nsfw Kiyoomi's always been mouthy, bratty—even difficult—in bed. He can't help it—his need leaking out as impatience. And up until now, he's gotten away with it, gotten his way. But today, as Atsumu slides a gag between his lips, Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu's done playing along.

(tags—bdsm, dirty talk, feminization, breathplay) When Atsumu had pulled the toy out of the drawer, Kiyoomi had thought that it'd been a request. He walked forward to take it—always in the mood to silence Atsumu. But Atsumu had pulled his arm back, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Dontcha think it's my turn to shut /you/ up?" he asked, as if reading Kiyoomi's mind. He stepped forward to tilt Kiyoomi's chin up with his fingers, head cocking to the side like an inspector. "You complain 'bout my big mouth, but you're always bitching and whining until you get

your way." The pad of his thumb found Kiyoomi's bottom lip, rubbing along it gently. "I wanna see what happens when ya give up a little control." His hooded eyes flicked back up to Kiyoomi's—piercing. "D'ya think you can do that, Omi? Let go for me?" And Kiyoomi knew that he

was being goaded—the dare in Atsumu's voice and gaze unmistakable. Atsumu wanted Kiyoomi's stubborn pride to sink its heels in, to keep him from acquiescing. But Atsumu also knew that Kiyoomi's never been able to back down from a challenge.

Which is how they've ended up here: a ball-gag in Kiyoomi's mouth, his arms strung up and strapped to the headboard. Atsumu gives his restraints one last tug before slotting the clicker into Kiyoomi's palm. "You know the drill," he says, settling back on his heels and over

Kiyoomi's thighs, "click it or drop it, and I stop." And of course Kiyoomi fucking knows—but it's usually him instructing Atsumu. Unable to voice his annoyance, Kiyoomi glares, gritting his teeth around the hard rubber. Atsumu just smiles, knowing. He starts things off slowly,

planting the sloppy kisses that he'd usually leave against Kiyoomi's lips down his jaw and neck. It's—weird, not being able to reciprocate, leaving Kiyoomi nothing to do but /feel/. Atsumu's touch has always been hot, but today it shocks him, leaving Kiyoomi twitching and gasping

quicker than usual. Kiyoomi hates giving Atsumu this kind of satisfaction so early—he usually has to /earn it/—but he can't help himself, his body a step ahead of his mind. "I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier," Atsumu comments, breath ghosting against the shell of

Kiyoomi's ear. Kiyoomi barely represses a shudder as Atsumu pulls back, a hand coming to Kiyoomi's cheek. "You look so pretty like this." Atsumu lets out a small chuckle. "I mean, ya always look pretty. But I feel like ya never let me just /look/ 'nd take ya in." His hand slides

down Kiyoomi's cheek to his throat, a barely-there brush of fingers. This time, Kiyoomi shivers—his neck has always been extra sensitive. Suddenly, Atsumu's grip tightens, squeezing at the bruises that he sucked along Kiyoomi's skin. Kiyoomi gasps—or, tries to as the gag

restricts his airflow, Atsumu's fingers pressing along his airway. It's not enough to cut off his breathing completely, but it still sends a dizzying rush to his skull. When Atsumu lets up, the pressure in Kiyoomi's head subsides, leaving him only hollow and aching for more.


Atsumu shoots him a complacent smirk before moving down to Kiyoomi's chest. Before Kiyoomi can lament the loss of warm fingers—warm weight—around his throat, Atsumu thumbs over a nipple, and Kiyoomi reflexively jerks. Once again, his touch

is feather-light as he circles, pinches, twists it before continuing down, down, down—across his stomach, his inner thighs, and his balls in the same manner. And it feels /good/—he targets all the places that Kiyoomi likes—but it's not /enough/. And from the constant, little

smile on Atsumu's face, the fucker /knows/ it. Kiyoomi's restraint snaps when Atsumu runs a single pointer finger along the underside of his dick, from base to head. When it comes to slowly circle the tip, Atsumu's free hand finding his chest again, Kiyoomi arches his back,

chasing the touch, the fleeting pressure. His hips twitch relentlessly, and Kiyoomi groans loud when a particular thrust digs Atsumu's fingertip into his slit—that blissful pain shooting through his veins. Kiyoomi's so preoccupied chasing his pleasure that he nearly chokes when

Atsumu's hands move to grip his hips and push him into the mattress, cutting off the meagre momentum that Kiyoomi'd created. "Stay still or I'll stop," Atsumu says—commands. Kiyoomi reflexively tenses, though his core and thighs tremble with the effort of holding back.

