pressed softly at your head. For a moment, you forgot how he made you nervous. Despite being months into your new relationship, the feeling of being safe in front was foreign but a welcomed, unexpected emotion.
It was quiet for a while, the two of you content. Suguru mapping out your face, his fingers running down your back, you content to stare up at him, trying to ignore the heat simmering in your gut, realizing that you felt the twitch of Suguru's cock tucked away in his grey sweats.
You smiled up at Suguru, his hand coming up to ruffle at your hair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have acted that way."
"No, no. I- I actually liked it. " You confessed, looking away from him. "Just maybe next time, if we can go a little slower? Or we can make a code word if you want to get rougher?"
Suguru nodded. His hand tightened against your side. Despite the peaceful silence that had settled between the two of you, you were unnerved at his silence. Was he quiet cause he didn't like it? What if he didn't like having his balls fondled with? What if you didn't look sexy looking up at him? God, you're pretty sure you grinded on his foot just from the soreness coming from your vagina.
"Was I-?"
"Can I-?"
The two of you started at the same time. With a move of your chin you motioned for Suguru to continue.
"Was that your first time?"
"What? Giving a blowjob?"
He simply nodded, his arms caging you against his side.
"Yeah."
He hummed, his eyes closing, and his chest loosening with the deep sigh he released.
"Why are you asking?"
With his eyes still shut he answered, his voice steadier more sure of himself.
"It felt like you knew what you were doing was all."
"Wait really?" You pushed yourself up slightly from his chest. Suguru grunted his fingers digging into your hips.
"Why are you smiling?" his eye peeking he chuckled, his chest rumbling under yours, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.
"I was good?"
"Yeah." He said, sounding a bit annoyed "You were really good."
His fingers hooked under your jaw, his tongue licked at your chin, cleaning you up.
"Just tell me one thing," he whispered, his lips moving moving down your neck, his other hand cradling your head.
"Mmm" you moaned, his tongue licking at your neck. My boyfriend is nasty, you thought as he licked a stripe of your flesh down your neck.
"Where'd you learned to suck dick?"
"From my other boyfriend."
His fingers tightened against your jaw, his hips grinding up towars you, "Don't piss me off," he muttered, smirking when he saw your smile.
You giggled at his annoyance, feeling his bulge against your pussy, already knowing that the two of you wouldn't leave the coach until you both cummed against each other.
You weren't going to tell your boyfriend where you learned to suck dick. How exactly do you go about explaining that you learned from reading porn on tumblr anyways?
Notes: yall im such a virgin so idk how this works I only seen on tiktok that girls say that the shit tjey read from smut fics helped them so pray it happens to me one day
c/w: established relationship, hurt/comfort, light mentions of blood and injury, atsumu lowkey gets his ass beat </3 but he is so sweet
Atsumu sits crisscrossed on the floor of your bathroom with a tender black eye and a busted lip—and though this should be a rare thing, you need all five fingers to count the number of times you’ve seen this film before.
The first two were ages ago, high school days when he and Osamu couldn’t stop themselves from throwing a punch or two over nothing at all. Their egos too big and brains too small, twice you’d gotten roped into their post-brawl aftercare. Another time it was a fight off the court, when a rival captain made a snide remark about his foul accent. The fourth, a drunken, immature mistake.
Tonight’s wounds are different. Because when Atsumu nonchalantly shows up black and blue at your door, he doesn’t tell you what happened. There’s no story attached to the bruises he bares, no lengthy explanations or excuses. And Atsumu is a lot of things, but speechless is never one of them.
He looks childish, you think, the way his broad body folds itself into a tiny pretzel and hardly takes up a corner of your tiled floor. He’s oddly quiet, too. Sure, you heard his witty comments down the hallway about how you should see the other guy, but something’s still off. His eyes aren’t lit with their usual flame of youth, pride.
Only a few words are exchanged through the process of cleaning him up. Between wet washcloths and tiny sniffles, Atsumu fumes, You haven’t asked enough questions yet, and it’s beginning to freak him out. He doesn’t know whether or not he should be grateful or unsettled with your silence.
A frozen bag of vegetables presses against his left eyelid when you finally ask, “What the hell did you do this time?”
“Watch it!” You yelped when Bokuto stumbled over uneven pavement, making you sway as well, considering almost half his body weight was on you. You cursed under your breath as Bokuto simply giggled, finding the whole situation supremely funny.
“Kou…” You sighed, shaking your head and trailing off. You couldn’t possibly be mad at him. Sure, you had to drag your ass out of bed so late at night in order to fetch him after Hinata had called you, saying he was wasted beyond belief and there was no way he could get home by himself. But you couldn’t really be ticked off by that. You had seen first hand how hard Bokuto had worked in the weeks leading up to the new volleyball season. As his roommate, you knew intimately how jam packed his schedule was with training, running, practicing. So Bokuto absolutely deserved to let loose for a bit, even if it meant you supporting his weight and dragging his humongous body along with you back to your shared apartment.
Two more blocks. You could do this.
Bokuto was humming some tune under his breath, lost in his own little world, probably still thinking about MSBY’s momentous win against the Adlers tonight. The thought also put a smile on your face, remembering how you felt watching the game on TV, watching Bokuto’s grinning face. You were only pulled from your thoughts when Bokuto nudged you with his hips, making you look up at him.
“Hi.” He flashed you a million dollar smile, making your lips twitch up as well. His happiness was contagious.
“Hey there.” You replied.
“‘M really happy.” His face was flushed, eyes darting all over your face, slightly hazy. You felt your body buzz at his words, your expression softening.
“I’m glad.” You whispered back, staring at the warm gold of his irises.
Your pace was slowing, until you two had stopped completely. Dead silence surrounded you, the cold air of the night going unnoticed where your bodies were touching, Bokuto’s heavy arm thrown over your shoulder. He leaned down quickly, lips meeting yours.
They were cold, but soft, moving slowly over yours, lips dragging as if trying to memorize the shape and taste of yours. Your heart jumped, your grip around his waist tightening, mirroring his movements by tilting your head.
The streetlight overhead flickered a bit. It went unnoticed by both of you.
MIYA ATSUMU:
You blinked your sleep-heavy eyes open, jerking up to look at the clock on the far wall. Nearly 1am. And yet, there was no mistaking the heavy banging happening on your front door right now.
A deep scowl was etched on your face as you stumbled to the front door in your pajamas. The banging was relentless and without pause, and you nearly yelled at the person when you put your eye to the peephole. A groan escaped your lips when you glimpsed messy dyed blonde hair, closing your eyes and praying for patience from the lord above.
Atsumu gave you a sleazy grin when you opened the door, a long, whiny ‘heyyyy’ leaving his lips. He leaned an arm against the doorframe, trying to look smooth but failing miserably when he slipped and slammed a shoulder against the wall instead, making him curse and pout. If you weren’t so angry, you would’ve laughed.
