1 - 20 of 21 Works by succumb2grain
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Briefly, Atsumu wonders how long he'd be able to avoid Sakusa if he just bolted back to his room and pretended this entire interaction never happened. "Um. Sorry?"
It comes out sounding more like a question than an apology, which... well, it's still better than just staring like a dumbass.
Better still isn't good, though, and both of them know it. Sakusa cocks an eyebrow and leans his shoulder against the doorframe, boxing Atsumu into the hallway. His eyes narrow, which Atsumu tries his best to focus on instead of looking at how the dim hall light's making that fucking bruise look even darker, a stain spilled over Sakusa's neck. "Are you?"
Atsumu really isn't a fan of having no idea what to say twice in a row. The truth isn't an option—it's not like he can tell Sakusa that actually, he's not sorry for staring, because if Sakusa's gonna go out and let some neanderthal leave that where everyone can see it then he sorta deserves it. He can’t imagine that’d go over very well.
Sakusa must know that Atsumu doesn't have a defense, because he keeps going. "You know, I didn't take you for the jealous type."
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Tucked into a small office in the basement of the mathematics building, Statistics TA Sakusa Kiyoomi prefers the quiet. He has plenty on his mind already with his classes, his job, and his mild caffeine addiction; the last thing he needs in his life is a noisy, talkative, over-familiar alpha wasting his time with stupid questions.
Unfortunately for him, Miya Atsumu has absolutely no problem being a walking stereotype or wasting Kiyoomi's time with stupid questions.
It's fine. They're already more than a month into the semester; Miya is bound to get bored of annoying him eventually.
...Right?
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Miya whines a little when Kiyoomi pulls back. He tries to follow Kiyoomi's lips for a second, grip tightening on Kiyoomi's ass to keep him from moving when he starts to shift.
"Miya." Kiyoomi presses a hand to Miya's chest, pushing him back down onto the mattress and fixing him with a glare. Miya's cheeks are flushed in the low light, lips slick and swollen; Kiyoomi's must be, too, because it takes a second for Miya to look up from Kiyoomi's mouth to meet his eyes.
Kiyoomi takes a moment, weighs his options, and decides that he can afford this one loss for the sake of expediency.
"Fuck my thighs."
Series
- Part 5 of desperate times
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Sakusa Kiyoomi does not like being touched.
Frankly, he finds physical contact with other people to be repulsive. He’s seen the statistics on how many people actually wash their hands after using the restroom, and they’re disheartening enough for him to write off unnecessary touching as a solid no, thank you. It’s not worth it, not to him.
He hates shaking hands, flinches away from pats on the shoulder, cringes at the thought of pressing against someone on public transit. Even as a child, hugs from most family members left him craving at least a change of clothes before he could continue his day.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it.
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It started a few weeks ago—Kiyoomi getting woken in the middle of the night by a sleepwalking Atsumu slipping into his bed. That part honestly didn’t bother Kiyoomi as much as it probably should have, but Atsumu is warm, he smells nice, he always showers in the evenings. There’s worse people to have wrapping themselves around him at two in the morning, and it’s not really worth the hassle of trying to wake Atsumu up or, worse, lead him back to his own room without waking him.
That’s what Kiyoomi had thought at first, anyway.
Until fifteen minutes into their first impromptu spooning session when Atsumu’s hips started to rock gently against Kiyoomi.
Series
- Part 2 of 🧵 twitter threads 🧵
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Atsumu is having a perfectly normal morning until Sakusa slides into the chair across from him at the kitchen table and says, "We should be friends with benefits."
Atsumu chokes on his toast.
"We should what?" he wheezes between coughs, suddenly significantly more awake.
"We should be friends with benefits," Sakusa repeats, louder. He pushes Atsumu's glass of water closer to him, otherwise seeming mostly unconcerned with the fact that his teammate's asphyxiating on bread. "I think it would be mutually beneficial."
Series
- Part 4 of desperate times
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"I thought you'd handle the sake better than me," Sakusa teases. His whisper coils ropes around Atsumu's limbs, his neck, his organs, tangling him up and drawing him in, and Atsumu would gladly go wherever that soft voice wants to take him. "It's not your first time drinking, but you can't even think of a dare."
Atsumu thought he knew his dare for Sakusa the moment this game started. He thought he was just biding his time until Sakusa stopped choosing truth. He isn't sure anymore. It feels too easy, too hollow, like it will crumble to dust for Sakusa to brush away with sleep and forget before morning.
Atsumu can't allow that.
He needs this moment, this night, to be something Sakusa remembers. He needs to be something Sakusa remembers.
he needs it to be real."Lemme pierce yer ear."
