Gray 🤠 | GRIEF FIC 📌

Gray 🤠 | GRIEF FIC 📌

21-06-2022

14:44

#sakuatsu getting together, hurt/comfort CW: omegaverse (fated mates), NSFW with Pleasure Dom!Kiyoomi the 🥇 1k thread. 5.8k words. - ❤️ - It starts like this: Atsumu makes the worst set Kiyoomi has ever seen at the end of Set 1 of the Hornets game. Actually, no. +

It starts like this: Atsumu is strangely in his own head at practice for a few weeks before the Hornets game. Wait, that’s not it either. +

It /starts/ like this: Atsumu is trying to learn a new serve in preparation for the upcoming V.League season, and it’s not going well. It starts to bleed into everything he does, and he makes egregiously uncharacteristic mistakes. +

As his serves slowly improve, the rest of his play follows suit, and Coach Foster says that there’s no cause for concern, that Miya gets like this when he’s hitting a wall. “But he’ll climb over it. Always does. Just gotta give him time.” +

It’s not that Kiyoomi doubts his Coach - or Atsumu - but he notices that Atsumu is changing his scent patches more and more often, likely to mask a bitter, burnt frustration bubbling up in his chest. +

Kiyoomi’s own scent glands ache sympathetically; Atsumu is already on such strong scent blockers and patches due to his omega status. If he’s having to change them this frequently, there’s no way that he’s not feeling pent-up and overwhelmed. +

The instinct to wrap Atsumu up and comfort him with soothing scents churns in Kiyoomi’s gut, but he pushes it down. He just has to give Atsumu time, like Coach Foster says. And if there’s anything Kiyoomi has given Atsumu in spades, it’s time. +

Kiyoomi has been in love with him for years, after all. What are a few more weeks? Oh, now that he thinks about it, it probably starts /there/. With Kiyoomi meeting an unpresented boy at a national youth volleyball training camp. +

His hair was poorly bleached, his accent was cacophonous, and his attitude was somehow worse than all that combined. Demanding and ruthless, and he was presumably not even trying to be on his best behavior for the national youth team administration. +

Kiyoomi had asked him at dinner once why he didn’t clean up his act. “If they don’t want me how I am, they don’t want me,” he’d said around a large mouthful of rice. “Why’re /you/ so fuckin’ weird?” +

Without an answer, Kiyoomi had stormed off to the bathrooms and tried desperately not to think about honeysuckle eyes, about a sharp jawline, about an even sharper tongue. +

He’d been hooked, though. His eyes sought out Atsumu’s shitty dye job at every tournament, and he made sure to brush shoulders whenever they passed in the hallways. He tracked Atsumu’s career and started cheering for MSBY when he read that Atsumu signed with them in Osaka. +

His attention is how he noticed that Atsumu was missing from games for a month before the headlines came out: Miya Atsumu, 19-year-old backup setter, on medical leave due to late presentation as an omega. +

Kiyoomi had read the article a thousand times, probably, trying to find a reason for his own interest in the dry paragraphs, but all he learned was that a late presentation meant a difficult one with medical complications. +

He followed the discussion around the news. Would Atsumu be forced into early retirement? Would MSBY cancel his contract? Would he change careers into something more omega-friendly? +

The answer came four months after Atsumu’s initial departure in the form of Atsumu starting in a game after the main setter hurt his ankle in practice. He looked the same, minus industrial-strength scent patches on every single gland. +

If there had been any doubts about Atsumu’s skill and fitness, he silenced them with an audacious setter dump in the first rally. Kiyoomi realized that he was probably in love with Atsumu at that moment. +

When Kiyoomi, collegiate MVP and highly-sought after, approached his professional career choices, he waited for MSBY’s offer and accepted it right as it came. There had been no other option for him. +

Despite -or because of - their need to argue, disagree, tease, and antagonize, the time Kiyoomi has spent on the same team as Atsumu has been amazing. He is the best setter for Kiyoomi, expertly drawing out Kiyoomi’s full potential at all times. +

Not only that, but he draws a Kiyoomi out of his shell. He drags him to team bonding events, to neat places in Osaka, to dinners with Osamu, Suna, Aran, and Kita when they’re in town. +

He freely smiles at Kiyoomi with an open, toothy grin that sends Kiyoomi’s heart to hummingbird speeds. He smiles when Kiyoomi hits a particularly good spike, when Bokuto nails a cross-shot, when Hinata receives serves that should be impossible. He hasn’t smiled in weeks. +