“It’s 1 in the morning.” You deadpanned, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a nice button-up blue shirt and black slacks, the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone. His hair was a mess, his cheeks carrying a flush that you knew all too well.
“And you’re drunk.” You added, suddenly understanding why he had ended up on your doorstep so late at night. You felt yourself soften a bit in pity, watching how he swayed unsteadily on his feet, looking you up and down while being painfully obvious.
“Missed ya.” He mumbled, before giving you another lazy smile. But you could see through it.
Your breakup had been hard on Atsumu, who refused to accept that you no longer wanted to be a part of his life. Though this was the first time you were seeing him in person since you called it quits, he hadn’t stopped pestering you over calls and texts for weeks.
“Atsumu….” You sighed, feeling defeated. You saw the hurt flash in his eyes.
“What happened to ‘Tsumu?” He slurred, stepping closer to you until the space between you two was minimal.
“Go home.” You ignored his question.
“Gimme a kiss first.”
“Atsu-”
“Gimme a kiss. And I’ll leave.”
You sighed, closing your eyes for a second. When you opened them again and met his stare, catching the hope in his brown ones, you gave in.
What was supposed to be a short peck became a long, deep kiss, your tongues dragging over each other, his hand moving to the back of your head to keep you in place. Not that you wanted to move. One taste of him reminded you of what you had had, and you couldn’t help fisting his shirt, pulling his body closer to yours, stepping back into your apartment until the door was gently shutting behind both of you.
OIKAWA TOORU:
“This is exactly what you do if you want to burn a kitchen down, not make banana bread!” You yelped, pulling open the oven door only for huge clouds of black smoke to rush out of it. You coughed and waved both hands through the smoke, trying to clear it enough. You heard the telltale hum of the exhaust fan buzzing to life, mentally thanking Oikawa for having enough sense to turn it on.
Whoever thought drunk baking was a good idea? (It was Oikawa. Oikawa thought it was a good idea. And you were drunk too, so you had agreed with him)
You were sobering up pretty quickly though, realizing that you two could potentially be setting your entire flat on fire. But when you straightened up and looked back at Oikawa, you saw him chugging back another glass of red wine.
“Tooru!” You laughed incredulously, to which Oikawa looked at you with wide eyes, biting back a smile.
“What? You have the situation under control!”
You dissolved into giggles, leaning against the counter as you eyed the smoke clearing slowly. Oikawa came to stand next to you, both of you watching your pathetic attempt at baking disappear through the fan and out into the open air, carrying your failures along with it.
“That was fun.” Your roommate spoke up, making you smile.
“We should never have fun like this again.”
He nodded, looking down at you with his charming smile. His eyes were warm, chestnut hair slightly disheveled. His eyelids slid to half mast, gaze running lower until it was trained on your lips, and he hummed low. You felt your breath catch at the change in the atmosphere, subconsciously leaning closer to Oikawa. For some reason, in your alcohol-addled brain, he looked particularly captivating.
You didn’t even realize when exactly your lips met his, or when he reciprocated it. All you could concentrate on was the sweet taste of wine lingering on his lips, or the delicious drag of his hands down your sides before his fingers squeezed at your hips. His chest, firm but unsteady just like yours, was pushed flush against yours, and he sighed into your lips before pushing his tongue languidly into your mouth.
The smoke eventually cleared. Not that either of you were paying attention.
You know what would be therapeutic? Neck kisses with Atsumu.
He comes home after a long, grueling day of practice. The new volleyball season is upon them, and with the opening game just a couple of weeks away, training is as hardcore as it has ever been. He needs to relax, he needs to wind down, he needs you.
So you find yourself in his lap, his large hands nearly enveloping your hips, digging and squeezing into the fat of your ass, tugging and pulling at you so your body comes into contact with his. His face is buried in your neck, languid tongue running over the skin in slow, lazy licks. You sigh and keen under his ministrations, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders while the other cards through his soft hair. You encourage his movements, cradle the back of his head as his face slides up, up, to nibble at the skin just under your ear, and you moan.
His actions light a fire in your core, but his speed is slow enough that the heat just simmers, without boiling over with your need for him. He is careful to make you feel good, but not desperate for more, not rushed, just reveling in the feeling of him.
His torso is firm under your own. A steady, strong presence that makes you keen, makes your eyelids flutter. You love the feeling of him, the chords and chords of muscle that push and tug with the softness of your own. It’s like he is all edges and you are all curves. Perfectly complimenting.
His lips are working wonders on your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him more room to continue. You are sure your neck will be left completely purple and blue by the time he is done, but it hardly matters when he is making you feel so good as he does it. While Atsumu does yap a lot, this is one thing that his mouth is wonderfully good at.
It’s only natural when the neck kissing slowly gives way to desperate dry humping, his cock hard as a rock in his sweatpants, pushing up deliciously into your clit. And pairing that with the now harsh sucking and biting on your shoulder, you are sure you can come just from this. But your boyfriend won’t have that, oh no.
Soon he is tugging his pants down, removing your own until your bottom half is bare and he is sinking you on his weeping, angry cock. The sex is rushed, hot and fast, it is plagued with the need to finish inside you as you come on him, and he does, his teeth dig hard into your skin as he moans and releases inside you, one thumb rubbing hard on your clit until you are shaking and trembling with your own high, head spinning with how overwhelmed you feel.
It takes a stupid amount of color corrector, concealer, and YouTube videos to cover up the mess on your neck the next day, and you try to gaslight yourself into thinking it looks normal, but when Atsumu walks out of the bathroom fully showered, wet hair sticking up all over the place, one glance at your neck has his lips twisted into a wild smirk.
“Don’t.” You warn, glaring at him. He purses his lips to try and keep his huge grin at bay, to no avail, and you groan.
“This is all your fault.”
“You weren’t protestin’ yesterday! Oh Tsumu you feel so good-”
“ROADSIDE REVELATION”
for A Series of "I Love Yous"
Pairing: Atsumu x Fem!Reader
Rating/Warnings: T for Teen
Word Count: 3.2k
Summary: In trying to comfort Atsumu after a big game loss, the two of you come to a revelation together.
Note: Hurt/comfort? Romance! Fluff? Confessions. Is this coherent? Is this well-paced? Was it easy to write? Consistent? Absolutely not! Did I have fun? Heck yeah. Leave the coherency for the 8-page research paper I have to now finish. First fic back after hiatus; I haven't flexed my fic writing muscle in so long. I LOVE YOU ALL.
“Are you hungry? Want me to order some dinner?”
Your question is spoken tentatively into your quiet bedroom. The only sound in the past half hour, since Atsumu had returned from his game, has been the sound of your little fan running on your desk and the occasional honk of a car from outside your window. He had barely even managed a greeting when he had first entered your apartment. He’s barely managing a reply now.