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Kiyoomi can't pinpoint the exact moment, but at some point his day had veered wildly off-course.
They were supposed to win their game. They were supposed to go out to dinner to celebrate, then drinks. Kiyoomi would head back to the hotel after one or two; Miya would stumble into the room hours later and pass out on his bed, if he didn’t go home with some anonymous hookup and reappear in the morning. Exactly like they always do.
They weren’t supposed to lose.
Kiyoomi wasn't supposed to goad Miya into some petty argument the moment the door slammed shut in a bid to burn off his frustration, as if it's a year ago when they were still figuring each other out.
And Kiyoomi absolutely, definitely is not supposed to be balls deep in Miya right now, snarling insults into each other's mouths as they fuck like animals against their hotel room's dresser.
Series
- Part 3 of desperate times
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It's not happening again.
No matter how many hungry stares Miya's given Kiyoomi over the past six days (at least eleven). No matter how many 'accidental' touches Kiyoomi's received from Miya since that night (eighteen and counting). No matter how many times Kiyoomi's woken with the phantom feeling of Miya's legs around his waist and the less-phantom feeling of clammy, sticky fabric clinging to his thighs (shamefully, all five).
It most definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent is not going to happen again.
Kiyoomi sneaks a glance over to the other end of the sofa. Miya's eyes are still fixed on the television, following the drama of the reality dating show they've been hate-watching together. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and Kiyoomi can't stop himself from tracking the motion.
Kiyoomi idly wonders if it's normal to spend this much time thinking about something that's definitely not affecting him at all.
Series
- Part 2 of desperate times
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Kiyoomi blinks awake in the dark hotel room without quite knowing why.
His brain feels like it's working too slowly, slowly piecing together that he's cold—that there's goosebumps prickling over his skin, that his duvet's tossed to the side, that he can feel the cool top sheet under his bare back. Bare, even though he doesn't remember falling asleep naked.
He feels like he should care more about that than he does, but right now all Kiyoomi wants is to get back to sleep. He grumbles quietly and moves to turn onto his side.
He doesn't get far before he feels ropes—thick, smooth, cold ropes—tighten around his body, and that definitely gets him to start caring.
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“I just—“
One of those dangerous, damning thoughts flits through Atsumu's head, and he hesitates.
He could ask.
He could put his cards on the table, and if Sakusa’s not interested then he can play it off as being drunk and saying stupid shit. He’s certainly said worse before.
“You just…?” Sakusa prompts.
These are desperate times—apparently even more for Sakusa than for Atsumu, which he didn’t think was possible.
He takes a deep breath and goes for it.
“What if we helped each other out with th’ whole… dry spell thing?”
At least five different emotions pass over Sakusa’s shadowed face in the span of a half-second before he forces his neutral mask back into place. “You’re drunk.”
This is Sakusa. If his answer was no, he wouldn’t have a single issue letting Atsumu know it.
That?
That was very much not a no.
Nothing to lose now, right?
Series
- Part 1 of desperate times
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Summary
Atsumu had tried to reason with Kiyoomi. He'd tried to point out that he was trying to do all of them a favor, because if Bo and Shou don’t pay attention or Atsumu falls asleep during Kiyoomi's movie pick he'll get all pissy, and then the whole house is gonna be miserable.
Shockingly, the tactic hadn’t worked. Kiyoomi had just turned a page in his book, pushed his reading glasses up his nose, and said: “Wakatoshi-kun highly recommended it, and you don’t give Hinata and Bokuto enough credit.” Then he’d looked up, pinning Atsumu with a withering stare from his spot curled up on the sofa. “And I haven’t gotten distracted or fallen asleep during any of your movie night choices.”
Atsumu had pretended not to hear the ‘even when I wish I had’ muttered under the other man’s breath.
He didn’t need to. He could recognize the challenge for what it was.
He had stomped out of the living room to go take a shower. By the time he came back to the living room to join the others in front of the television, pausing to scoop up the heavy quilt folded at the foot of his bed and to turn down the thermostat, he had a plan.
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“How’d it go?”
Kiyoomi sucks in a breath. “It was… fine.”
He prays that, just this once, Miya gets that he should drop it. That he won’t make Kiyoomi admit that it sucked. That it was awkward. That he had a bad time, that it reminded him why he doesn’t bother dating in the first place.
He doesn’t want to admit it to himself. He definitely doesn’t want to admit it to Miya.
But he’s been teammates with Miya for over two years now, roommates for four months, and friends for… at least three of those months. After the initial period of acclimating to living together, their petty arguments had somehow turned into late-night snack runs, dining hall meals, conversations lasting way too late into the night as they’d slipped from ‘acquaintances’ to ‘friends’.
He likes Miya by now.
