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monsterhiccups · 2 years

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FEAR (OF THE UNKNOWN) — miya atsumu.

୨୧ ꒰ 001. contains ꒱ w/c: 5k

୨୧ ꒰ 002. warnings ꒱ pining, mutual feelings, sexual tension, love confessions, smut (mdni), oral (f!receiving), fingering, no pronouns used but reader is described as wearing a dress, makeup, and lingerie w/ fem anatomy

“Why’re ya takin’ forever!” Atsumu shouts from your living room. You imagine him to be pouting, resting his head against the back of the couch, an arm slung over the black leather side as he whines at the ceiling. The picture would almost be endearing, if you weren’t currently stuck in the worst predicament imaginable.

Tugging at the zipper, you huff in frustration at the way the lace bites into your skin. Tears suddenly prick at your lash line, and you hurriedly blink them away so as to retain a shred of your dignity.

At first, it was an innocent thing. A few weeks ago, Atsumu had invited you to the fancy banquet that occurred tonight, and you decided to take the full opportunity to dress up. After all, these occurrences were rare, and you wanted to look your best next to your—admittedly attractive—best friend.

You’d had a lively night, full of food from Michelin-starred chefs, a plethora of drinks, dancing, and good company. Atsumu had been on his best behavior, acting as a charming escort, holding doors open for you and urging you to curl your arm around his bicep, with a pleased smile on his face whenever you obliged him. You’d been swooning the entire evening, your heart beating furiously in your chest every time he glanced at you, saving a soft smile for your eyes only.

It seemed that, tonight, your feelings for Atsumu had been at an all-time high, blooming hopefully in your chest like a well-watered flower. You could feel the warmth exuded across your chest, the petals unfurling around your heart, and every time your best friend leaned down to whisper something to you, dipping his head and allowing his lips to brush against the curve of your ear, you swore he could hear your heartbeat.

It was a fun night, albeit tiring, but the fatigued ache behind your eyes was soothed with the promise of takeout and movies once the event ended. Atsumu punctuated his words with a soft smile—again, one that was reserved for just you, the same one he’d given since childhood, and you were pleased that none of the cameras managed to capture the image.

“Um,” you call out, a nervous laugh bubbling past your lips, “give me just a minute!”

You hope your words soothe your exuberant best friend, keeping him peeled on the couch instead of barging into your room as he so often does. You feel the rise of hysteria creep up your stomach, and you let out a humorous huff as you pull and tug at the stuck zipper.

Again—it was supposed to be an innocent thing; going out and dressing up. But, when you were getting ready, you eyed your nicest, newest pair of lace lingerie that you had yet to wear, and you figured if you were going to get entirely done up tonight, you might as well go the whole way. You didn’t wear it for anyone—only yourself—but now, as you struggle to remove the stuck fabric clinging to your skin uncomfortably, you come to the realization that it may have been a mistake.

You hear Atsumu groan from the living room—again, the picture of him hanging his head and pouting invades your mind.

“I’m gonna start the movie without ya!” he complains, even though you’re almost certain he already has.

Pathetic whimpers fall past your lips as you strain your neck in the mirror, wincing as you almost trip over a stray heel you had been so quick to throw off. A feeling of restlessness overcomes you as you twist your hands in an attempt to fix the snag in the fabric, becoming more and more desperate to be free of the chafing lace.

If you weren't so uncomfortable in the lace lingerie, you would simply throw more comfortable clothes on top of it; however, you became more and more fidgety as the night went on, and the itchy lace seemed to only become tighter around your body. You're desperate to get it off your skin, and sincerely consider taking a pair of scissors to cut the fabric off your body.

If it hadn’t cost a small fortune, that is.

You bite your lip as the frustration rises inside you, uselessly wiggling as if you’re trying to squirm out of the undergarments. It feels so uncomfortable, and you’re so hungry, the takeout surely half-eaten and cold by now, as Atsumu sits in your living room waiting to watch a movie.

Again, the bitter tears rise unbidden on your lashes.

A hopeless feeling threatens to pull you under until a thought so preposterous, it makes you scoff, runs through your head.

Atsumu could help you.