“‘M not hungry,” he murmurs, eyes closed. You frown. There might’ve been a time where you would be smiling and teasing him for his dramatics, but you’re keenly aware of how serious he’s being right now. You’ve never heard his voice sound like that, heavy and quiet.
In fact, you haven’t experienced any of this at all. This is Atsumu’s first big loss in a match since he’s been with you, and if you were being honest, you’ve no idea what to do. The great thing about a new relationship? All the things you haven’t gone through together yet. Of course, this also happens to be the difficult thing about a new relationship.
You don’t know how to make him feel better. You don’t even know if he wants to feel better, but surely, as his girlfriend, it’s your job to try. You really, really want to try. You’ve been weaving in and out of your own bedroom periodically, trying.
“I can draw you a bath,” you suggest. He hadn’t gone for any of your previous five suggestions. Didn’t seem to want to be held, but leaving him alone just felt impossible.
His head shakes. “Already showered.” Your heart is constricting at how quiet he’s being.
Moving to the bed, you touch his arm gently. “Atsumu,” you begin. His mouth presses tightly together immediately—he knows what’s coming. “I’m sorry you lost the game. But—”
“But what?” He cuts in tiredly. It’s your turn to press your lips together. At least he’s speaking. That’s progress.
“But it’s not all on you,” you say, soft. He slides his arm off his face to look at you. “And I know it’s hard—”
“Y’don’t,” he interrupts again. This startles you into silence, though he says it gently and without any bite. It’s just a fact he’s stating. “This is…this game isn’t just a game. ‘S not just a loss. We’re cut from th’ rest of the tournament.” His eyes go serious and hard. “I coulda gotten the last ball, but I didn’t.” His mouth trembles just the barest amount. “‘S on me.”
You hold eyes for a long time. Part of you is cinching up inside, prickled from his cold words. But beneath his starkness, you see it, the hurt. The wound of losing something you care about—the guilt of thinking there was a chance you could have saved it. Your chest turns for him. You know it’s not just a game, of course you do.
“I’m sorry, Atsumu,” you say. It’s the only thing you can think of saying. He just hums in reply.
In the face of his loss, you realize you feel strangely inadequate as a partner. Atsumu has always been able to cheer you up. It’s his specialty. He’s loud sometimes, and brash, and volatile when it comes to his sport, but damn it if he doesn’t know how to comfort you. It had been the reason you had agreed to go out with him—how he can always make you laugh, no matter what. And now you can’t do the same for him?
You touch his face gently, then his shoulder. He looks up at you, tired. “I’ll get you some water,” you whisper at last. Atsumu hesitates and then nods before closing his eyes again, looking older than his age.
“Thanks.”
You don’t let out a sigh until you’re in your kitchen, faucet on, waiting for the water to get cold. You’re starting to space out, mind running with possible solutions, when your phone dings in your back pocket with a text. You glance at the screen and your brows flick up. Osamu. This is a first.
How’s he doing? The message reads.
Despite the situation, you’re unusually flattered his twin is texting you right now. Though the two of you have always been friendly, you’ve yet to be friends. His message feels like a mark of acceptance, somehow. You fill the glass with tap and lean against your counter.
He’s pretty devastated, you type back. Doesn’t even want dinner.
That’s serious, all right, comes Osamu’s immediate reply. You have to crack a smile at that. You can basically hear the dryness of his voice through the message. Another buzz. He’ll be fine.
You deliberate before tapping out a message. What usually helps?
Wdym?
You bite your lip. Like what comforts him? What makes him feel better?
The texting dots appear and disappear a few times. It’s a couple minutes before Osamu’s reply comes through. He just needs a distraction. Another minute, and then another text. What makes you feel better?
You stare at the screen and then out the window to the city outside. An image of yourself when you were younger: a long stretch of road, a song you still remember, the sun setting. You glance back down at the screen. I might have an idea.
Your phone buzzes again, but you shove it back into your pocket, already moving toward your bedroom. Atsumu’s eyes peek open when he feels the edge of your bed dip. You offer him a smile, carding your fingers through his mussed-up hair. “Come on,” you say gently. “Let’s go somewhere.”
Atsumu had been reluctant to get out of your bed. If he had had his way, he would’ve chosen to stay buried in your crisp linen sheets for an age, burrowing himself deep in your pillows and his misery, replaying the moment of loss over and over again as he had been for the past hour. The only thing that had compelled him to move was the way you had smiled at him, coaxing him.
Now he was slumped in the passenger side of his own car while you adjusted all the seats and mirrors. His first small, cracking smile of the night comes, watching you making little scooting motions as you fix the seat forward. It dissipates quickly when he remembers the sound of the whistle being blown, just a few hours earlier—the wave of the flag that gave the winning point to the opposing team. The look on his coaches face, the rest of the team—
He’s jolted in his seat and out of his memories when you break suddenly, backing out of the parking space.
“Ooh, those are sensitive breaks.” You shoot him an apologetic smile. “Ready?”
Ready? He wasn’t ready for anything. Hadn’t felt ready for the game. Hadn’t been ready to face the team in the locker room afterwards. The only thing he had wanted after that loss, the only thing he felt ready for, was…
Atsumu looks at you. “Sure, sweetheart. Take me away.” He’s aware of how weary he sounds, but your smile flashes at the pet name. He’s been slowly trying them out on you, since the two of you had started dating and he wins a grin from you every time. You pull out of the parkade and down onto the street, merging into the main road.
“Where’re we goin’?” he asks eventually. He sees your small smile.
“To be honest? I have no idea.” You flash him an amused look.
“You have no idea?”
“Nope,” you reply, popping the p. “But when I first got my license, I used to love driving around all over the city. Early morning, late night. Any time it was quiet. Feels like I can think and run away from thinking at the same time,” you laugh a little. A pause, wistful. “Feels like anything can change.”
Atsumu casts his eyes from you to the road ahead. This late at night it’s less busy, and the two of you keep hitting greens. There’s some nightlife starting to appear, but inside his car, with you, it’s like a vacuum of quiet and peace. After a beat of silence he leans and starts fiddling with the radio until it lands on something familiar. You hum.
“I like this song.”
“Me too,” he says, and that earns him another one of your looks and grins. Something inside of him softens every time, replacing a small piece of the ache he had been feeling all night. “This is nice,” he admits, after another couple blocks of silence.
“Worth me dragging you out of bed?” you ask, pleased.
He winces at that, though you don’t see it. “Yeah,” he breathes. He thinks, against his better judgement, of how much his teammates had tried to cheer him up after, despite their own disappointments. He hadn’t wanted to hear any of it, just wanted to feel sorry for himself for missing that last ball. You’re doing the same now, trying to cheer him up. He can tell you’re trying hard, unsure of what to say. Afraid you might say something to make it worse. His guilt, already sharp inside of him, doubles over. He closes his eyes. Swallows.
