Touya Hadnt Meant To Miss The Call, Hadnt Meant To Make You Listen To His Voicemail Box One, Two, Three

Touya hadn’t meant to miss the call, hadn’t meant to make you listen to his voicemail box one, two, three times.

Hadn’t meant to make you cry to a silent line.

But when he finally has time to click that voicemail, your sobs crackling through the speaker, he doesn’t let it finish after that first broken I need you.

It doesn’t matter that you haven’t talked in 6 months, doesn’t matter that he’s celebrating a great ride, doesn’t matter that he’s had a couple beers.

What matters is that you’re not picking up, one, two, three calls later.

Doesn’t matter that he’s tearing down the dark road way faster than he should, phone on speaker on his dash and fist beating the steering wheel so hard he’s sure it’ll bruise.

What matters is the one, two, three, four voicemails he leaves telling you he’ll be there in four, three, two minutes.

What matters is the one, two minutes he spends banging on your door before remembering he never returned your key, leaving it open when he tears it wide and rushes in.

The two, three, four leaps it takes to get up your stairs hardly register to him.

All that matters is the sight of you, just you, lying on the bathroom floor, crying so hard that it shakes your whole body.

Because it doesn’t matter if it takes one, two, three, four hours… he’ll be there until it stops.

Definitely

Atsumu is one of the ugliest souls you’ve ever known.

From his shiny blonde hair to the small dimple on his left cheek when he smiles, he’s an absolute ogre as he moves through his day. There's a disgusting perfection that engulfs your man, and he has no right looking that good when in your presence.

He's quick to assure you that you're the eye candy, he's gotta fight people off with sticks to keep them away from you, and while you don't deny him or try to deter him from saying these things, he merely grins as you tell him he's ugly with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

It's a dynamic most people wouldn't understand. but that's fine with you both, it's yours to understand and no one else's.

A little loving bullying never hurt your man. And he's a liar if he ever said otherwise.

You pick on him most in the mornings, however, when he rolls out of bed and begins his stretches, kissing the corner of your eye before heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

You huff and sit up, stretching yourself before making your way out of the warm bed, grabbing a pair of his sleep shorts and following him out.

Standing in the doorframe of the kitchen, you click your tongue at him, which gets his attention.

Sweatpants low on his hips and showing a sliver of his boxers, the tank top mapping his muscular torso for your imagination to fill out, and your eyes wander to the dark, purpling mark you'd left on his neck last night complimenting the yellow tones of his hair that dangles just above it.

He looks etheral.

How dare he.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” He says, cheek pocketed with cereal and smirk tugging at his lips when your eyes flick to the rough outline of his muscles through his tank top.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “how dare you look like that in my presence?”

“Oh, sorry- did you want the shirt off?” Your cheeks turn ablaze as he tugs the fabric with two of his fingers, watching as you bite your lip- completely subconscious he’s sure, but he does enjoy the sight an unhealthy amount. “I can make that happen.”

“No thanks, I don't have any cash on me for you to strip.” Regardless, you wade your way into the kitchen to be closer to him, wrapping your arm slowly around his waist to burrow into his chest. You relish in the last remaining warmth from his sleep his skin harbors, and he chuckles.

“Since when did you ever have cash on you?"

“I don't just use your money, you know. I have my own.”

He grimaced, “don't remind me; it's a branch of chivalry I'm mad you don't accept." His comment makes you laugh, and you feel his chest rumble with his own string of laughter as he squeezes you tighter.

You beam up at him, and he leans down to nudge his nose with yours, “you think I use you for money?

He pulls a faux offended look, “are you?”

“No, but if I did, I'd probably be much nicer to you.”

Atsumu laughs and squeezes you tighter, "you are pretty mean to me."

“You’re so lucky I’m not meaner,” you assure. Your arms toss around his neck while his two hands settle on the curve of your waist, thumbs gently smoothing over the skin there. "I know you like being bullied."

“Don't expose me like this.”

“You love me.”

He snickers softly as he leans down for a kiss, letting his fingers gently slip under your shirt and caress the warm skin there, grazing over the raising goosebumps.

“I really am lucky, aint I?” He purrs.

You beam and nip at his lips playfully, ducking slightly when he moves to bite you back; he growls at the playful defiance.

“I’d say so.”

ummmm uMMMMMM YES

obsessed with that one art of mechanic kaveh so here i present racer haitham x mechanic kaveh 🌱🏛️

Happy Birthday, Wanderer!

It's you again? Alright, come up quickly, but make sure no one sees you.

You weren't followed, were you? ...Hmph, I guess I'll have to trust you for now.

Well, what did you want to say? Just so you know, I don't want to hear it if it's "Happy Birthday" or something like that.

That goes for you fluffballs too, I'm watching y— Hey, stop moving around! I'll play with you later.