Instead, Atsumu has been gnawing on his lips, dazed. He’s miming the hand position for his new serve toss as he walks, running into walls. He’s ghosting his feet along the motions of his run-up instead of resting. He’s rubbing his shoulder when he thinks no one is watching. +

But Kiyoomi always notices when it’s Atsumu. So when Atsumu sets the worst ball Kiyoomi has ever seen - only salvaged by Hinata’s insanely quick reflexes - he makes eye contact with Meian, and Meian signals to Foster for a time-out. +

“Miya, what’s with you? Are you hurt?” he asks, harsh in his worry. Normally, Atsumu would be at Kiyoomi’s throat, fist in his collar, demanding to know where Kiyoomi got the fuckin’ nerve. Normally, Atsumu would bristle and blame the wind or something equally absurd. +

Today, Atsumu casts his gaze away and says, “Nah, I just… I misjudged that one.” Something is /wrong/ with Atsumu. Coach Foster asks him if he needs to sit out for a moment. Atsumu shakes his head, and the game resumes. +

They scrape by to win Set 1, but Atsumu does not improve in Set 2, which they lose. He doesn’t even call Kiyoomi out for hitting a spike out-of-bounds. He makes strange choices, forgets to call tosses, and fails a setter dump, losing the set. +

When Foster asks if he needs to sit out for Set 3, he nods. Kiyoomi’s heart hammers in his throat. Atsumu has never willingly subbed out, usually hollering about “injustice” when he’s forcibly pulled due to bleeding or twisted ankles. +

But he sits on the bench, wet towel around his neck, and stares at his feet. Concern and fear ratchet through the team, but they let him be. They’ve never seen Atsumu act like this. He wears his heart, soul, and mind on his sleeve, so he’s easy to navigate. +

This behavior is undocumented, and the Miya Guidebook has no data on how to proceed. So the Jackals let him be and return to the court for Set 3. Ogawa, the backup setter, plays as well as he can, but Miya Atsumu he is not. By the time they’ve lost the game - 3 sets to 1 - +

Atsumu has vacated the bench, absconded with all of his stuff. As if he was never there at all. Irrationally, Kiyoomi fears that he won’t see Atsumu in the locker room, fears that he’ll wake up tomorrow and Atsumu will have been just a figment of his imagination. +

But Atsumu is there when Kiyoomi arrives, sitting on a bench and looking down at his hands in silence. Hinata approaches him, but the slightest shake of Atsumu’s head pushes him and the rest of the team away. +

He sits still, more statue than man, while the Jackals console, talk, and interview. They say that Atsumu has gotten sick and had to be subbed out. The interviewers offer their condolences and well-wishes. They say that they’ll pass it on. Atsumu sits on the bench. +

Everyone showers, changes, and packs up, discussing plans to go out or meet up with friends in town. Kiyoomi meticulously wraps his volleyball shoes in a plastic bag, sanitizing as he goes. Slowly, the team heads out, all of them. Except Atsumu, who sits on the bench. +

Kiyoomi is the last to leave. He’s exiting the gym when he abruptly remembers a conversation he’d had with Osamu once. Atsumu had been suffering from a bad migraine - a side effect of his heat suppressants, apparently - and had gone radio silent. +

“He wants someone with him,” Osamu had said over the phone. “Normally, I’d go, but I’m in Tokyo for business.” “But he hasn’t asked.” “He’ll never ask, and he’ll deny it til he’s blue in the face. He’ll push ya away a thousand times, but he needs someone with him.” +

“Why won’t he just ask?” “He don’t like admitting to it, I don’t think,” Osamu had said after a pause. “Makes him feel weak.” So Kiyoomi steels himself. He steps back, lets the gym door close again, and turns on his heel to go back to the locker room. +

He’s not going to let Atsumu suffer alone if being cared for is what he needs, goddamn it. At his core, Kiyoomi is an alpha, and taking care of his favorite omega is what he’s meant to do, even if they aren’t mates. +

He’s so stuck in his head, clinging to his own conviction, that he doesn’t even notice that something is /different/ until he’s pushed the locker room door open. “Atsumu, I can’t just-” +

He cuts himself off because he is suddenly /drunk/ on spiced rum. It rushes through his arteries into his brain, drowning him alive. His vision blurs, and his legs buckle. He catches himself on the wall. “Oh, shit! Omi, ya can’t be in here!” +

Atsumu’s voice is panicked, scent following suit, and Kiyoomi’s hand moves to peel off his own scent patches. He needs to comfort and calm his omega. His fingertips find the edge of the patch when his wrist is caught in his omega’s hand. Wait. /His/ omega? +

