#—loml3
roommate!mattsun who has no concept of personal space, no understanding that there are just some distances that aren’t meant to be crossed between two people who live together.
you were friends first, after all–and he’s never really had much by the way of boundaries between his friends before, so why would cohabitation be any different?
it’s second nature for him to come into the bathroom while you’re showering to brush his teeth, nearly scaring you out of your soapy skin when he asks what your plans are for the evening while he stands in front of the sink.
he doesn’t hesitate to open your bedroom door without knocking, at all hours of the day, even though he should have learned from the many times he’s accidentally walked in on you in the middle of changing.
so it’s not strange or unexpected or even unwelcome when he crawls into your bed with you early one saturday morning, voice still croaky and rough with sleep, to ask if you want to go and get breakfast. you rouse slowly, leaning into the warmth you’ve grown accustomed to–conditioned to expect and to accept, just like all of Mattsun’s other friendly eccentricities–and nod sleepily.
and that’s when you feel it.
the hard press of something against your hip. something that is decidedly neither domesticnorplatonic. the final expanse of distance in the test of your limit of personal space that has yet to be broached.
your eyes flutter open, and you look up at Issei who has you tucked against his chest. his eyes are half lidded with sleep and something even heavier, something that the air between you–thin as it may be–is suddenly clouded with.
he smirks down at you, a curl of his lips that’s both knowing and sly.
and suddenly you wonder if any of mattsun’s eccentricities had been friendly at all.
grocery run with atsumu
your daughter is at uncle samu’s, busy with her cousins, so you grab this opportunity to have a spontaneous grocery date w your beloved
so you get dressed all nice, but still casual (a simple sundress with flats, maybe) and put on the locket atsumu bought you. you exit the room you share with him to get your nice sandals when you see him sitting on the sofa, his head leaning on the backrest.
he's—
he’s in a tank top and cargo shorts and socks with sandals. you can’t help but rake your eyes over him, the beige colour of the tank blending a little too well with the cargo shorts, making it seem like he’s wearing overalls with nothing underneath. the clothes are all clean, miya atsumu wouldn’t be caught dead in dirty clothes, but they’re so— so—
you struggle to find an adjective that fits.
atsumu must’ve felt your eyes on him, because he smirks up at you.
‘like what you see?’
no, you most definitely do not. no amount of bulging biceps or tanned skin or veins visible on his forearms can atone for this. when you ask him to at least change into pants, this man h u f f s at you. he says 'it’s alright, doll, it’s just a grocery run. what’re they gonna do, not let us buy the good quality toilet paper?’ and proceeds to snigger at his own joke before standing up and pulling you into him.
your hands come to rest on his chest, his arms winding around your waist as he leans down and brushes his nose against your ear, his breath making you shiver. 'but you’re looking awfully pretty in that dress, aren’t ya? gonna let me pull it off of you?’
his arms wander down to your ass as he whispers to you to jump, and you obey, how could you not? he secures you against his chest and pins you to the wall, his mouth already sucking a bruise just above the neckline of your dress.
you’lldefinitely have to change into something that covers the hickeys that are sure to blossom on your neck and collarbones. but that’s something to worry about later. for now, as he leads you into your room, your mouth slotted against his perfectly, his hips grinding into your core, eliciting whimpers and breathy moans from the both of you, all you think about is just how good it’ll feel to take those clothes off of your husband.
atsumu = jung jung hyung.