“‘M sorry,” he says, finally.
“Why are you sorry?” He can hear real confusion in your voice. Atsumu rubs at his eyes.
“For makin’ you do this. For bein’ in a bad mood tonight.”
“What?” The word is so incredulous he’s forced to look at you. “Are you kidding me?”
Atsumu curses the fact that his mouth trembles. “No, I, uh.” He clamps his mouth shut before his voice can break. Damn it all, he really didn’t want to cry in front of you. You’re alternating between staring at him in disbelief and trying not to crash the car. “Just—it was bad for me tonight and I know it’s not easy for you to—”
You’re shaking your head before he can even finish his sentence. “Atsumu, baby, no.” You’re aghast. “What? What’s making you say this? I want to comfort you. I want to be here for you. Of course I do, that’s not even a question, is it?” At his silence, you prod again. “Is it?”
The thing is, it is, and the realization of it seems to be hitting the both of you at the same time.Atsumu has lived his life feeling difficult. He knows he’s been difficult. He knows he’s a mess when he fucks up a game. He knows he gets jealous easily (though he tries his best not to show it), and he’s irrational sometimes. He had first asked you out half as an irrationality, half as a joke, not believing you would actually accept him. He remembers the way you had looked at him then, with a laugh and then a patient smile that saw straight through all his veneers.
But hadn’t it all been a matter of time? Until he lost a game like this, and spiralled like he did, and you decided he was too much? The sound, again, of that referee whistle, a ball thumping just out of reach.
“Shit, this is not going how I thought it would,” you say, dragging him from his dark thoughts just as you had dragged him from sinking into your bed. He blinks at you.
“What do y’mean?”
Your expression is wry. “This is supposed to be making you feel better, not worse.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Atsumu,” you’re laughing his name without mirth. It’s regretful. “No, you don’t have to apologize to me. And this isn’t about comforting me right now.” You’re saying all of this with your eyes trained on the black asphalt ahead. “I only meant…” you let out a breath. “I only mean that you don’t ever have to worry about me being here for you. Of course I’m going to be here for you. It’s—It’s all I want.” You swallow, looking nervous suddenly, fidgety in your seat. Atsumu is frozen still.
Yes, Atsumu has lived his life feeling difficult. But now you’re sitting with him on the driver’s side of his car, upset that he’s upset and trying not to show it. There’s a song that he loves playing, and you’re driving him nowhere and he understand, suddenly, that you’d drive him around all night if that’s what it took to make him feel better. He realizes that you’re doing this all for him. And that nerve of being the difficult twin, the difficult player, the difficult partner is exposed in front of you, and it doesn’t matter—it doesn’t matter.
No one has ever taken care of him like this. Atsumu feels like a little boy again, completely out of his depth, being shaken by something that feels impossibly larger than him. He’s seeing you so clearly right now, in your t-shirt and baggy jeans, and nothing has ever looked so beautiful to him in his life. He’s almost overwhelmed with the need to tell you this. He touches your arm.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “That came out more dramatic than I wanted it to.” You’re trying to be light with him again, trying to comfort him.
“Hey,” he murmurs. His throat feels thick, his words come out sticking. “No. Thanks.” And then, aware of how terribly inadequate those words are, he tries again. “Really. I mean it. This is everythin’.”
You shoot him a smile that he sees is relieved. “I’m glad. I was worried I was messing this up.”
His brows crease. “You’re not messin’ anythin’ up.” He’s the one messing things up.
You’re immediately embarrassed. “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I just,” you let out a flustered little laugh that pierces him. “I guess I just realized that I don’t know how to make you feel better when you get down like this. You always know what to say to me, and I didn’t know what to say to you, and…yeah…” you trail off when you glance at him and see his expression.
Atsumu’s confusion momentarily blocks out his self-pity. “Sure y’do.”
“Well I know them now. But only after a very illuminating text thread with your brother.” You give him a quick look. “Is that weird?”
An unfamiliar emotion has a chokehold on your boyfriend. He feels like he can barely get the words out. “You talked with ‘Samu?”
Another nervous laugh. “Yeah.” You sigh at the traffic and lean back, turning your head to look at him. “What?”
Atsumu can’t stop staring at you. “Nothin’,” he manages. Something chaotic and strange is happening in his chest. There are little pieces of you inside of him, coming together, spinning to centre, snapping into place so that he can see the clear picture of his feelings. You’re looking at him curious and bashful and he is wordless. Of course. Of course. There is still the loss in him, of course, but something else now, too. Something that feels more important, sharper, keener. For a flash of a moment, he panics at the recognition of it, but then he looks at you again and knows this isn’t something he can turn away from.
The funny thing is, everyone had thought Atsumu would be the one to break your heart. He had always been irritated in the moment, but in hindsight now, Atsumu could almost laugh at the hilarity of it. You’re holding him beating in your hands. He’s the only one at risk of a broken heart here.
“Hey,” he starts, the word slipping out of him without even meaning to. But he can’t finish. He is perilously aware that he is standing on the ledge of a moment, and if he takes the next step out there is no going back. This moment used to terrify him in relationships, and he used to run away from it. He’s terrified now, but it’s a new sort of terror.
“Can we—can we pull over?” He asks.
You spare him a worried look. “Everything okay?”
“Please,” he says. Giving him another look, you nod. You wait for an opening, merge, and then turn into a quiet, dead-end street.
Break, park, engine off. The second the key is turned Atsumu is pulling you into his arms. He’s aware of how tight he’s holding you, your little breath and laugh as he feels your fingers stroking against his back in comfort. His whole body is trembling, practically bursting with the need to put his feelings to words.
He presses his mouth against the side of your head, and murmurs the words into your hair.
You tilt your head. “Hm?” You try pulling back slightly to hear him better, but Atsumu’s not letting you. He can’t let you go. “Atsumu—what?” You’re laughing softly again, trying to detangle yourself from him. He only squeezes you closer.
“You were the only person I wanted to see after we lost,” he says, which were not the words he had murmured, but from the way you’re pulling back and looking at him, he sees that you understand.
“Atsumu, I—”
“Wait. That’s not what I said. I said I—fuck—I think I love you.” Then he shakes his head. This is not another thing he’s messing up tonight. “No, no, I know it. I know. I’m in love with you.”
You tense with revelation in his arms, heart in your throat. “Atsumu,” you try again, but he hushes you with an urgent kiss, open-mouthed and needing. He’s never needed something so badly than to kiss you in that moment. “‘Tsumu—”
“Wait, wait,” he says, breaking apart from you, breathing hard. “I just gotta say this first.” You’re staring at him with wide, wet eyes. “I just gotta say that—listen, I always wanna be there to comfort you too, ‘kay? And I, I love you, and thank you, thank you for seein’ me and still bein’ with me and—” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it won’t go down.