“Omi! What are ya doin’?” Kiyoomi can’t answer that, because he’s completely intoxicated by the heady, spicy scent inundating him. “What’s goin’ on?” Kiyoomi has no clue, no thoughts. “Are ya okay?” +

If he could think, he could say, “No.” But he can’t think, can’t process anything other than spiced rum and the rapidly worsening pain of his swelling scent glands. He growls - not threatening or offensive, but desperate. Atsumu relaxes his grip, but his fingers stay. +

Kiyoomi digs his blunt fingernails into the skin around the patch, using his flexibility to maneuver around Atsumu’s hold, and finally gets a good enough grip that he can rip the patch off in one motion. +

The relief that comes with it drags a moan from the core of his body, finally able to release his calming, caring, coffee scent. It clears his head enough to remember what the fuck is going on around him. +

Upon smelling Kiyoomi’s scent, Atsumu staggers back, eyes wide and pupils blown. He falls into a locker for stability, trembling and looking to Kiyoomi with brows knitted and drawn. Looking to Kiyoomi for guidance. +

Affection rips up his spine, and Kiyoomi is removing all his scent patches as he approaches Atsumu. The closer he is, the more he sees how flushed Atsumu is, how lidded his eyes are. With his mouth slightly parted, panting hot puffs of air, he is a goddamn portrait of arousal. +

Kiyoomi loves him. “Atsumu,” he says, voice coming out uncharacteristically rough. +

Atsumu’s eyes flutter closed, and he strains to open them again. “Omi…” he whispers. He stumbles forward, and Kiyoomi rushes to catch him and pull him close into Kiyoomi’s chest. His heart beats so hard that Atsumu must be able to feel it, even through their clothes. +

He rubs his cheek into Atsumu’s hair, damp from his shower and smelling of his lemon-scented purple shampoo - the only scent Kiyoomi had ever associated with him until now. “Don’t worry, Atsumu,” he rumbles. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” +

Atsumu gasps, but he allows himself to be held. It makes Kiyoomi’s inner alpha preen. “Wha’s goin’ on?” Though Kiyoomi wants to have all the answers Atsumu needs, he has none. He just cradles Atsumu’s head and says, “I don’t know.” +

The contact feels /right,/ though, and it soothes him. As they stand in each other’s embrace, Kiyoomi gradually sobers, wrenching his thought processes from rum-soaked wells. Atsumu grows restless, grunting as he shifts in Kiyoomi’s arms. “Atsumu?” +

“I just…” he trails off, hands groping around Kiyoomi’s torso. “I need…” He presses himself more firmly into Kiyoomi, but still, he seems unsatisfied. With a growl, he rucks up his own shirt and pushes Kiyoomi’s up as well, pressing their chests together, skin-to-skin. +

Heaven’s light catches fire where they connect. It’s absurd, but Kiyoomi thinks he can hear their bodies sizzle. Finally, Kiyoomi can /think/. “Atsumu,” he asks, “what’s wrong? You’ve been off for weeks.” +

Atsumu buries his face in Kiyoomi’s neck, sending a ticklish shiver down his back. His voice is muffled in the fabric of Kiyoomi’s bunched-up shirt. “It’s stupid.” “Yes, well most things you do are stupid,” Kiyoomi breathes, raspy, “so that doesn’t narrow it down.” +

Atsumu huffs an unwilling laugh. “No, I just… Samu and I got in a fight, and Samu said that it ain’t any wonder that I’m strugglin’ with the new serve, ‘cause ya can’t learn if ya never think.” His “Samu voice” is remarkably inaccurate. +

Still, Kiyoomi nods. This is congruent with what he knows of Osamu. “And normally, that wouldn’t bother me ‘cause it’s kinda true. I usually just go on instinct,” Atsumu laughs again, but it’s forced and watery. “But it got me stuck in my own head, and now I’m overthinkin’.” +

Biting back his instinctive snarky comment, Kiyoomi asks, “What do you mean?” “I’m overthinkin’ everythin’ I do. Every set, every choice, every movement… I’m makin’ bad decisions because I’m so stuck in, ‘oh, well is this the right thing to do?’ that I end up doubtin’ myself.”+

Kiyoomi snorts. “That’s stupid,” he says. “You’ve never thought about what you’re doing before, and you’re the best setter in Japan.” “Hey! It’s not-” Atsumu bites off his own words and freezes. “Ya really think I’m the best setter in Japan?” Frowning, Kiyoomi’s cheeks heat.+