Your body begins to buzz with a certain kind of adrenaline, and suddenly you feel incredibly hot, even though your apartment is cool with air conditioning. It does little to soothe you, brushing over your nearly bare skin, but not doing enough to stave away the heat building inside you. You feel as if you’re bubbling with nervous, anxious energy, causing you to hop on the toes of your feet, careful to avoid the stray heels thrown haphazardly across the floor.

Stiffening at the—surely absurd—notion, you feel your fingers falter around the zipper. They’re fully numb now, evidence of your continuous struggle, and as you bite your lip and stare at the ceiling, you quickly feel your resolve crumble.

There was no way you could do this.

Or could you?

Coiled as if ready to spring, your feet move towards your door. Shyly, hesitantly, you allow your fingers to wrap around your doorknob, the coolness of the metal doing little to subdue the intense heat that lingers throughout your body, curling around your fingertips. Your other hand smoothes down the fabric barely covering your body, closing your eyes as your heart stutters in your chest—surely skipping too many beats to be considered healthy.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes, willing your, admittedly shaky, voice to work.

“Atsumu?” you call, just barely opening your door to allow your voice to breach the threshold.

A short, distracted hum is all you get in return, and as you lean against your doorframe, worrying at your bottom lip, you continue.

“I…” you falter, again, rubbing your knuckles against your bare thigh. “I think I need help.”

At the obviously distressed tone of your voice, Atsumu immediately becomes serious. He straightens up, unconsciously leaning towards you. “Are ya okay?”

You swallow, heart beating furiously as you hear his footsteps coming closer and closer. Having to fight the urge to slam the door shut and offer some sort of pathetic excuse, you chuckle humorlessly.

“I think I’m stuck.”

You don’t think, you know, but words seem to fail you right now.

Again, you can imagine Atsumu furrowing his brows, confusion overtaking his features, as he leans against the wall opposite your barely-opened door.

“Yer stuck?” he questions, narrowing his gaze at your cracked door. However, he doesn’t make any moves—he knows that, when you’re comfortable, you’ll let him in. He hears you offer him a small noise of agreement, then the door opens a bit more, but you still remain hidden.

“Like,” Atsumu begins, a small smile playing at his lips, “in yer dress? Need me to help ya take it off?”

And how badly you want to laugh, to agree with him that yes, it is just your dress that you’re stuck in.

Your reality comes crashing down as you shuffle, nervous, wondering if you should cross this line or backtrack forever.

A familiar phrase comes to mind: fear of the unknown.

“No,” you state, voice quieter than usual. It causes Atsumu’s worry to grow even more. “It’s not my dress.”

Atsumu allows a beat to pass between you, hovering in the air questioningly, before he speaks again. “Well…I can’t help ya if I can’t see ya.”

You note that, for once, he makes a good point. However, the knowledge that he has to see you like this, in such a vulnerable state, when you’re so incredibly, overwhelmingly in love with him, is almost too much to handle.

“Yer starting to scare me,” Atsumu lets out a scared-sounding chuckle, and you listen to the anxiety that laces his words. “Please let me help.”

You take two quick, deep breaths, resting your head on the door, before spinning around. “Okay,” you agree, before pulling a sheet off your bed and wrapping it around your body. Again, the coolness of unused sheets does little to appease the deep heat that flushes across your body, and you find the thought amusing.

“Okay,” you begin again, willing your voice to strengthen. “But it’s not my dress.”

Another deep breath, the beat stretching a bit longer than the last. “It’s what was under my dress.”

You pause, allowing the words to settle between you both, knowing that if Atsumu chooses to open the door, the entirety of your relationship could undergo a change.

“Oh,” Atsumu breathes out, as if tasting your words on his tongue. He lets them sit there, the fingers that were nervously fiddling with the hem of his dress shirt now deathly still, as he takes in the total weight of what you mean. “Oh.”

Atsumu feels his body still, his breath catching in his throat, as a deep blush overtakes his features.

“Oh,” you agree, nodding silently along with him.

You both merely stand like that, only a door and a barely-there sheet separating you, a buzzing tension flitting between the air.

And then, the silence breaks.