"Just leave ya here to leak 'nd slobber like a bitch," Atsumu continues, moving back to Kiyoomi's dripping slit. He gathers the pre-come onto his fingertip, raising his arm one, two, three inches up before the string snaps. His gaze snaps to Kiyoomi's eyes, dark and hungry.

"I know you'd just get yourself off by rutting against the mattress to prove ya don't need me," Atsumu starts, "but you'd be thinking about what you're missing out on the whole time, whether that's my hands or my mouth or my hole—you want it all. You've always been greedy."

Kiyoomi's breaths grow ragged as Atsumu's words leave his skin prickling with shame and desire in equal measure. Then, with a smirk, Atsumu licks the pre-come off his finger—knocking the wind out of Kiyoomi's chest. "Lucky for you, I always give ya what ya want."

Atsumu takes Kiyoomi in his hand, pumping at the head. Kiyoomi's head jerks back as he /moans/, the vibrations reverberating back into his own skull. Everyone jokes about taping Atsumu's lips shut, washing his mouth with soap, cutting out his vocal chords for the sake of peace.

But if Atsumu can talk to him like this, can touch him like this—Kiyoomi never wants him to stop, everyone's sanity be damned.


(more tags—orgasm denial, dacryphilia) For the next bit, Kiyoomi does his best to not interfere as Atsumu works him roughly. When the raw friction goes from sweet to severe, Kiyoomi's breath stutters, his legs reflexively jerking up to cover himself before stilling mid-air.

Luckily, Atsumu seems to get the message, grabbing the bottle from the bed and coating Kiyoomi's dick in lube before he once again sets a brutal pace. With the glide, Kiyoomi struggles even more to stay still, to not buck up into Atsumu's tight fist. He inhales—thick, long pulls

of air—in attempt to maintain his composure. Even when Atsumu's free hand snakes up from his hip back to his pec, plucking rhythmically at a nipple, Kiyoomi manages to remain motionless, other than his heaving chest. With how much he's focusing on keeping still, Kiyoomi rockets

to his peak faster than ever, his core tight and trembling with the nearness of his release. "Close?" Atsumu asks, his own breath ragged. Kiyoomi cracks open an eye—when had they even closed?—to see Atsumu's cock, red and thick and leaking. He snaps it shut again before the

sight of Atsumu's arousal alone can push him off the edge. He doesn't want this to end—not yet. Kiyoomi nods, jerking slightly as Atsumu thumbs under his head. Atsumu lets out a pleased hum. "Mm. Lemme know when you're almost there." And Kiyoomi can hear the smugness in his

voice—because Kiyoomi literally has no way to /tell/ him, so he has to /show/ him, dealing yet another blow to his battered pride. But like hell Kiyoomi's backing down now that he's gotten this far. Atsumu dips down to lick over Kiyoomi's nipple, his hand picking up speed.

Kiyoomi moans at the assault of sensations, chains clinking as he pulls on his restraints. Once he's nearly reached his limit, he groans on every exhale, careful posture unwraveling as his muscles twitch uncontrollably. "A—a—nngghhgh—" Kiyoomi pants out loudly in warning.

"Oh, good boy," Atsumu says, though continues to move, to lick, to suck. "'Cause I'm not done with ya yet." Just as Kiyoomi feels himself tipping over the edge, Atsumu presses his thumb hard into the underside of his head, index finger pinching the top, and cuts off Kiyoomi's

orgasm. Kiyoomi jerks like he's been shot, lower half thrashing violently. His shoulders strain as his body reflexively curls inward, his unsatisfactory crash from the peak back to earth a tangible thing in his bones. The whole while, Atsumu holds firm, his other hand petting

down Kiyoomi's side soothingly. Kiyoomi slowly comes back to himself, forcing his limbs to relax and his heart rate to calm. But it's nearly impossible, with how the energy inside him continues to respond to Atsumu's touch, aching even more for release than before.

"Wow, Omi," Atsumu breathes out, reverent. "You took that so well." His eyes flick down Kiyoomi's body, taking in his still-swollen cock before moving back to his face. "And you're fuckin' gorgeous like this. Fuck. I wanna kiss ya so bad right now."

Kiyoomi's lips shift around the gag, tingling in futile anticipation. He groans at the thought of Atsumu's mouth, Atsumu's tongue, Atsumu's warmth, leaving his body pulsing with want—no, /need/. "/Unclip this shit and kiss me,/" Kiyoomi wants to

say, but is unable to. He clamps down on the ball, as if he could bite it off himself. A rush of helplessness sweeps through him, an empty yet powerful throb, tugging deep at his gut. "But we'll save that for later," Atsumu continues, "if ya can listen through this next part.

