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Atsumu dreaded going to sleep. Despite the exhaustion professional volleyball would give him, he could just not fall asleep without his daily masturbation. The jerking off itself would not have been a problem if it weren’t for the fact that every night without fail, his thoughts would drift towards one person in particular.

Also, what the fuck was that ? He wasn’t a teenager anymore. Sure, he was as youthful as back then but he had hoped to have left behind the bad aspects, like the uncontrollable boners. That part of adolescence had not been fun. Popping one in the middle of an official game would certainly boost his number of fans but probably end his professional career. So, for a lot of different reasons, this had to stop.

He felt entirely betrayed by his lower half. Like, seriously. There was definitely something wrong. Out of all the dudes on his team, why him ? In terms of physical appeal he wasn’t bad per se, but Bokuto was more well built, Hinata was way cuter, Barnes was insanely tall, Tomas was the nicest by far, Meian was the reliable Captain and Shion was definitely more flirty. So why Sakusa ? Why was he the one starring in all of his make-up porn scenarios ? No matter how hard he tried to focus on someone else, anyone really, he would only come to completion once his least favourite teammate’s face would flash on his mind. Was that the reason ? Did he really become so deviant that only this would do it for him ?

He threw himself on his bed, teeth freshly brushed and absolutely exhausted. And yet, like clockwork, like fucking sensing his imminent fall into sleep, he felt himself getting hard. He screamed in his pillow out of frustration. He had even made sure to rub one out in the shower, how was that even possible ?

His mind wandered towards jet black curly hair and a fair face and his dick twitched. Groaning, he resigned himself to another shameful rubbing session. His hand traveled south slowly, sliding below the loose band of his sleeping shorts. He gripped his shaft and took it out of the restraining fabric. Eyes closed and tongue peaking out of his mouth, he pictured the distant, grumpy, rude, amazing, beautiful wing spiker of his. There was something absolutely sinful about choosing the man who infuriated the most, the one who always verbally sparred with him and kept him on his toes. And, he supposed, as he spilled his cum on his hand, something that felt weirdly right.