“Can I…?” Atsumu trails off, and you clutch a bit tighter at the sheet bundled around your body. You feel a spike of adrenaline shoot down your chest as you see his hand curl around the edge of the door, silently asking you if he can come in.

The standstill is suffocating, but a sense of fondness overcomes you as you realize that Atsumu is just as nervous as you.

You nod, then, realizing he can’t see you, verbalize the action. “Yeah, yeah. Come in.”

Stepping back, you allow Atsumu to open the door, and all you can do is play with the sheet, biting your lip as you suddenly find intense interest in the lines that trace your floor.

Atsumu stops in his tracks as soon as the door is opened, mouth falling in silent adoration of everything that is you. He doesn’t know what he expected—to see you scantily clad in lingerie, still half-zipped in your evening gown, the one he had been dumbfounded by all night, or in some other state of undress.

But seeing you like this—clearly shy, biting at your bottom lip worriedly, shuffling as you look at the floor, too nervous to look at him, has his heart pounding. Atsumu feels nothing but an affectionate love for you at this moment, and he wants nothing more than to bring you into his arms, comfort you, and soothe your worries.

And then, his eyes trail downward, and Atsumu has to squeeze his hands into fists to contain himself. A groan almost smooths past his lips, risen almost unknowingly from his chest, at the sight of you in just a white sheet. Atsumu can clearly see the dark lace that’s barely hidden under the nearly sheer white sheet, and his cock stirs in his pants at the sight he’s been imagining for years now.

Atsumu smooths a hand over his jaw—he’s not shocked to find it clenched, swallowing as his eyes trail over your figure, taking all of you in, and he swears that the room begins to spin when you look up at him.

“Atsumu?” you question, blinking shyly at him.

It takes him a second to regain his bearings, his heart stuttering in his chest as his breathing becomes shallow. However, afraid of making you uncomfortable, Atsumu swiftly brushes away the thoughts and feelings he has, offering you his usual kind, lopsided grin.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice a tad more serious than usual. He watches as you nod, a self-deprecating smile adorning your lips, and Atsumu has never wanted to kiss you as bad as he does now.

“Can I see you?” Atsumu continues, gesturing towards the sheet. A minute pause passes between you, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest at his gaze. You realize that, yes, in order to get the lingerie off, your best friend has to be able to see you.

You nod slowly, taking a deep breath, before nodding your head towards your bed. Atsumu takes the hint, carefully stepping over your stray clothes before sitting down—just as he has done millions of times before.

The implications aren’t lost on you.

As Atsumu sits, instinctively spreading his legs a bit to allow you to stand between them, you become pleased. A small, nervous giggle falls past your lips as you stand close to him, your grip on the sheet becoming loose as you become more and more comfortable with him.

Your best friend.

Atsumu’s gaze doesn’t leave yours, and he feels warmth spread across his chest at the endearing sound of your laughter. “What’s so funny?” he muses, and he’s sure there are stars in his eyes as he smiles at you.

You let one of your hands cover your mouth—Atsumu notices as the sheet shifts ever so slightly, revealing a bit more skin just under your collarbones. A black strap rests against your skin, and Atsumu feels the instinctual urge to drag his fingers along it, to let it snap back against your skin, and listen to any other sweet sounds you might let out.

He quickly banishes the idea.

“Nothing—this is just a bit embarrassing,” you admit, biting back a smile as you look at Atsumu. All he does is return the look, shaking his head at you.

“‘S not embarrassing,” Atsumu states quietly, his voice testing the waters of the semi-confession. He looks up at you, a bit sheepishly, with a lopsided smile so endearing that it causes your palms to feel sweaty.

You stand like that for far too long, yet not nearly long enough, before Atsumu’s hands tentatively find their way to your hips.

Your breath catches in your throat, and it feels like time stands still as he stares at you, awe apparent in his gaze. He can feel the ridges of the lace from under the thin fabric of your sheet, and he feels his cock stirring in his dress pants once again. Atsumu has to fight the urge to bring his palm down, to shift his hips up, in an attempt to alleviate some of the ache that's settled between his thighs.

He doesn’t.

“Can I take this off?” Atsumu asks, his voice quiet and slightly breathless. Bated breaths are shared between you, and you feel as if you become dizzy at the implications of his words.

