Chapter Text
With how much he flirts, a lot of people assume Atsumu is a slut.
And they’re absolutely right.
A lot of people like to slut shame omegas like him, but he couldn’t care less. If he wants to sleep around, it’s his God given right, and he’ll do as he damn well pleases.
So when he catches sight of an alpha at the club, all tall, dark and handsome, dressed like money and smelling like fine whiskey and cedarwood, he pounces.
“Hey, handsome,” he says as he walks up to him. The man is standing in the corner away from the crowd, and the closer Atsumu gets, the more he can smell the anxiety radiating off him. That’s okay. He knows just how to loosen him up. “How’s about I buy you a drink?”
The man raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it usually the other way around?”
Atsumu scoffs. “It’s the 21st century; I do what I want.”
The man’s scent sweetens. “Good. I like an omega who knows what they want.”
Atsumu reaches out to lay his hand on his chest, but the man backs away.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Atsumu feels warm at the nickname. “I’m a germaphobe.”
“Then, the hell are you doin’ at a place like this?”
“My cousin dragged me out.”
Atsumu smirks. “Aww, that’s cute. Do you always do what he says?”
The man’s face pinches. “No. But he has dirt on me.”
Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “What, yer nudes?”
The man’s eyes bug out. “God, no. But I owe him for all the times he’s covered for at work.”
Atsumu giggles. “Really? You don’t seem the type.”
The man scoffs. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have anxiety, and it doesn’t really conform to my work schedule.”
Atsumu’s face softens. “Ain’t no shame in that. I ain’t got no anxiety, but even I need mental health days.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an athlete. Can’t you tell?” Atsumu is wearing a tank top, so he flexes to show off his arm muscles. A bit risky showing them off to an alpha, but Atsumu’s worked damn hard for them and he’s proud.
The man’s pupils dilate as his scent darkens. “I can see that, darling.”
Ahh, this man and his nicknames. “So how’s about that drink, handsome?”
“Sorry, but I don’t drink.”
Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “A bit surprisin’ considerin’ yer scent an’ all.”
“I don’t like not being in control.”
Atsumu hums. “That’s a shame. I love takin’ control in the bedroom.”
The man blushes slightly, and it’s downright adorable. “I wouldn’t know what I like. I’m a virgin.”
Atsumu smirks. “How would you like me to change that for ya?”
The man looks off into the crowd, presumably looking for his cousin. Whatever he sees makes him let out a long, heavy sigh. He looks back at Atsumu, raking his eyes up and down his body. “Fuck it.”
Atsumu doesn’t need to be told twice.
Atsumu speedwalks out of the club hoping the man will keep up. He’s wary of trying to touch him again and he doesn’t want to look back.
Luckily, the man meets him at the entrance, only a few steps behind, and offers to drive him. And damn if a man with a hot ride doesn’t do it for him.
They decide to go to Atsumu’s place because it’s closer. When they arrive, the man forces Atsumu to take a shower, but Atsumu convinces him to join him. To Atsumu’s surprise, tonight he’s really liking the play for dominance they have going on.
The morning after, Atsumu wakes up pleasantly sore, but unpleasantly alone. But when he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, he finds a note, which reads:
Not bad.
Atsumu feels a vein throb in his forehead, but he huffs a laugh. What an asshole.
He finds a phone number on the back, but, with a tinge of regret, he throws it back on the nightstand, knowing he’ll probably never call him back.
It’s been four weeks since that night, and Atsumu is feeling like shit. He’s fatigued and his chest is sore and he’s completely off his game during volleyball practice.
It’s when his heat doesn’t come on time a week later that he really starts panicking.
So naturally, he does what he always does when he panics: he shows up to Samu’s door unannounced.
He has a spare key, so, without knocking, he lets himself in, only to find…
“Oh my God!”
…Samu and Sunarin in their boxers making out on the couch.
“What the fuck, Tsumu!” Samu yells as he grabs a blanket and throws it over himself.
“Oh my God, why are you fucking on the couch!”
“As if you’ve never fucked on your couch,” Sunarin says without bothering to cover himself up.
Atsumu covers his eyes with his hands. “Fuck off, I’m scarred for life!”
“Cover yourself up, Rin,” Samu says.
“Why should I cover myself up when he’s the one who barged in?” Sunarin grumbles, but Atsumu hears cloth rustling.
“Are y’all decent now?” Atsumu asks.
“Yes,” they answer at the same time. Fuckin’ creeps.
Atsumu cautiously uncovers his eyes to see them cuddled under a blanket on the couch. Not any less gross in Atsumu’s opinion.
“Samu, I have a confession to make.”
“The fuck am I here for then?” Sunarin grumbles. He gets out his phone and starts scrolling through it, probably on Twitter like a fucking dweeb.
Samu groans. “What confession could you possibly need to make in person at 11 pm on a Tuesday?”
“Fuck you! You don’t know what it’s like bein’ on an athlete’s schedule!”
“I literally own and run a restaurant, asshole. Now, spit it out.”
Atsumu pouts, but gives in.
“I’m a dirty whore.”
“We know,” they say.
“I’m a dirty, stupid whore.”
“We know.”
“I think I’m pregnant.”
“We—”
Samu’s face freezes and Sunarin finally looks up from his phone.
“Haha, that’s a funny joke, Tsumu,” Samu deadpans.
“It’s not a joke.”
Samu’s eyes twitches. “No, no, it’s gotta be a joke, because if it wasn’t a joke I’d be wringin’ yer neck right now.”
Atsumu stomps his foot. “But Samu,” he whines. “I don’t know what to do.”
Samu takes a deep breath. “What are your symptoms?”
“I’m tired, my chest is sore and my heat is late.”
Sunarin’s mouth gapes. It’s an expression Atsumu has never seen on his face before.
Samu’s face flickers through at least five different emotions at once. “Tsumu, that’s… that’s pretty bad.”
“Don’t ya think I know that?”
“Come on, then,” Samu says, getting up and pulling some pants on.
Atsumu gasps. “You were naked under there?”
“Fuck off, this is my place.”
“Do I have to come too?” Sunarin whines.
Wordlessly Samu drags him off the couch. Sunarin grumbles some curse words but starts putting on some clothes.
“Where are we goin’?” Atsumu asks.
“To get ya a goddamn pregnancy test.”
The drive to the convenience store is silent except for Atsumu grumbling about Sunarin getting to ride shotgun. When they arrive, they buy five different pregnancy tests. Well, Atsumu pretends he forgot his wallet at home, and Samu clearly doesn’t buy it, but he gets them for him anyway.
When they get back. Atsumu locks himself in the bathroom with all five tests, and bites his nails as he waits.
When his timer goes off. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then looks.
Positive.
Fuck.