sakuatsu one shots

call me pretty

a/n - got horribly sidetracked while procrastinating writing and actually, for the first time ever, actually made a relevant piece of art for this one shot.

❤️‍🔥

Atsumu doesn't like sneaking around, but he certainly has a talent for it. He doesn't even know why he feels the need to hide it, why it gives him some perverse sense of shame to dress how he wants.

Dresses are comfortable. They're cute and they make his thighs look good, and they actually seem a far more logical option considering the way things are...arranged down there for guys. And yet he can't wear it out of the house. He doesn't have the courage, he's scared that people will stare, that someone will whisper.

That doesn't stop him from indulging in his reflection a little longer. He likes how it makes him feel, the way pale pink pleated fabric flutters around his calves. It makes him feel, for lack of a better word, pretty.

To be completely honest, Atsumu has always liked the way he looked in skirts, dresses, etc. He would dare to say it started when he lost a bet to Suna in middle school and had to wear a dress to school the next day. And from then on it only seemed to spiral.

He would buy skirts whenever he was feeling down, hide them under his mattress on the bottom bunk of his and Osamu's bed, put them on when his brother inevitably left to go over to Suna's. They made him feel happy, cute, pretty. They were his comfort when everything seemed to be falling apart - when he put on a skirt, he felt like someone different.

Someone who wasn't an arrogant dick in the eyes of all his peers and classmates, someone who wasn't constantly told his hair is the color of piss (the hair he only changed so he didn't have to feel like a carbon copy of his brother) someone who was pretty, and confident, and liked themselves.

Who thought of gendering dresses anyway? Who decided that guys should be deprived of feeling this pretty - he knows the answer but the triviality of reality doesn't make him any less self-conscious about it. He hates feeling that way. Like he's hiding a part of himself, a part that he, for whatever reason, can't manage to show the rest of the world.

Atsumu tears his eyes away from the mirror. It's okay. He's lived his whole life this way. Liking pretty things, feminine things, things that are "too pretty for a boy to like". He's no stranger to passing a cute skirt in the store and wishing he could buy it without being looked at funny - or worse, being asked about it.

He's lived his whole life being closetedly "girly". He's used to it. The only person he hasn't had to hide it from is his brother, and even then, the only reason Osamu ever found out is because he walked in on him wearing a new skirt he bought off of Amazon.

He's used to it by now. Sneaking around, keeping this side of himself under wraps.

What he's not used to is getting caught.

He's barely picked up his phone to continue the argument of the greatest importance he was previously having with his brother when he hears keys jiggling in the door to his and Kiyoomi's apartment. Atsumu freezes, heart stopping in his chest. He's already in the living room, too far out in the open to retreat into their bedroom.

Well oh fucking no.

He's never considered the idea of telling Kiyoomi. It's never even come up as a possibility - for a great many, very pertinent reasons.

One, it has never come up naturally. Kiyoomi has never asked him if he enjoys wearing dresses just for the fun of it, he has never asked Atsumu if he thinks that the soft, pleated fabric of a skirt is more comfortable than rough denim jeans. He has never asked so Atsumu has never told - and at this point he fears it's too late. That it would be too much to pile on.