I toldja I'd give ya everything—so you gotta last through it. First, I'm gonna suck you off. Then, I'm gonna ride you. Don't come until I say you can, and let me know when you're close. Sound good?" Kiyoomi tucks his chin to his chest, gut twisting in anticipation.

It's pathetic, really, how badly he wants to prove to Atsumu—to himself—that he can do this. How the denied release was absolute hell, yet he wants to drown once more in its flames. How much his body yearns to be used—when he's always been the player, not the toy.

"Look at me, Omi," Atsumu says, and so Kiyoomi looks. "Nod if you want this. Clicker's in your hand if ya don't. I won't be disappointed either way." Kiyoomi's grip unconsciously tightens on the clicker—he'd forgotten it was there. Gazing hard at those honey-brown eyes, he nods.

Atsumu smiles, a feral glint in his eye. "S'what I like to see," he says before scooting back and licking his lips. Atsumu has always been good at been giving head, but the feeling now is more overwhelming than ever before. Kiyoomi's breath catches, remains

in his throat when he sucks for the first time, then gets punched back out when he works his tongue around his head. It doesn't take long for the wet heat to stoke the spark in his gut back to flame, and he's groaning loudly, pointedly against the gag before he knows it.

Atsumu pops off, giving the tip a soft kiss, as Kiyoomi tenses, staving off his orgasm himself this time. He nearly laments how the end is coming soon—is that really all for part two?—when Atsumu is on him again, taking him even deeper. Kiyoomi realizes that Atsumu never

specified /how/ many times he'd blow him. And the only thing that Atsumu likes to do more than run his mouth is use it. He brings Kiyoomi to the edge another three times like that, taking him all the way down by the last. When Kiyoomi's hips start to buck up

unconsciously—chasing more, more, /more/—Atsumu pulls off, shaking his head. "I said no movin', Omi-Omi. But I get that you can't help it." He smirks, hand smoothing along his still-moving hips. "Let it out while ya can. Fuck into the air like you'd fuck me."

Kiyoomi's thrusts grow faster. A long groan escapes his lungs to only be stifled by the gag. Only drool escapes his lips, dribbling down to join the rest of it pooling on his chin and chest. With a final roll, Kiyoomi's body stills, somehow both exhausted and on edge at once.

Atsumu gives his dick a final kiss before sitting up, grabbing for the lube. Kiyoomi shuts his eyes—at least he'll have a minute to breathe before before Atsumu's prepped and ready to go. But his cock is suddenly enveloped in Atsumu's cold, wet fist, and Kiyoomi looks up in

confusion. "What, Omi?" Atsumu teases. "I said I was gonna ride ya." /But you're not ready—that's not safe,/ Kiyoomi wants to argue, nearly about to hit the clicker. Then Atsumu turns around, and Kiyoomi's chest seizes when he sees it—a plug nestled deep between his cheeks.

Kiyoomi's been so lost in himself, he's barely been paying attention to Atsumu's body. But it's always responsive when he's giving—there was no way to tell. /Fuck you,/" Kiyoomi would say if he could. "/Fuck you, and fuck me./" Luckily, he doesn't have to ask for the latter.

"You wanna pull it out?" Atsumu asks, wiggling his ass. "Heh. Just kidding." Kiyoomi glares as he reaches behind himself and tugs on the base. The plug exits his body effortlessly, being stuck up there for so long. Kiyoomi's fingers twitch, craving to feel that weak resistance.

Atsumu turns around before he lines himself up. He hovers midair for a moment as he gazes into Kiyoomi's eyes, dramatic as always. Unfortunately, the effect is maddening—Kiyoomi's pulse roaring in his ears as the pressure in his chest swells, harsh and hungry.

With a final smirk, Atsumu sits down, beginning to take Kiyoomi inch by inch. Kiyoomi cries out as his rim squeezes around his head—the tightness crushing, the heat sweltering, after only just this much. His head swims with fits of static; he's not going to make it.

