In Which Mattsun Eats You Out On The Couch

types of girls

jupiter: denim overalls, untied shoelaces, and the scent of freshly mowed grass on a sunday afternoon. her voice is sweet and tangy like lemonade and she’ll kiss you on the forehead in both greeting and goodbye. fall in love with jupiter, and your hand will never go unheld again.

neptune: delicate golden jewelry, blueberry jam, and the first drop of rain before a storm. she will draw you in with the promise of answers to her enigma but will continue to keep you on your toes until your feet cramp. fall in love with neptune, and you will question your existence with the most delicious kind of doubt.

mars: electric guitars, california poppies, and a theater thick with silence, waiting for the show to begin. she can love with both the fury of a forest fire or the reassurance of a hearth, but you won’t know which until you wake up beside her. fall in love with mars, and you will know neither peace nor boredom until the day she leaves you without once looking back.

venus: cherubs, lotus blossoms, and coffee with too much cream. with a gaze softer than a mother’s, she’ll seek out your imperfections and perfect them with one word— “mine.” fall in love with venus, and you will fall in love with the world.

saturn: champagne, a crumpled playbill, and the first three hours of new year’s day, when the air still reeks of possibility. she will take you to a michelin bistro just to order spaghetti marinara and blow spitballs into the waiter’s hair. fall in love with saturn, and you will begin to laugh as easy as you breathe.

uranus: stained glass, wild irises, and a cold gust of air sweeping down from the peaks of a mountain range. each of her kisses taste like spearmint and steel, and it’s inexplicably addictive. fall in love with uranus, and silence will no longer be lonely.

mercury: fresh linen sheets, potted succulents, and pancake batter just poured on the griddle. when you cry, she will wipe your tears with the sleeve of her sweater and quietly hum a song you don’t know while you choke down your sobs. fall in love with mercury, and you will sleep soundly.

pluto: amethyst geodes, copper keys, and the hushed laughter of lovers in a library. her eyes will find yours across a crowded room and sing melodies only your soul can hear. fall in love with pluto, and you will finally have a secret worth keeping.

i know this is not my usual content, but i had to write it.

Oh no I'm thinking of giving cowboy Kirishima all the babies he wants so we have "little helpers" on our ranch

texting fwb!suna 'happy father's day' and then ignoring his texts and calls just to make him sweat a bit

this was one of the most beautiful skies i’ve seen all year

NEW MATCH FOR @whorefornoodles

suna wants to message you. . .

netflix watch party? i'll doordash you concessions

"are you like... into that?"

you tear your eyes away from the screen a few seconds after rintarou says it, too rapt by what's unfolding in the movie scene to look away too soon.

"what do you mean?" you ask, glancing over to the other end of the sofa where he's seated. he's slumped down in the corner of the sofa, nestled right into the valley between the cushions where he always sits—which has resulted in a permanent sort of vaguely rintarou-shaped indentation that you hide using throw pillows when company comes over.

he's watching you very intently from his side of the sofa, too intently almost. you'd thought you'd felt his eyes on you while you were watching the movie, but you aren't exactly sure how long he's been staring, and now it leaves you wondering what exactly he's up to.

rintarou nods towards the television on the other side of the room, you look back at the screen once more and see the male lead still at the centre of the scene. he'd just gotten into a fight—shirtless, glistening with perspiration, and a strangely erotic trickle of blood trailing down his philtrum. you swallow a little as you become engrossed in the movie again, forgetting momentarily that you were ever asked a question at all.

"so?"

your eyes snap back to rintarou—who's still focused only on you, but with a slightly more disapproving look this time.

"what?" you ask him, a bit huffily. you're still not even sure what he'd been asking you in the first place.

"you've been ogling that guy since he got the shit kicked out of him," rintarou says pointedly, lifting a hand and gesturing towards the television. "you into that or something?"

there's something kind of accusatory in his tone.

"wha—hu—no," you stumble over your words in your haste to defend yourself. "i've told you i'm not into hardcore stuff. and that would constitute like... doctorate level BDSM."

rintarou's lips purse slightly. "do you think that guy's hot?"

