danny ✍🏻 bri'ish atsumu arc πŸ‡¬πŸ‡§

danny ✍🏻 bri'ish atsumu arc πŸ‡¬πŸ‡§



sakuatsu // nsfw β€” Contrary to popular belief, Atsumu's body count is actually pretty low. When Inunaki asks him how many people he's slept with, he says a casual "Jus' three, Wan-san," before he sips from his drink. That's not to say he doesn't take people home, though.

In fact, out of all of them, he's the one who pulls the most. Every time they go out, Atsumu gets more than one number scribbled down on a nasty old napkin that he doesn't even dare to pick up; he gets drinks paid for and suggestive words whispered in his ears. It's not unusual

to see him leave the rest of the Jackals at the bar so he can go home with someone else. Still, his body count doesn't go any higher. You see, Atsumu is a bit picky. He likes to feel good. When he has sex, he likes to come out of it satisfied - truly satisfied, really.

Most people can't handle that. They can't handle his demands. They don't squeeze his neck hard enough. They want to put their mouths on him but they can't handle the bitter taste of the pain mixed with pleasure that he demands they provide. Like he does on the court, he wants to

control the moment with pinpoint precision until his partner for the night feels like a fucking sex God and Atsumu feels like he's floating on cloud nine. He wants them to give him their all, to go above and beyond for the night, and they don't want that; not even when they say

they do. So Atsumu makes them watch. In his bedroom, unbeknowest to the other Jackals, there's a cushioned chair. When the people he takes home don't give him quite enough, he doesn't let them fuck him - he sits them there, asks for permission to tie their hands down, and faces

the large mirror that reflects the bed he kneels on. He undresses, touching himself slowly, building up a rhythm. He opens himself up, fucks a dildo that he knows won't disappoint him, and makes them watch from their comfortable seat until they beg. He doesn't care that they beg.

None of them get to actually touch him. He makes himself come once, twice, three times. None of them notice that if they tug at the restraints just right, they could free themselves and take him - they're not really desperate enough. (He likes them desperate.)

And then, there's Sakusa Kiyoomi. How they end up going back to Atsumu's room is a mystery for a different day. The details of how and when don't matter. What matters is what happens inside. Atsumu can tell, just from the way Kiyoomi kisses him, that he'll be number 4.

He's right, of course. Because Kiyoomi knows him better than all his previous partners. He knows Atsumu's character, how he is on and off the court. He knows his quirks and his insecurities and his flaws. He knows what he likes. (He begs for it.) Still, Atsumu ties him up.

It's not that he thinks Kiyoomi won't be able to satisfy his every whimβ€”au de contraire; he's sure he willβ€”but he enjoys the power trip. Kiyoomi lets himself be restrained, anyway. He watches with a focused glint as Atsumu comes over his own hand; how he pants and moans as he

fucks himself to a second orgasm. He watches Atsumu whine through the third, strong thighs trembling from the effort. Then, he pounces. He cages Atsumu in his own bed and replaces the dildo with his own cock, lathering praise over Atsumu's skin while choking him so hard his

eyes roll back. He kisses and bites and marks him so thoroughly, he's sure Atsumu will never get rid of the scars. He fucks a fourth orgasm out of him, and when Atsumu begs him to breathe, he fucks him nice and slow until he's ready for a fifth. It's delirious. It's delicious.

Atsumu feels satisfied after years of having to do all the work. He gives up control and Kiyoomi picks up the leash with a wicked grin and determination burning in his eyes. Atsumu's body count remains at four after that night. Not to say he doesn't have sex - oh, he does.

But why would he need to find someone else to fulfill his every desire, when Kiyoomi does the job so well? // end

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