Definitely more than he should.
He also knows Miya well enough to know that he isn’t going to drop it.
Or: Atsumu doesn't know when to stop pushing. Unfortunately, neither does Kiyoomi.
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Kiyoomi had known from the start that this was a bad idea.
He knew there were reasons—good reasons—he should’ve immediately turned down Miya’s offer to be his “blood donor.”
It’s just that right now, sinking his fangs deep into one of the thick, tanned thighs wrapped around his head, listening to Miya’s desperate moans as lust-rich blood wells against his tongue, he can’t remember a single one of them.
Or: Kiyoomi is a vampire and Atsumu is his very willing food source.
Series
- Part 1 of 🧵 twitter threads 🧵
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Summary
“Plenty of people with small mouths an’ sensitive gag reflexes suck dick. Sounds like the real problem’s that yer scared ya suck at it. No pun intended.” There’s a dangerous gleam in Miya's eye when he leans closer, warm where his thigh and shoulder press into Kiyoomi’s.
Kiyoomi steels himself. It’s the same look that always precedes Miya saying the absolute dumbest shit imaginable.
“’S never too late to learn how to work with whatcha got.” He smirks, lifting his glass to his lips. “If yer not a coward.”
Or: Kiyoomi can't give head. Atsumu offers to help him out.
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Summary
Atsumu tilts his head until he can see a little more of Kiyoomi’s face. His eyes are closed, brow furrowed, mouth twisted into a frown. Not exactly the expression Atsumu hopes to see while cuddling, if he’s being honest. He hums softly. “What d’ya need, baby?”
Kiyoomi burrows deeper against Atsumu’s shirt. “Just—I need to get out of my head.”
Atsumu’s fingers pause against Kiyoomi’s scalp. “Ya mean…?”
He watches in real time as pink climbs up over the part of Kiyoomi’s cheek that’s still visible. Kiyoomi nods again, more certain.
Atsumu’s pulse thrums a little faster. “I can help with that.”
A little of the tension bleeds from Kiyoomi’s muscles.
“I was hoping you would.”
Series
- Part 5 of Bottomi Week 2023
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Summary
A garter belt—part of a new set he’d bought. Soft black lace, opaque designs swirling over a translucent backing, delicate and beautiful. He’d custom-ordered the pieces as a treat for himself; the only time he put them on was when they first arrived.
They had fit like a dream.
He hasn’t had a chance to wear them properly since then, eagerly waiting for the next occasion to present itself. He’s been dying to—the lace is so smooth, he can already tell it won’t itch—he has the perfect pair of stockings to match—he’ll just try them on for a second—
Twenty minutes later, he’s climbing into Miya’s stupid tiny sedan, trying his hardest to not think about how exquisite the lace feels under his suit.
Series
- Part 4 of Bottomi Week 2023
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Summary
When Atsumu had started dating Kiyoomi, math student and TA for his advanced statistical analysis course, he didn’t expect any special treatment in class.
Of course, that didn’t stop Atsumu from batting his eyelashes and asking Kiyoomi if there were any opportunities for 'extra credit' whenever he wanted to tease.
“It’s the final, Omi! Yer tellin’ me there’s not anything I can do for a few extra points?”
He doesn’t expect anything except an eye-roll, maybe the usual reminder that 'you have an A- in the class, Atsumu, you don’t need extra points.' The same stuff he gets every time he brings this up.
He doesn’t expect Kiyoomi to hesitate, red pen hovering over the paper in front of him.He definitely doesn’t expect the light flush to start creeping up Kiyoomi’s cheeks.
“Actually…” He sets downs his pen, tilting his head. “There is something that could… help you prepare for the test."
Series
- Part 3 of Bottomi Week 2023
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Summary
Kiyoomi is not the sort of person who has sex in public.
He’s definitely not the sort of person who finds himself inside of a cramped stall in a lesser-used bathroom of a seedy club, pushing his teammate, housemate, and somewhat-recent friend-with-benefits up against the wall with a thigh slotted between his legs and a hand shoved up his shirt, sucking a hickey into the side of his neck.
Apparently desperate times call for desperate measures.
And Kiyoomi won’t deny that these are decidedly desperate measures.
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Atsumu is really, really regretting agreeing to Bokuto's pick for movie night right now.
It’s almost two in the morning, and every time he closes his eyes he swears he hears footsteps outside of his window, underneath the steady sound of the rain. Even though he knows it’s ridiculous, his heart still races like the axe-wielding murderer is about to materialize in his bedroom.
He’s not going to be able to get sleep. At least, not like this.
He gets out of bed and sneaks into the hallway.
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Sakusa opens his door on the third knock.
Series
- Part 2 of Bottomi Week 2023