"i mean... yeah," you answer after contemplating it for a moment. "i didn't really think so before but he's kinda sexy in this scene."

"he just got the shit kicked out of him," the boy at the other end of the sofa responds flatly.

"so you've pointed out," you answer. you turn back to the screen, watching as the battered male lead winds a roll of bandages around his ribs, then drags his knuckles roughly across his lips to clear away some of the blood that clings to them. your tongue peeks out to moisten your own unconsciously. "don't you think there's something kind of hot about a guy with a bit of blood on him?"

"is this a trick question?"

you look back at rintarou again, and find him still fixated on you rather than the film. he's pouting a bit, and it kind of makes you want to laugh. instead, you push yourself up from your own little nest at the opposite end of the sofa, crawling down towards him.

"rintarou, are you jealous because i called the bloody guy sexy?" you ask him as you pause at his side, resting back on your haunches.

he nibbles on the inside of his cheek—a habit he's had as long as you've known him—and for the first time in possibly the entire 54 minutes this movie has been playing, he averts his eyes from you.

"...no."

you do laugh then, swinging one leg over his lap to perch yourself atop him.

"you're being silly," you say to him as you balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders. his own come slithering up to settle at your waist, and his grip is a little tighter than you expect. he's still sulking though, refusing to look at you.

there's a loud crash in the film playing on the screen behind you, but you don't turn to look at it—you doubt that would help the situation at hand very much.

"rin," you coax him, making your voice as sweet as possible.

he doesn't look at you, but he does seem to bite the inside of his cheek a little harder now.

you dip down close to him, your mouth hovering over his and your eyes level. "rin-ta-rou."

he finally looks at you, his lips parting in surprise at your sudden nearness. you're so close that your mouths brush slightly thanks to that subtle movement, and he leans into the warmth of your lips to kiss you properly after getting such a small taste of it.

rintarou pulls away after one long, deep kiss, slouching back into the sofa again—but this time pulling you down with him into his little him-shaped indentation—holding you tightly to his chest as he gets you both comfortable. you let him maneuver you however he wants to, placating him with your docility to make him feel better, and keeping any comment about his jealousy to yourself—at least for now.

the two of you eventually find a comfortable way to rest, entwined together on his end of the sofa but both with a clear view to the screen to resume your spectating of the movie.

"what's so hot about a guy with a nosebleed anyway? i used to get them all the time when i was a kid," rintarou mumbles bitterly after a few moments, and you feel the words reverberate through his chest as you rest with your head upon it.

you laugh lightly, and your boyfriend's arms tighten around your waist.

he pipes up again after a few moments more pass in the film.

"you don't want me to start fighting or anything, do you?" he asks you skeptically.

you've effectively lost track of the movie's plot now, but you don't really care that much.

"no, rintarou, i don't want you to start fighting," you reply, patting his chest reassuringly. "you'd get your ass kicked anyway."

"well, apparently you're into that," he mutters.

"will you be quiet and just watch the movie, nosebleed boy?"

(a week later, rintarou sends you a photo from practice—having gracefully taken one of motoya's receives to the face—with an angry red welt on his cheek, blood dripping from his nose, and an obnoxious smirk on his lips. unfortunately, you are kinda into that.)

“when they’re feeling insecure”

Pairing: atsumu x reader; kita x reader; suna x reader Genre: reverse comfort-fluff; drabbles & headcanons WC: 5.169 Warnings: N/A A/N: thanks for the request! this is actually the first piece we’ve worked on together so we’re excited for you all to see it! enjoy :) -Dawn & Luna

since you and Atsumu tended to be strapped on time to spend with each other—with you working full-time and him being a national volleyball player—you liked to meet up with him after practice sometimes so you can pick up some food and get some quality time together

he was always taking his sweet time to get showered and ready to go, so you got to bond with some of his teammates, his captain Meian especially

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the second kuroo bursts into the kitchen with your son of fourteen months in his arms, you know you’ve won.