“Please, can I say it back now?” You’re almost laughing the words, or shaking with them. You reach up with unsteady hands to hold his face. Atsumu is mouth-parted and heart-thundering. He nods, wordlessly. “Oh my god, Atsumu, I love you too. I love you too.”
He’s meeting your words with his mouth again, hungry to catch them on his lips. This kiss feels as endless as a long stretch of road, as endless as a night drive. When the two of you finally pull away from each other, you’re both breathless and grinning. He’s still trying to lean into you for small kisses, but eventually you have to turn away, laughing.
Your hands return to the steering wheel hesitantly. Atsumu adjusts his seatbelt. He’s looking at you, heart and hope in eyes. “And for the record,” he says, voice rough, “y’know exactly how to make me feel better.”
Your mouth wobbles. “Should I, uh, do you want me to keep driving, then?” you ask. Atsumu watches you turn the key in the ignition. He has an image in his mind, suddenly, not of his loss, not of his disappointment, but of sitting in this car with you when dawn breaks.
“Yeah,” he says, and places his hand on top of your for just a moment. “I could go all night.”
“Atsumu!” You call out his name, hitting your fist against the door. “Are you here?”
It's a little late; the hallway is brightly lit, and you look up at the overhead lights, blinking and wondering if you shouldn’t have come here on such a whim. Thinking about it, you probably should have at least texted him you were coming — he might not even be here, but you were too much in a rush.
Sighing, you raise your fist again, “Atsu-”
The door flies open and your hand cuts through air instead of the solid surface. Standing there in the doorway is Atsumu, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a loosely fitting black t-shirt to match. He’s holding onto the handle with one hand, the other resting against the side of the frame, his pink lips stretching into a sly smile. Your stomach flips a little bit. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You wring your hands together, “Um.”
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue and chuckling when you don’t. He opens the door wider. “C’mon,” he says, motioning his head inside his room. You stare at his back as you follow him in, taking in his broad shoulders and admiring the way his muscles ripple inside his shirt before closing your eyes and shaking your head. He’s not yours to look at.
Focusing instead on the room, you take note of how both sides are equally as dysfunctional. Not messy, just…crowded. “Where’s Osamu?”
He settles onto his bed, unmade, legs spread, and pushes his laptop to the side. “With Rin.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
You rock on your heels as your gaze slides all around the room, purposely avoiding his. “So…”
“So?” He tilts his head in that cute way he always does when he finally catches your eye, smiling teasingly. “I’m not complainin’ about ya bein’ here, but you look like you have something ya wanna say.”
He’s right. A wave of fervor pours over you, and you nod your head in determination to do what you came here for, pushing the creeping feeling of dejection far from your mind. “I need some answers.”
“Uh, huh.” His mouth twists in confusion. “Ta what, exactly?”
“To how long it’s going to be.” Your legs take you around the small space, pacing back and forth as you clench and unclench your fists.
“Right…” He trails off. “I’m a little lost here, sweetheart.”
You think you might melt with the affectionate name, but you brush over it. He’s just like that. “How long it’s going to be until you ask out this person you like so much.”
He suddenly tenses, back straightening and thick eyebrows furrowing. “Oh.” Brown eyes track your movement. “I’m not, uh, sure I can answer that?”
You shake your head. You think back to the conversation you guys had a few days ago, where he told you all about this person that he’s interested in. You remember him using words like so pretty, so amazing. A flush on his cheeks as he told you about why he likes them so much. Refusing to tell you who the person was, so maybe you could try to understand why it wasn’t you.
But it’s exactly that, it’s not you. But it hurts every single time you think about it.
So that’s why you ended up here, late at night, a fire in your heart. If the person Atsumu likes isn’t you, you could at least push him to go out with them. You wouldn’t be left to hopelessly pine over him, and could instead get over it as you watched him with someone else, even if it would kill you. Save yourself before you get too invested, right?
“Why not? The sooner the better. Aren’t you the one that told me that we have to go for the things we want?”
Atsumu pushes himself off the bed, long legs striding to you and big hands holding your arms to stop you from moving around. He looks very confused now. “I was?”
“Well then, it’s time to do something.” You make sure to look right into his eyes. “If you like them so much, there’s only one thing to do.”
The grip on your arms tighten, and you shift your hands up to hold on to his elbows. His eyes widen, and you watch as different emotions pass through his face before an excited grin grows. “How long have ya felt this way?”
“Since you told me.” You try to match his smile, despite the way your chest sinks. “Be brave, Atsumu. I know you are.”
“Yeah.” he nods, eagerly, bleached hair following the jerks of his head. “Yeah, okay.”
Your gaze drops to the floor. “Great…” Great.
At least one of you guys will get to be with who they want to. You just wish he wanted you.
You try to leave his hold, but his hands just squeeze your arms, your name falling from his lips in a soft breath.
He gives you that smile, not the confident volleyball player one, but the one that you catch him with when he’s petting a puppy, or when he’s talking to his mother on the phone and he thinks no one is looking. The one that’s reserved for soft moments, and your heart constricts. But it’s not prepared for what comes out of his mouth next.
contains: gn!reader, implied size difference, allusions to multiple different sex positions, minors dni
When Bokuto finds out that Atsumu and you have been in a relationship for a good while, one of the questions he ends up asking is, ‘So, how does sex work? Since y’all are…you know.’
And it throws Atsumu for a loop, his mouth hanging slightly open while he fumbles for an answer, simultaneously (inadvertently, a knee-jerk reaction) recalling all the times the two of you had had sex: his head between your legs as he humped the bed, his arms braced on either side of your temples as he pushed into you and moaned, your back flush to his chest while he held you in his lap, his lips at your nape when he fucked you from behind, held up against a shower wall, on your sides in the early morning light beneath the blankets, pressed into the couch cushions when Atsumu was too impatient
Atsumu settles for the answer of: “Same as anyone else, I s’pose.”
🦋 also the drabble about kiyoomi buying reader a sex toy got me thinking about how atsumu is the kind a guy to make you one from a mold of his dick 👩🦯
HE WOULD. HE WOULD
And you know what, I wouldn’t complain, neither would Atsumu. Hell, he’d probably have you ride the toy while he watches and tugs on his dick, because there’s just something so lewd about it, so mean too. He’s got the real deal in his hand, and yet…he gets to also watch you fuck yourself on an exact replica of it
oh oh okay atsumu then for the chocolate thing!! and suddenly every household chore he has becomes a shirtless one. shirtless folding laundry, shirtless mopping the floor, shirtless doing the dishes…and he folds first bcs he’s really just turned himself on thinking about what’ll happen when you give in
AFAB reader, highly suggestive, minors DNI
"and where did you get these?"
atsumu was a bit too proud himself when he came home with the surprise in hand. plopping it on the table and beckoning you over, he carefully watches as you examine the box with suspicion.
simple black and decorated with gold lettering, it looks normal. like an average box of chocolates, one he’d get you on valentines day or as a sweet surprise after a bad week. but when he cracks it open and removes all plastic protectant, you know somethings different.