You fear that, when you nod, you will have both crossed a line too tenuous to ever hope to cross back over.

“Yeah,” you nod your consent, fingers loosening around the knot you’ve created at your sternum. Atsumu’s fingers tighten around your hips, a barely-there movement, and your heart nearly seizes in your chest as his fingers drag up your hips, skimming against your sides, before briefly wrapping around your hands.

Atsumu’s touch has always been so comforting, something you ache for after long days, falling into breathless hugs and tight embraces that have always made you feel at home.

However, this touch is new. His larger palms curl around your fingers, and you willingly let him entwine your hands. The fabric loosens, and you feel one last shred of panic shoot through your body before you relax into Atsumu’s touch.

The touch that feels like home.

You quickly close your eyes as the sheet falls off your body, and where you once felt hot, you feel cold. You want to wince as you feel your nipples stiffen under the fabric of your lingerie, a shaky breath falling past your lips. Unable to bear seeing Atsumu’s reaction, you keep your eyes closed, focusing instead on the erratic beating of your heart.

You wait, simply standing like that for a few minutes—minutes that stretch into forever—until you finally gain enough courage to open your eyes.

“‘Tsumu?” you call his name, the anxiety peaking inside you as you catch sight of your best friend.

Atsumu sits before you with parted lips, blinking slowly, his hair mussed up from where he must’ve run a hand through it while your thoughts were occupied. You watch as he bites his lip, his hands still entwined with yours, his breathtaking eyes tracing over your every feature, running over the lace that showcases your body.

You find that you no longer feel shy.

“Where…” Atsumu begins, his voice distracted as he looks at you, taking you in. “Where are you stuck?” he asks again, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding.

Finding that your words fail you, you guide one of your clasped hands to your back. You don’t miss the way Atsumu’s fingers trail along your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone to feel you shiver in his hold, before tracing up the small of your back. Your gazes don’t break as you guide his hand up to where the zipper rests, halfway down your back, but still stuck in a snag of fabric.

“Here?” his hands fiddle with the cold metal, burning as the pads of his fingers brush against your skin. The heat spreads across your body before it embarrassingly settles between your thighs.

You nod, not trusting your voice or words, as Atsumu’s other hand holds steady on your waist. You find yourself biting your lip to avoid saying something you might regret, focusing on worrying it between your teeth as Atsumu’s long, dexterous fingers work against your back.

A low groan captures your attention, and you find your gaze snapping back to Atsumu’s.

“Don’t do that,” he breathes heavily, his eyes burning into your skin, as he manages to free the zipper from being stuck. His hands falter, as if silently asking you a question: can he pull it down the rest of the way, or should he stop?

Your heart stops at his desperately ground-out words, one of his hands tightening around your hip. “Don’t do what?” you ask, breathless, and you swear there is no more oxygen left in the small bit of space between you.

Subconsciously, Atsumu leans forward, resting his head on your shoulder. He turns his face inward, lips brushing along your neck, hair tickling your cheek. Your hands immediately come to smooth through his slightly messy hair, tucking the strands back into a semi-neat style.

“Don’t bite yer lip like that,” Atsumu manages to get out, his voice low and thick with something you can’t quite place. His words, hidden with implications he’s still too afraid to say, have you squeezing your thighs together, and it’s an action Atsumu doesn’t miss.

“Don’t do that, either,” Atsumu breathes out, mouth falling open as he squeezes his eyes shut.

You feel a bit helpless, holding him close like this, precariously toeing the line between what you are and what you could be. His fingers are still toying with the zipper at your back, slightly tugging it up, then taking it back down, ever so slightly brushing his pads against your skin.

“Don’t do what?” you repeat yourself, and you don’t think your voice has ever been this airy.

Atsumu—tired of the back and forth, decides to freely cross the line, and he hopes that you’ll continue holding his hand like you always have.

You feel the shift—it’s palpable, the change you feel, as if everything settles into place, and you suddenly realize that everything is as it should be.