"you cheated!" he accuses with a pointed finger, cradling your baby in his other arm.

your smile threatens to spread across your face as you place the last of your katsu in your airfryer, but you manage to school your impression into something blank. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

“cheater!” he cries, following you to the sink as you wash your hands and place your cutlery away. your baby gurgles as he does.

“still no clue,” you say, playing dumb as you shake your hands and walk into the living room.

"you know what you did!" kuroo trails you all this while, and you can imagine all 189 cm of him irately bobbing around your house.

you try not to laugh, and wrangle your expression into a blank stare as you sit down on your couch, looking up at him. "i do not."

"you taught him to say mama."

it's the look on his face: the squinting eyes, the exaggerated scowl, and the mussed up hair that makes him look ridiculous. you can’t help it—the corner of your mouth twitches.

"you’re smiling!" he explodes, shifting your son into his other arm. "i knew it!"

your son blinks at the noise, looking from his father to you, and he smiles. extending his arms, he reaches for you. “mama!”

“see?!” your husband wails, and you stand up briefly to take your son before sitting back down. “that’s against the rules!”

“what rules?” you say with a roll of your eyes, unable to help your smile any longer, allowing your son to play with your hair. "mama is a perfectly normal thing for a child to say."

"he couldn't even form a single syllable a week ago!" kuroo snaps, "you coached him!"

you giggle, partly because he was right, but also he looked cute stomping to the armchair and sitting down, crossing his arms and pouting. 

you suppress a laugh at his touchiness, but nudge your son. "baby, where’s papa?"

his eyes blink up at you, then he points at your husband. tetsuro glares at the chubby little hand of his traitorous son.

"go give papa a hug," you say, setting him down. he takes wide steps and bends back and forth on his hips before giving up and speed crawling to his father. 

despite kuroo’s pout, he bends over to pick up his son. 

"you can always try again with baby number two," you remind him.

"yeah, yeah," he grumbles, leaning back so your son can settle on his chest. "you’re lucky you're the love of my life and i can set aside my competitiveness for you."

you chuckle. "hey, baby," you call to your son, and the boy looks back at you, his hands on the collar of your husband’s shirt. you see the affection that opens up on tetsuro's face when he looks at his child, and it makes your heart twinge. "say papa."

your son doesn’t falter, offering you a smile. "mama!"

Nanami gets a strange feeling.

it’s in his bones, a simple vibration that he knows isn’t physically there, but it jitters still, slowly growing stronger and stronger. It’s a memory he can’t place, but so strong he can taste; it’s copper and sweat, the undercurrent of panic-

“Kento?” 

Nanami blinks away the thought and presses his thumbs into the bridge of his nose to calm the headache that’s started. When he looks up, you’re pushing the screen door open and joining him on the back porch.

Sunset has just begun, casting a golden glow against your skin. The ocean’s foam almost glows with sherbet tones as it laps the shore, so far and yet so close he can taste the salt.

“You okay, dear?”

The feeling hasn’t subsided; it rumbles stronger, like a train powering down the tracks.

“Of course, just tired.” Nanami places his book on the railing. The worn thin, water stained pages flutter in the breeze.

“Dinner’s ready if you’re up for it,” you say, “Yuuji’s setting the table right now.”

He pushes off of the chair with a grunt, his knees protesting the movement. The strange feeling sticks to his bones, begs to be acknowledged-

“All by himself?” Nanami pulls you in by the hip and presses a kiss into your temple as he passes, tugging you back inside. The door creaks closed, tapping his but when he doesn’t move fast enough. “When did he get so big?”

“I don’t know, but it breaks my heart a little!” you croon, “Our baby isn’t a baby anymore.”

“Well, don’t fret. If everything goes according to plan,” Nanami catches your mouth against his this time, “We’ll have another baby to whine about soon.”

You shine at that, but your smile quickly falters when you meet his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask, “You seem off.”

“Yes, just-” Nanami looks outside. The beach is the same as always, forever changing with each wave. Yuuji is singing to himself in the dining room, some jaunty thing he learned in preschool, though he’s not quite getting all of the words correct.

“I just had the feeling that I almost didn’t have all of this.”