"online," atsumu merely shrugs, focused on reading the backing of the box as he removes the contents.
you snort in annoyance, "that's comforting."
“don't worry about it," he beams at your grumpy facade.
there are only four chocolates inside of the box, each with an imbedded slit in the middle, implying they be broken in half and shared with someone else.
"they're safe,” he assures you, “you know i'd never give you somethin' that wasn't."
though his sweetness shines through, you roll your eyes at the entire situation.
its not that you’re against the idea of some silly aphrodisiac, whether it works or not. but today was your designated cleaning day, and if this was atsumu’s cheap way of getting out of his share of chores, then he has another thing coming.
"not today," you decline his eager offer. "we have things to do."
the pout that pulls at his lips is almost immediate. "baby, c'mon. it'll be fun."
he pokes your side and chuckles when you flinch at the sudden prod. he bites his tongue before it can say something smart about how you don’t even need the chocolate to be sensitive.
"you said you'd help me clean," you remind him through gritted teeth, though your fingers still dance along the spine of the box.
"and i will,” he childishly insists. “i can be horny and clean at the same time. usually am when yer around, anyways."
his comment receives a halfhearted smack to the chest.
"stupid," you note out loud, more so to the package before you rather than to the man beside you. "it's probably all psychological," you mutter beneath a sigh.
atsumu’s eyes narrow in thought, "psychological...?"
"tell me you know what psychological means."
"course i do, but how?"
he watches your eyes flicker between the box and the chocolates, as if you’re teetering on the edge of decision. what he recognizes to be a nervous hand comes up and picks at your lower lip.
"like when you tell a kid not to eat a piece of candy, it makes them want it more," you explain.
atsumu nods along, "so yer the candy in this scenario."
"and you're the kid," you confirm.
a grin flashes across his face and you’ve known him long enough to know that it’s one of no good.
"so if it's just psychological," he borderline challenges, removing one from he wrapper and splitting it between his fingers, holding a half out in front of you, "eat one and do yer chores."
you eye the candy in his hand with suspicion, before plucking it from his hold and weighing it in your palm. "it’s not me i’m worried about," you remind him.
atsumu perks up a bit too quickly at your implied response. "i’ll do my chores too, swear." his hand is raised like he’s promising and reciting a boy-scout’s oath.
and with that, the chocolates are pressed and dissolved on your tongues, and (much to atsumu’s dismay) the long list of chores to be done begins.
he’s fine, for a little bit. sure, sweeping the kitchen floor sucks, but it doesn't suck any more than it usually does. and you’re there, too. laughing at a few of his jokes and looking all pretty for him as you wash the dishes piling up in the sink.
and suddenly, it’s hot. was it always this hot in here? the thermostat reads a comfortable room temp, but he finds himself cracking a window anyways. and when he looks back to you, expecting to see you also feeling the candy’s effects, he’s met with disappointment. minding your own business in between soapy hands and half-clean glassware, you look focused.
he watches your eyebrows furrow in concentration. listens intently to your tiny grunts of extra pressure applied to certain stubborn spots on the dishes. they remind him a bit too much of the noises you make when he sucks too harshly on that spot by your throat, or even the ones you make when he takes a crooked finger and presses it gently to your—
"feel anything?"
he’s borderline gawking when your innocent question pulls him from his dirty thoughts. broom idlely in hand like a moron, his jaw practically touches the floor as he drools over you doing absolutely nothing.
he clears his throat, reminding himself to breathe. "nope, you?"
you smile at his usual determination. "nope."
the chores continue. except now atsumu is sweating. it takes few minutes for his shirt to be thrown aside with an excuse the chores making him break a sweat.
the two of you now fold laundry together, clean linens laid out across the couch, and it’s normal. it’s quiet and domestic, or it would be, if atsumu could stop himself from silently admiring your skin.
your neckline exposed through your loose fitting shirt, he hones in on how your throat bobs when you mindlessly swallow. how your neck strectches and twists with every turn of your head. how your skin, shamefully untouched and barren, is just waiting for him to do something about it. swallow his pride and claim it as his own. and fuck, he can feel himself hardening by the second.
"still not feeling anything?" he winces behind a tough face.
fully aware of his dwindling resolve, you decide to shrug, "not really."
his last straw wears thin when you reach down to grab the laundry basket tossed aside on the floor, giving him the perfect opportunity to watch your shirt rise with the action, your ass on full display for him. your back arched purposefully elegant.
you think he whimpers from behind you.
"baby, yer killin' me," crawls from his throat as if he’s in pain (which he would debate, he is). his insatiable hands reaching for you hips, itching to feel any part of you that you’d let him.
his heart flutters when you sweetly smile up at him and his selfish, grabby hands.
"so do something about it," you innocently insist.
atsumu nearly combusts at the five words. "really?" he gawks, still needing your approval, "can i?"
you nod permission, and atsumu’s hand immediately makes itself comfortable beneath your sweatpants and between your thighs. he easily, eagerly takes a single finger and allows it to swipe between your folds. he’s borderline cumming in his pants when he finds that it slips with ease, thanks to your built up slick.
"fuck, baby," the feeling has him instantly tensing up his thighs. he repeats the action with an added finger, collecting more slick before removing his hand and proudly showing you the mess you’ve webbed between his fingers.
"so,” he teases through a shaky breath as he admires your work, “psychological, huh?"
your head falls back in both anticipation and embarrassment.
"you have the maturity of an elementary schooler," you mumble towards the ceiling.
"then our analogy still stands—” atsumu growls against your stomach, shirt now riding up and skin vibrating with need as his lips press against it.
his fingers work your pants down by your ankles as his mouth hungrily works it’s way up your thighs, "—because somethin' tells me yer about to taste like candy."
Atsu bucks up into you, he’s trying to keep up with you, make you as hazed-over as he is. His hair is rumpled from the pillows, a bit of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth while you just keep going. And when you reach down to cup his balls, a finger pressed right behind them, he can’t help how his foot pushes into the sheets suddenly, tearing a pathetic little moan from his throat
I also think that, because of his childhood experience with not getting along well with others in comparison to his brother, Atsumu falls hard and fast in a relationship but he tries to hide it. He’s both so elated that he’s found someone who really cares about him, yet he’s terrified that he’s going to fuck it up somehow
Atsumu’s crying when you come home. At least, you think he is; his head is turned away from you, facing the TV when you hear a sniffle and see his hand lift to his face.
You step out of the genkan wondering if he even knew you were here. “‘M home,” you say. Atsumu visibly startles, turning around and stepping onto his feet
“Sorry—didn’t hear ya’ come in.” He’s smiling, but it looks different, forced. Atsumu clears his throat and closes the distance to you, wrapping long arms around your body with a murmured ‘Hi, baby’ into your hair. You hug him back.
