BACKSEAT GIRL

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/62030569.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Relationship: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Characters: Miya Atsumu, Reader
Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, College, Mutual Pining, Suggestive Themes, Nudity,
Bathtubs, Touch-Starved, no plot just one thousand words of atsumu
miya being touch-starved, Cross-Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2025-01-06 Words: 1,297 Chapters: 1/1
 BACKSEAT GIRL
by sodaneko

Summary

As if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body, the shape of your soul. As if
he doesn’t mold you like molasses underneath his fingertips, perpetuating his name into your
being.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
You didn’t plan on taking him home.

But the words he murmured against the shell of your ear were a little too sweet and his kisses
were a little too hungry; and maybe you’ve also dreamt a little too often about Atsumu Miya
nudging your legs apart to slot himself between them while he pushes you against the nearest
wall–until it all wasn’t a dream anymore.

It feels forbidden. As if you’re not supposed to know what it feels like to run your fingers
over the shaved part of his neck. Or how his canine teeth graze the skin on the side of your
neck, leaving trails of faint red marks. Or the way his muscles flex when you slip your hands
underneath his shirt to feel him closer.

He’s just a guy who sits in front of you in class. Someone who occasionally asks you for a
pencil or your notes just so he has a reason to turn around to you, who nudges your feet with
his underneath the tables when you push them together for group work, who finds a lame
excuse to linger behind when you’re too slow with packing up your bag after class, just so he
can walk to the cafeteria together with you.

Atsumu shouldn’t be here; with his hair still a little damp from the shower and naked from
the waist up in your bed, in your arms. He’s like a weighted blanket on top of you, his face
hidden in the small space between your neck and your shoulder, his hot breath fanning across
your skin. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, giving it a slight tug whenever his shameless
fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, followed by an airy laugh against your
collarbone.

Just a kiss, you told yourself earlier in that dark corner you both found yourself in, his broad
back shielding you from the eyes of anyone else at the party. It was as if he wanted you just
for himself, something so easy to brush off as greedy. But there’s something else luring
underneath the surface, underneath the carefully composed mask of brazenness he wears so
well. You couldn’t figure out what it was, too dizzy from his kisses and his hands roaming
your body, but now in the dim light and quiet of your bedroom you can see it so clearly.

Atsumu is touch-starved.

It shows. There is his hand on the small of your back when he leads you outside through the
crowd of people. His fingers interlaced with yours in the back of the cab after he reached
over you to secure your seatbelt for you. The stolen kisses during the elevator ride up to your
floor and the scowl on his face when the elevator door opened, interrupting you too soon.
Him kneeling in front of you while he helps you out of your heels, nimble fingers brushing
over your ankle before loosening the clasp for you. The love-drunk expression he gives you
when you grab his chin between two fingers, tilting it up so he’d look at you.

As if he’d ever take his eyes off you to begin with.

Not when he unzips the back of your dress till it slips to the floor with a soft thud. Not when
you push him towards the bed, his hands catching your hips to pull you on top of him. Not
when you unbuckle his belt, his fingers digging in the flesh of thighs, his chest heaving with
every breath you draw out of him.

For someone who has never learned how to shut up in his entire life, Atsumu turns into a
needy, whining mess underneath you. All coherent words seem to slip from his mind as badly
as his self-composure. It’s like he’s pleading for your touch, to feel more of you, to have you
fully, wholly, deeply. His hands grasp every part of you he can reach, sometimes gentle,
mostly insatiable, always with utter adoration. As if you’re a dream that’ll crumble between
his fingers when he blinks.

You bathe together afterwards–or you try, at least. It’s the night you learn that your bathtub is
a little too cramped to hold you and someone of Atsumu’s size, but you make it work
somehow with your back pressed against his chest, nestled between his legs, his hand splayed
out over your stomach. His idle fingers draw small patterns against your skin and every now
and then he leans down to press kisses against your shoulder, a low sound of affection
rumbling in his chest when he does.

He washes your hair for you even though you didn’t ask him to, slender fingers working
through every bit of tension in your scalp. Part of you believes he does it just so he can charm
out more of these sweet little sounds from you that he seems to love so much, but then he tips
your head back to kiss you upside down, smiling against your lips, and you think that maybe
you’re not the only one who has fallen in love a long time ago.

Atsumu holds perfectly still when you dry off his hair with a towel. He sits on the edge of the
bathtub, legs spread to make room for you standing between them. Looking down, you try
hard not to think about how he had you grinding against his thick thighs earlier but to be fair
it’s impossible to forget how that made you feel, the pulsing still present. There’s his grin
again and your stomach does a little flip. I love having you like this, Atsumu murmurs and
tugs you closer to him by your waist before trailing countless kisses up from your stomach to
the valley of your chest, honey colored eyes never leaving yours.

As if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body, the shape of your soul. As if
he doesn’t mold you like molasses underneath his fingertips, perpetuating his name into your
being.

If Atsumu was a braver man he’d tell you all about the way you make his heart stumble. How
the thought of you being with anyone else makes his chest coil and tighten. That only you
allow him a calmness so unfamiliar it scares him sometimes. But the words are stuck in his
throat and just won’t come out.

Not yet. Not when it’s you .

Because with you everything is different. With you his prideful heart unravels so easily,
finding shelter in your palms. You give all of his touch a meaning, as if everything before you
was just hollow. Golden, he thinks. Your love feels golden. Shining bright like a hundred
suns, igniting a flame within him. Atsumu has long fallen for you without even realizing it.
He gets it now, sees it so clearly when you smile at him; that it’s you. It’s always been you.
You both don’t bother getting fully dressed after your bath–there’s this unspoken unanimity
that you won’t need these clothes for too long. Atsumu carries you over to the bed despite
your protests, your laughter mingling with his when he drops you unceremoniously on the
mattress and crawls on top of you again, half-crushing you underneath him. It’s a sound he
wants to hear forever, paired with your playful shoves against his shoulder and your huffs and
puffs, as if you didn’t hook your leg around his middle to keep him close to you. He kisses
the side of your neck again, wondering where else he can leave his mark, and what waking up
with you will feel like, and just how these three words will taste like once you lick them off
his lips.

Ambrosial, he thinks. Just like you.

didn't have Atsumu to be my first fic of 2025 on my bingo card but here we are. posted this
first on my Tumblr ♡

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