“It’s not a matter of thinking, Atsumu. It’s an objective fact.” “Oh.” +

Kiyoomi had thought that he’d grown used to Atsumu’s spiced rum scent, but the way it floats around them now, weighed down by Atsumu’s emotions, is making Kiyoomi’s head spin all over again. Words bubble at Kiyoomi’s throat, begging to be vocalized. +

“Atsumu,” he says in a rush, “I’m in love with you.” Well. That’s… not exactly what he meant to say. +

He’d meant to say something like, “can I tell you something that might change our relationship?” or “I have to tell you something” or even “I have feelings for you”’ but he can’t - won’t- take it back now. It’s not a lie. +

Atsumu yanks himself out of Kiyoomi’s arms, shirt falling back down. Kiyoomi feels strangely constricted as his shirt’s fibers rub against his own skin. “What?” Atsumu breathes. +

Kiyoomi’s ears burn. “I mean… I…” With wide, unguarded eyes and mussed hair flopped into his face, Atsumu looks /raw/ as he waits for Kiyoomi to speak. “I love you. I’m in love with you.” +

“Are ya serious?” Atsumu asks - motionless - as if Kiyoomi will bolt like a startled deer should Atsumu make the wrong move. “Ya don’t need to go that far to cheer me up.” +

“I’m not trying to cheer you up,” Kiyoomi says. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and I’ve been interested in you since high school.” He takes a step forward, stopping mere centimeters away. “You’re why I picked the Jackals.” +

As Kiyoomi speaks, Atsumu’s face grows more and more flushed. “Omi, I-” “And I’m sorry for saying all this right now, out of the blue like this, but I /need/ you to know how I feel,” Kiyoomi says. “How I’ve felt for years.” +

Suddenly, Atsumu’s hands are on Kiyoomi’s shoulders, and he clumsily presses his lips to Kiyoomi’s. “Me too, Omi. I love ya too,” he whispers into Kiyoomi’s mouth. “I think I’ve been in love with ya since the fuckin’ youth camp.” +

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Kiyoomi asks, breath fluttering Atsumu’s eyelashes in their proximity. Atsumu laughs, whiskey eyes locking onto Kiyoomi’s. “Why didn’t you?” “Fair point.” +

Kiyoomi wraps a hand around to the back of Atsumu’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss, a real one. It starts chaste, but Kiyoomi /hungers/ for Atsumu, for just a sip of spiced rum. He nips at Atsumu’s lip, and the surprised gasp gives him the opportunity he needs. +

If smelling Atsumu is intoxicating, then tasting him is nothing less than a direct ascension to heaven’s gates. Kiyoomi is living among the angels as he licks into Atsumu’s mouth, swallowing his soft moans and whimpers. +

Abruptly, Atsumu pulls away, pupils blown and irises faintly glittering. “Ya gotta get me out of here, Omi. I’m pretty sure I’m startin’ my heat.” “How? You’re on suppressants.” Atsumu shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I’m slickin’,” he says, shifting on his feet. +

“It ain’t safe for me to be in public.” It makes no logical sense, but Atsumu is displaying all the signs of pre-heat. His reddening skin is scalding, his eyes are gleaming, and Kiyoomi picks up on spiced rum drenched in wet arousal and worry. +

“Okay, okay. I’ll get you home,” Kiyoomi says. “You’ll be alright.” Atsumu stills. “Yer not gonna stay with me?” His hands shake where they’re pressed into Kiyoomi’s shoulders. Kiyoomi finds his own hands settling on Atsumu’s waist. “You… you’d want me to?” +

“Now that I’ve got ya, I think it’d actually kill me to let ya go.” It seems dramatic, but Kiyoomi feels the same way. Just the thought of being separated from Atsumu now makes his chest ache something severe. “Then I won’t go anywhere.” +

With Atsumu’s current condition, a specialized rideshare is a better idea than the public bus they usually use. Atsumu spends the entire time with his face nestled in Kiyoomi’s neck, and Kiyoomi’s inner alpha is /howling/ with delight. +

Atsumu’s scent grows thicker as time passes, and it’s soaking through Kiyoomi’s brain again. As soon as they’re safely in Atsumu’s apartment, Kiyoomi’s hands slip under Atsumu’s shirt, craving more contact. +

“Come,” Atsumu says, grabbing one of Kiyoomi’s wrists to drag him down the hall and barely giving them enough time to toe off their shoes. Kiyoomi can’t even be bothered by their state of disarray in the genkan. +