By the time that Atsumu's fully sheathed, Kiyoomi feels /delirious/, electricity crackling down his spine to his fingers and toes and back at an alarming rate. He feels so much that he chokes, shutting his eyes in a prayer. It's only then that he realizes his lashes are wet,

and when he blinks, a fat tear rolls down his face, joining the saliva on his chin. "Oh, baby," Atsumu says, reaching out. His thumb brushes along the corner of Kiyoomi's eye, smearing the wetness across his cheek. "You're almost done. You've been so good. Can you make it? Do ya

want to?" Kiyoomi's blurry gaze flicks across Atsumu's form—from his hand to his face to his cock. He swallows—as best he can—before nodding, his eyes slipping shut, another tear falling. He's given Kiyoomi so much. It's Atsumu's turn to let loose. Atsumu kisses his temple

then pulls back. Kiyoomi feels him rise up before falling back down, grunting as he bottoms out. Atsumu's hands find the sheets before he begins in earnest. Kiyoomi loses focus, his body only able to feel and sense and /take/. He recognizes the telltale creak of the headboard,

the slap of skin against skin. He hears Atsumu groaning, panting, swearing—groaning, panting, moaning. The sound of Atsumu working himself—wet and sloppy. But Kiyoomi himself has gone limp, the harsh huff of his breath the only thing tethering him to life Kiyoomi feels so

outside himself, lost in a sea of staggering pleasure, that when his lips start working around the gag, he doesn't try to stop them. "—hhhsh—hhssh—eesh—" /Please, please, please./ Oh, how Kiyoomi's grateful for the gag—he may be half-under, but he still refuses to stroke

Atsumu's ego, no matter what his sorry state. They both know that it's bad when he starts begging—especially when Atsumu hasn't said a thing to coax him into it. Desperation slams into Kiyoomi like a truck, kicking his mind and body back into full sensation. Atsumu lets out a

rich moan at that moment, shooting straight to Kiyoomi's throbbing balls. "Ashhum—" Kiyoomi tries. Atsumu's eyes blink open, lit aflame. "Ghhh—nngghh—hhhhhg—" Kiyoomi babbles, too close to the edge for coherence. Atsumu groans, squeezing harsh around him. Kiyoomi's core shakes

with how hard he holds back—how hard it /is/ to hold back. Sobbing, he lets out a whimper as white-hot pleasure sears away his dignity. "Fuck, fuck, /fuck,/" Atsumu says. "Come for me, Omi, come on, baby, let go." And for the first time that evening, Kiyoomi eagerly listens.

Back arching off the bed, Kiyoomi comes, spilling inside of Atsumu. His cock kicks over and over as he moans into the gag, all harried breaths and haggard pants. Atsumu swears loudly before he follows, painting Kiyoomi's chest in ropes of white. But when Atsumu's wrung dry,

Kiyoomi's /still/ going. His come is starting to drip down Atsumu's walls at this point, slicking him up, and he thrashes, willing it to end, to never end, to stop, to continue forever— Kiyoomi doesn't remember Atsumu pulling out. He doesn't remember how his chest got clean, how

his hands became unbound, how the gag came off. He doesn't remember how the sheets got changed, can only tell from the fresh scent and the crisp feel. The next thing he vaguely remembers—Atsumu asks if he can step away for a second. Kiyoomi pouts, so Atsumu laughs, and stays.

Atsumu does eventually slip off, and it's okay for a little bit, because he needs to get clean and Kiyoomi is warm and content where he lays in bed, swaddled in a fuzzy blanket. It's only once he feels mint-cool lips press against his own that Kiyoomi fully comes back online.

He reaches out of his cocoon to pull Atsumu into it, kissing him heartily once more. He kisses him until his muscles ache, until his breath gives out, before sinking uselessly back into the mattress. Atsumu laughs, petting over his curls. When he scratches his nails along

his scalp, Kiyoomi sighs, burying himself deeper into Atsumu's neck. They lay like that until Kiyoomi starts to feel the traces of lube on his cock, the phantom ropes of come on his chest. He pushes himself to seated, and Atsumu follows. Kiyoomi can't get much further than that

though, frowning as he leans all of his weight into one arm. Atsumu chuckles, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "Who knew it only took a little bit of gear to getcha to be a good boy, hmm?" he teases, and Kiyoomi is suddenly more alert. "It was my first time—I wasn't

expecting... my reactions." Atsumu snorts at his word choice; Kiyoomi grimaces. He throws off the blanket to stand, raising his arms slowly over his head. He lets out a deep breath as he drops them—he's definitely going to still feel that tomorrow.

Swallowing, Kiyoomi glances over his shoulder. "Next time won't be so easy," he says, a blush crawling up his cheeks. Atsumu's eyes widen in understanding before he grins like the cat that got the cream. "I'm counting on it, Omi-Omi." //fin

While I've always loved switch skts, I've never been inspired to write bratty sub Omi until @supremepanko and @_tempurasauce came into my life. And boy. Did they come in swinging (💕💕) Next 🧵: atsumu in a muzzle. I'll be back soon 🤡🤙 More 🧵s here:

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