When Atsumu pulls away, you finally see his face: a slightly pink nose, irritated scleras, dampened eyelashes. He’s still smiling, he’s hoping you haven’t noticed (he knows you have). And it’s devastating, the way you reach a hand up to fix his hair as his hands remain interlocked on the small of your back. Atsumu is trying not to cry again, he doesn’t want you to see him sob with a snotty nose, he doesn’t want you to think he’s inept at controlling his emotions.
“Atsu…” you start.
It’s enough to fray him. Tears well in his eyes, lips pressed together, inhaling shakily. Atsumu is crying, and it’s all he can do as you hold him. The unbidden thought that you might push him away and tell him to calm down is a nasty one—a wholly stupid one. You would never say that to him, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been said by others before.
hi L!!! could we get atsumu and 11 or 12 for your smut game?
NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS I WILL BLOCK YOU
cw: afab!feader, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, mocking, overstim? rough sex but also soft sex idk he's a man of duality
...
the two of you have been at it for hours.
if there's one thing about atsumu, it's that he doesn't half-ass anything.
nothing about him has ever been quick and easy, he's all-encompassing. he wants your attention on him at all times, and he's not shy about his methods of getting it.
safe to say, fucking you is no different.
you forget how many times you've already cum, but you want to say it's been four. four you can vividly remember, at least. you're not sure if the other shaky waves of pleasure officially count as an orgasm if they never cease between his calculated movements.
on round five (?), atsumu decides to be kind.
with your back against the mattress and his mouth all over you, atsumu makes the conscious, merciful choice of slowing his hips a tad when you start to shake in his hold again.
"tell you what," he perks up, as if some realization has just magically dawned on him. "gimme a kiss and ill let you cum."
if you had any willpower left, you'd roll your eyes, kiss your teeth, tell him to bite you and watch him pout.
but you don't, you can't, so you settle for weakly leaning into his lips.
except it's not exactly a kiss—your lips quivering and gaping against his own as he purposefully indulges his hips in now steady, solid, agonizingly slow thrusts doesn't quite meet his standards.
with the way his curved cock keeps ever so slightly nudging against that soft spot inside of you, you can barely breathe, let alone kiss him how he (thinks he) deserves.
he smiles knowingly against your mouth, and the "kiss" he requested is more so breathing into one another's mouths—with you gasping for a second to breathe and him chuckling at your pathetic attempt to hold out.
atsumu speaks condescendingly, venom wrapped in a sweet scarf as he hums, "nuh uh uh—that doesn't count."
he pulls back slightly, resting his clammy forehead against yours when he sternly speaks, "kiss me properly."
you can't help but whine at his demand. and you know the reaction you're giving him right now is exactly the one he wants. part of you wants to continue to push, to see just how far he'll let you go with testing his boundaries and denying his requests.
but another part of you just wants to fucking cum.
in the midst of your cloudy thoughts, atsumu uses your dissociation to reposition you.
he still has you on your back, legs now resting on his shoulders as he cradles your jaw in his stupidly large hands.
the new position allows him to go deeper, and you both feel it. atsumu takes a sick kind of pride in the way your chest heaves with ragged breaths, how his cock throbs at each shaky inhale you manage to grasp.
"c'mon princess, can't you do it right?"
your head is thrown back, eyes screwed shut as atsumu keeps mocking you. his lips in a smirk right above your own as you continue to pant and mewl hopelessly.
he pushes. physically, verbally, emotionally. he's forcing you to look at him, feel him, think nothing but him, him, him.
"dick too good?" you make out through his groans, though it almost sounds like he's underwater in your ears, "can't even kiss me anymore?"
contrasting to his urgent thrusts, his calloused thumb sits beneath your chin, tapping a few times to get you to open your eyes. you do, and he smiles greedily.
"you look so good like this," he heaves in pride, "nothin' in that pretty little head of yours, huh?"
again, the two of you are mouth-to-mouth. not kissing, but breathing in one another small sounds and shakes.
"just how i like you," he breathes.
and while atsumu initially asked for a kiss, even he agrees that this is much better.
contains: bestfriend!atsumu, teasing, one (1) kiss to atsumu’s cheek that makes him hard, stubborn atsumu, mutual pining, mutual suppressed feelings, confident atsumu → flustered atsumu, both parties are flustered honestly
warnings: minors dni
a/n: yeah this is the man I love. right here. this bumbling idiot who absolutely loses his cool at the smallest of things. also there’s references in this one from previous drabbles in the below link
[more about bestfriend!atsumu here]
Atsumu is familiar with tease; meaningless, arbitrary teasing since you were children. But, somewhere along the way, the boundaries began to shift and the teasing grew to be more physical.
They were simple touches to your waist, prods that had you flinching suddenly. At times, they became laughably tight hugs, where Atsumu near squeezed the breathe from you.
Though, this was a tad different.
“I’ll give it to ya’,” he drawled, lifting the newly brewed tea from your reach, “but ya’ gotta give me a kiss right here.” And with his other hand he pointed to his cheek.
You gave a startled laugh. “A ‘thank you’ isn’t enough for you now?” you asked. “Just give me the tea, ‘Tsumu.”
He shook his head, stepping back, lifting the cup higher. “‘S just a kiss.”
“‘Just a kiss,’” you repeated, irritated. “And it’s just a cup of tea.”
Atsumu shrugged.
You knew this game, recognized it as a little ‘game-of-wills’. And Atsumu enjoyed playing this game because, frankly, he almost always won.
The last time you played with him, he nearly kissed you, before pulling away. That had been one of the meager few you had won. From that, you recalled the closeness, the tension, the palpable warmth of him and his body.
Atsumu had flipped the coin, and now it was your turn to play at your own game.
“Give me the tea, please,” you tried.
And he shook his head again, a grin pressing at his mouth that he covered with amusement. “Just a kiss, just a cup of tea. What’s the difference, right?”
You were growing frustrated and had the brief thought to leave it alone. Eventually, he would forget it, and you could retrieve the tea. It had been the last tea-bag in the small box, cutting your option of steeping another.
Moving closer, you ground out, “Atsumu, seriously?”
“Very.”
You remembered how his hands touched you, felt along your face. He had been so close.
You stopped in front of him, and Atsumu looked beyond pleased.
“Come here,” you said, sighing. He leaned down, his face was lower but not quite leveled with your own. Distantly, he set the tea on the counter behind him.
He watched you step closer, unsure in your own thoughts. As so, he appeared content, thoroughly entertained; however, his hands were shaking, his breathes came in more shallow.
He was nervous for a kiss to the cheek.
If Atsumu could recollect himself, he would scoff at his own antics, as if he hadn’t been the one to incite this. He tried to remind himself that there’s much more to be this nervous about: a close-tied match, a press panel, a charity event. And he was on the verge of becoming overwhelmed by the prospect that you would even consider this.
