desi avocado 🥑 || whore arc (in theory only)

desi avocado 🥑 || whore arc (in theory only)



@miyacestober #osaatsu #miyacest day 22: tease, nsfw implied? atsumu had started wearing skirts around the house and osamu officially declared himself as crazy.

it started out, as all worse things usually do, with suna. "betcha ya can't rock a skirt, atsumu! atleast not like that jpop idol." and in a bid to prove suna wrong and the idol 'uglier', he had donned on a simple, pleated black skirt with his school shirt

and wore it to the gym. it ended below his knees, a bit torn on the right side patch but didn't stand out much. frankly, he looked like a scottish man. however, for suna, it was enough, if the snickering that echoed across the gym while he snapped hairy legs and unsexy skirts

was any indication. the rest were satisfied by atsumu's jaunty bravery, but the man in question wasn't. and so he practiced donning on a skirt... around the house... lounging in osamu's bed.

atsumu had done his research well this time. his legs were waxed smooth, and seemed to be lathed up in some oils so they shone. this skirt was a lot sexier, ending mid thigh in a pencil cut and rocking a bold red colour. atsumu looked delicious. "what dya say about this,

samu?", he asked with a lazy smirk, eyed hooded. osamu wanted to gulp. his voice was too level for his state. "okay, i guess." atsumu's smirks widened, almost maniac. like the one he has on while playing volleyball.

after that, it was free real estate. atsumu essentially stopped wearing pants. instead, he carried himself with poise in long, ruffled skirts or tiny fishnet stockings and booty shorts. it was like floodgates have opened. the female attires couldn't have been more

comfortable than his forsaken pajamas and trousers but atsumu had never seemed so free. it was like the guy had wings on his back as he glided into the kitchen to steal osamu's onigiri or thumbed the indents of a volleyball as he listened to some podcasts sprawled on his bed.

mamma miya should have felt the site of her teenage son insisting on wearing only skirts and tank tops alarming, but everyone is their own kind of crazy, so instead of reprimanding the guy, she encouraged him. possibly, their single mom found the daughter she always wanted.

even the team has got used to atsumu flashing his ever growing collection of miniskirts and gownskirts in the gym, and no one bats an eyelash. "its nice to see atsumu as human, he seemed too much of a vball monster.", akagi chirped up. "skirts don't affect his playing style,

and that's all what matter right?", aran said with a placating hand. "one must have some hobbies.", suna murmured far too benevolently for his kind. in fact, everyone felt sane about the situation, except for osamu himself.

how was one supposed to not call themselves crazy when the sight of their twin brother bending down to retrieve a joystick bought immense joy to /his/ stick? or the way he'd hum when making a snack in his tight miniskirt, muscled thighs half on display, tiny waist flaring

out would make osamu want to walk over and grab his waist and lick a long stripe up his neck and then bury his nose into atsumu's sweet redolent blonde hair. how was that /not/ supposed to make someone go crazy. insanity must have left his mind when he purposely tried

to peek under atsumu's skirt when the latter was lying on his back on the sofa, immersed in some niche tv program. his legs just looked so alluring, so smooth, so sexy and so bitable. also osamu was curious if he wore his usualy boxers underneath or something else.

(bright pink panties.) it cultivated into such a rotten, morbid state that he actively tried to click upskirt photos of atsumu when the setter was swinging his legs on the edge of the top bunk. osamu cummed twice to those perverted pixels.

something must be done, and osamu knew exactly what.

♥️ maybe the end ♥️

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