“Like you don’t know what yer doin’ to me,” Atsumu breathes out, removing his head from his place on your shoulder, looking at you with an intense gaze you’ve recognized before. It’s a look he often gives you, one that he shares after you’ve said something funny, bursting into uncontrollable laughter. It’s a look he gives you as you share food, sharing stories of your days, leaning over the counter. It’s a look he’s given you tonight when you first showed off your dress, your hair, your makeup.

It’s a look he’s giving you now, so full of love and hopefulness, and you feel yourself freely crossing the line with him.

“What am I doing to you?” you plead with him, and he lets out a low, quiet gasp as your hand covers his, guiding him to fully unzip the intricately made bra.

Atsumu finds that, even though you’re pulling down your bra, revealing yourself to him, allowing him to touch you, he can’t look away from your eyes. He can’t stop looking at the hopeful, questioning gleam in them, and he suddenly realizes that the words that have been lost to him are suddenly sitting on the tip of his tongue.

“Makin’ me fall even more in love with you,” Atsumu finally confesses, and the weight released from his shoulders is a welcome one.

And, suddenly, the line has been crossed, the air has shifted, and you find that you can no longer deny yourselves.

“You love me?” you ask, even though it’s not so much of a question.

Atsumu chuckles, letting out an air of nervous energy, ducking his head before looking back at you. “Always have,” he simply explains, and suddenly, you knew.

“I know,” you share with him, letting the straps of your bra fall off your shoulders. Atsumu aids you, letting his hands slide down your arms, dragging the offending piece of fabric off your skin, away from your chest.

“I love you, too,” you admit for the first time to him, but not for the first time to yourself.

Atsumu feels like he’s on cloud nine, and as you smile happily at him, he feels an overwhelming need to kiss you.

“Can I kiss ya, please? Can I touch ya?” he nearly begs, almost jumping out of his skin as his eyes flick between your lips.

Feeling the same need, you cradle his face gently in your palms, leaning forward to allow your noses to brush together. A quick intake of breath is shared, and Atsumu’s hands tighten around your hips, pulling and kneading against your skin, as you nudge your noses together lovingly.

“Please,” you murmur, thoroughly distracted by everything Atsumu.

He leans forward tentatively, bringing one of his hands to cup your jaw. Your lips brush together carefully, gently, as if giving the other time to pull away. Bated breaths are passed as Atsumu nudges his nose with yours again, a chuckle escaping his lips, until he finally presses forward a bit more to steal your lips in a breathtaking kiss.

It’s passionate yet gentle as you both pour all of your love into the intimate embrace. Atsumu’s lips are soft as they move against yours, and you’re suddenly enveloped in the intense, dizzying musk of his nice cologne—the one he saves for special occasions. It causes your head to spin, even more so as his hand suddenly tugs at your hip, pulling you forward in a question.

You easily give in to him, allowing Atsumu to pull you onto his lap. You straddle him, not breaking the sweet, loving kiss, as you allow your hands to push along the fabric of his dress shirt. Three top buttons are undone, and you find yourself breathlessly pulling away from his lips to undo the rest of them. Atsumu, not wanting to be away from you, presses his lips to your collarbones, to the skin of your neck, moaning at the taste of you. The sound shoots straight to the ache building between your thighs, and as you finally undo all the buttons, Atsumu aids you in shrugging off the white top.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, but it may as well be. Atsumu is gorgeous, strained muscles tensed against his chest and abdomen, a slight trail of dark hair residing just above the skin that goes into his pants.

You suddenly feel a bit lightheaded.

Soon, you find yourselves tangled in your bed, entwined in a sweet embrace, lips loathe to leave the other’s. Atsumu kisses you breathlessly, breathtakingly, like a man in love. He kisses you deeply, passionately, groaning into you as his tongue dips into your mouth, desperate for a taste of you.

He suddenly finds himself desperate for a taste of something else.

Breaking away, Atsumu pants against your lips, eyes trailing over the blissful look on your face. “Can I taste you? Please?” he asks, always so polite, as one of his hands runs up your side comfortingly.

You feel the heat return, coursing through your body, at his words. Letting out a choked sound of agreement, you let your head fall back to your pillow as Atsumu begins making his way down your body. His lips praise you, kissing you, hands brushing and tracing bites of intense heat against you.