His eyes roved your face, before becoming flighty and looking toward the television in the living room of his apartment. You placed your hand on his cheek, gently, and Atsumu had the sudden thought that this was the closest he felt to being dazed; a light-headedness that made him want to both watch you and close his eyes.
He had unconsciously near curled himself over you, moving toward your palm on his face without thought. Your other hand now rested along his face as well, bracketing his head, letting you handle him like this.
His own hands held tighter to the counter behind him, keeping them from lifting to rest on your hips. He prayed you didn’t look down to see those whitened knuckles.
And then you hovered your lips over his cheek. He could feel your gentle breaths, how you shifted because you didn’t quite know how to go about this. Atsumu wanted to groan, painfully, pleasurably.
When you pressed your lips there, he almost did. But his eyes fluttered shut, and his focus honed in on solely you. He wanted to laugh at how he could feel himself getting hard from something like this, but he remained so still for you.
It was a brief kiss, and he mourned the loss of contact. As you pulled back, he turned his head toward you. Atsumu had a flush across his face, his ears, his nostrils flared gently, pupils dilated to push back the brown of his irises. If he leaned forward, he could kiss you again.
But you put your fingers over his lips, a trembled exhale from you before you shook your head so minutely he scarcely caught the unspoken words: Too far.
He understood what you meant. A kiss to the lips, as fucking friends, would certainly be too far, if this wasn’t already.
Atsumu pushed the cup of tea toward you, still bowed down to be this close to you. “‘S all yours,” he murmured, raising his eyebrows like a weak attempt at being playful again.
I’m all yours.
You looked as if you might’ve said something, but huffed a nervous laugh instead, taking the tea and moving out of his space. Atsumu adjusted his position so you wouldn’t see his apparent hard-on as you walked away.
With your back to him as you headed toward the living room, Atsumu ran a hand down his face, through his hair. A muscle in his jaw tightened, his fingers twitched.
Soap is deaf in one ear, btw. The result of years of being too close to explosions and gunfire. He didn't really mind, I mean, there was basically nothing he could do, might as well accept it.
He didn't really mind until he met you. You, who even when he's making you feel the most intense pleasure of your life, are quiet. Not completely quiet, sure you make some sound, but it's never loud enough for Johnny's liking. He just can't hear you :(. That's why whenever you fuck, he makes sure to grip your jaw and force your mouth open right next to his good ear. He makes sure to do everything in his power to make you feel as good as possible, to hear your quiet moans and shaky breaths. He loves every sound you make, no matter how small :)
your boyfriend always gets flustered when you kiss his neck
megumi is incredibly touch deprived, especially so around his neck and throat.
obviously, you love using that fact to your advantage.
and as much as he protests that he hates it, he and you both know that he loves it.
the other night, you two were laying in his bed as he went on a nerdy rant about pokemon. his arm was loosely wrapped around your waist, your head resting against his chest.
despite how much you love hearing him talk about subjects he was passionate about, you were growing a little bored of his chatter and decided to tease him a little.
you tilted your head up, pressing soft, slow kisses to the side of his neck, and the sensitive spots around his ear.
“so it’s- ah.. i mean, th-the water types and fire types- uh..” megumi stammers quietly, entire train of thought completely wrecked.
he feels you grin against his skin, amused with yourself. “quit it.” he mumbles.
you hum, innocently glancing up at him. “mm, sorry. what were you saying?” you ask, smiling sweetly.
“you don’t care.” he grumbles, not looking at you.
“don’t say that.” you lower your head to his neck again, gently mouthing at his soft skin.
he releases a soft, shaky breath, voice low and controlled. “… if you wanted me to pay attention to you, you coulda just said.”
you don’t reply, continuing to gently suck at his neck, trailing down to his collarbone. he shivers, bringing a hand to the back of your head, keeping you there.
“feels good.” he murmurs, voice a low vibration in your ear.
you just smile, satisfied in knowing that your boyfriend would melt for you at such an easy touch.
You had been scrolling all day on social media, practically rotting on the couch, just trying to find something that might entertain you.
And that's exactly when you stumbled across that new bathroom tour trend. It was so stupidly hilarious that you knew right then and there, your husband was about to become your next victim.
You were sitting on the couch with that suspicious grin on your face all day long, just waiting for him to get inside that bathroom and hear the door click.
You had already been soft-launching the fact that you wanted to make a few changes to the bathroom decoration here and there, which hadn't confused him all that much at the time. “You can do whatever you want, baby,” was his casual reply when you told him you might ask your best friend for some tips.
So the moment that damn door finally clicked shut, you rushed to grab your phone. You whipped the camera on, marching straight down the hall and stumbling into the bathroom like absolutely no one was inside.
Since you were both incredibly comfortable in your relationship, Toji didn't even really react at first; he just briefly looked up at you from the toilet before going right back to scrolling on his own phone. That was until he noticed your phone raised up in your hand, and heard you start talking to the screen as you pointed directly at the wall opposite him.
“I'm thinking of putting a shelf right here... maybe some books on it or something...”
“The fuck?” He muttered, his eyebrows drawing together as he stared at you.
You completely ignored him and turned, pointing toward the wall where he was sitting, intentionally capturing half of his frame on camera. “A little plant might fit perfectly in here... you can give me your opinion later.”
Toji immediately ducked his head down, trying his best to escape the lens. It was so serious to him that he even clicked off his own phone. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He started to grow more irritated as you continued to ignore him, fully committed to your little fake bathroom tour. “Last time you told me a picture here would be good... I'll consider that too...”
Stuck in a rare position of total vulnerability, the only resort he had left was launching whatever was within arm's reach at you so you would leave him alone. He started grabbing towels and the plastic bottles of detergent left on the counter, chucking them your way as he yelled.
“Get the hell outta here!”
He pelted you so relentlessly with rolls of toilet paper that you finally broke character, sprinting out of the bathroom laughing like crazy and slamming the door shut so he could finish his business in peace.
“Send that to anyone and I'll murder you!” his muffled voice screamed from the other side of the door.
“One of the strongest feelings I remember from my childhood is, precisely, of being humiliated; of being knocked about by words, acts, or situations. Isn’t it a fact that children are always feeling deeply humiliated in their relations with grown-ups and each other? I have a feeling children spend a good deal of their time humiliating one another. Our whole education is just one long humiliation, and it was even more so when I was a child. One of the wounds I’ve found hardest to bear in my adult life has been the fear of humiliation, and the sense of being humiliated. Every time I read a review, for instance — whether laudatory or not — this feeling awakes. To humiliate and be humiliated, I think, is a crucial element in our whole social structure.”
— Ingmar Bergman; Interviews with Ingmar Bergman by Stig Bjorkman
We aren't limited to one way of being great @yamaesque - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