When he finally settles between your legs, Atsumu finds himself admiring the lace that sits clad against you. Letting out a groan at the sight of your slick staining the fabric, Atsumu carefully drags his fingers down, tracing across your inner thighs, before dragging along your clothed slit.

“‘Tsumu!” your gasp is instantaneous, the build-up making you feel incredibly sensitive. Atsumu preens under your reactive sounds, and he finds himself needing to hear more of you.

His lips are hot as he presses them to your inner thighs, licking and sucking along you, his fingers digging into the fabric covering your slit. They twist, tugging the fabric tight between you, and you let out an airy moan at the sudden stimulation to your clit. Atsumu groans at the sight of you, his voice mumbling against your skin, his cock achingly hard at the sight of your wetness. He quickie tugs your lace panties down your thighs, and, despite the serious moment, can’t help but let a bit of his humor shine through.

“Finally unstuck,” he celebrates, shooting you that lopsided grin that causes your heart to ache.

Unable to help himself, Atsumu drags his lips from your thighs to your center, and the plushness of his mouth against your clit has you grasping your fingers in his hair. Atsumu is enthusiastic—eating you out with fervor. He buries his face between your thighs, digging his fingers into your hips to keep you still, before brazenly moaning into you.

“Tastes so good,” Atsumu moans against you, two of his fingers crooking against your entrance. Your hips jut up at his touch, cunt clenching around nothing as he teases you, circling the pads of his fingertips against your aching hole. Simultaneously, his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue nudging under the hood of it to collect your taste on his tongue. He feels like he’s in heaven, moaning as he sucks on your clit, before he finally sinks two of his fingers into you.

Atsumu moans at the tight feel of you, and he feels like his cock is throbbing at how you feel around his fingers. He adores how you moan and keen under his touch, writhing under him, pulling on the strands of his hair as he curls two fingers inside you, searching for that one spot that will have you creaming around his fingers.

“Atsumu, please,” you beg, though, for what, you don’t know.

Smiling against you, Atsumu continues sucking on your clit, flicking his tongue against it, before spreading your folds apart. He laps at you, sucking against every part of you, messily making out with your cunt, as his fingers gently stretch you out.

“Tell me ya love me,” Atsumu asks of you, and you can feel the slightly mischievous smile against you. A feeling of endearment spreads across your heart, filling you with warmth at his sweet request, no matter how mischievous.

“I’ll go first,” he states, licking through your folds, before his lips wrap around your clit and suck hard. “I love ya. Love ya so much. Always have. Bet ya have no idea how crazy ya make me,” Atsumu groans, burying his face between your thighs, gathering your slick on his tongue before he sucks on your clit. His fingers continue pressing inside you, and you feel your release coming towards you faster and faster.

“I love you,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his hair. Atsumu grins as he feels you simultaneously tightening around his fingers, continuing his relentless ministrations on your clit.

“Ya gonna cum f’me?” Atsumu teases you, pulling away to look at your trembling body. He swears that he can cum untouched from the sight and sounds of you alone, and has to intently focus on not doing so.

“Yes, please, wanna cum for you,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut as the pleasure rapidly builds in your core.

Atsumu hums against you, dipping his head back down to lick incessantly at your clit, wrapping his lips around you one last time, and continues sucking until your thighs tighten deliciously around his head. Atsumu lets you, touching you as you ride out your high, moaning at the sweet way you cry his name. He’s never tasted anything sweeter as you cum on his tongue, tightening around his fingers, and he can’t help but drag his lips and tongue all over you, kissing your most intimate spots as you cum for him.

As you settle down, he begins making his way up your body, kissing you as he goes. You shiver, reveling in the way he makes you feel, your hands hurriedly tugging at his biceps to pull him up your body.

Euphoric, breathless laughter is shared between you as Atsumu finally settles over your body. He covers you with his own, simply leaning over you, leaning down to kiss you deeply. As you sigh into the kiss, Atsumu minutely pulls apart, smiling at the sweet way you pout when he does.

“I think I might be stuck now,” Atsumu grins, watching your face light up. “Wanna help?”

And, with the line already crossed, you freely give in.

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