Atsumu hastily pulls Kiyoomi into his bedroom, a sparsely-decorated room with a few picture frames and a frankly unnecessarily large, unmade bed. Some blankets have been shoved around the perimeter, but otherwise, it doesn’t look like an omega’s nest. +

Then again, Atsumu has never just been /an omega/. Before Kiyooomi can comment, Atsumu turns around and kisses him, kissing away every word that had toyed at his lips. His skilled hands slide down Kiyoomi’s back, and his calloused fingers hook underneath Kiyoomi’s shirt. +

Breaking off the kiss, he pulls Kiyoomi’s shirt off in one fluid motion. “Forward, aren’t we?” Kiyoomi teases, but Atsumu is shameless in his desire, tugging off his own shirt before latching his mouth into Kiyoomi’s neck. +

The electricity on his skin coupled with Atsumu’s wet mouth and curious tongue sends searing pleasure straight to Kiyoomi’s cock. He groans as Atsumu laps at his scent glands, drawing out more rich coffee. +

The low, thrumming mocha settles in the unpredictability of spiced rum, and Kiyoomi has never experienced a combination so delicious. “Omi,” Atsumu pants, looking at Kiyoomi with shiny, glazed eyes. “Ya taste like heaven.” +

The words make Kiyoomi’s cock throb, aching at the base, and even his fangs are beginning to itch, though his rut isn’t for months. How amazing is Atsumu that he can draw this raw, carnal reaction from Kiyoomi, cycle be damned. How lucky is Kiyoomi that Atsumu chose him? +

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi husks. “What do you want me to do?” “Omi,” Atsumu murmurs, slitted pupils blown wide within hazy golden irises. “I want ya. I need ya. I want ya to be my mate.” +

Kiyoomi has imagined Atsumu saying those words a thousand times before, usually deep within Kiyoomi’s shower fantasies or late-night, unspoken dreams, but /hearing/ them is something else entirely. His chest swells with so much affection that he fears it might burst. +

“Will ya be my mate, Omi?” “Yes,” Kiyoomi says. “I would do anything you asked of me, /be/ anything you asked me to be. I’ll be your mate until the day I die, as long as you will be mine.” Atsumu chuckles. “Oh, Kiyoomi. I’ve always been yours.” +

Then he smiles at Kiyoomi, wide and toothy, his own fangs sharp and glittering in the light of the room. Kiyoomi craves them, craves a mating bite, but that moment will come. Right now, Atsumu needs him. His /mate/ needs him. +

Kiyoomi tightens his grip on Atsumu’s waist, and he walks him back towards the bed. “Let me make you feel good, Atsumu. Let me help you.” Atsumu’s pupils constrict into slits, and he laughs at himself under his breath. “Can I ask ya a favor, then?” “Anything.” +

“I don’t wanna think tonight,” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi swallows as his thoughts paddle desperately to stay afloat in a spiced ocean of rum. “Atsumu…” +

“I want ya to think for me. Tell me what to do,” Atsumu says, eyes startlingly clear and focused given his apparent pre-heat. “Don’t let me think about a goddamn thing.” His scent continues to grow stronger, thicker, and Kiyoomi has to close his eyes. “Three color code?” +

“Green for good, yellow for hang on a second, red for stop?” “Yes,” Kiyoomi breathes. He is the luckiest person in the world. “Color, Atsumu?” Atsumu grins, a dopey thing, as his pupils blow out again. “Green, Omi.” “I’ll make sure I’m the only thing you can think about.” +

Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu the last step towards the bed, and his knees catch the edge. He falls onto his back, eyes wide, and Kiyoomi straddles his waist. Before Atsumu can say a word, Kiyoomi’s hands are slipping beneath Atsumu’s waistband. +

Atsumu moans, and Kiyoomi licks a long stripe along Atsumu’s neck, purposefully avoiding his scent glands. He lightly bites all the way up to Atsumu’s jaw while his fingers tease Atsumu with the promise of /touch/. His lips ghost over Atsumu’s ear. +

“Color?” he asks again, wanting to give Atsumu ample opportunity to change the dynamic if he so desires. His jaw sets firmly as he says, “Green,” like he’s biting back something bratty and snarky. +

Kiyoomi chuckles, and his warm breath makes Atsumu shiver. “Good boy,” he says, pressing the lightest kiss on the shell of Atsumu’s ear. Atsumu whines, hips bucking. +

“Oh, do you like that? Do you like when I call you a good boy?” Kiyoomi says, voice rumbling against Atsumu’s sensitive ear. He nods fervently, and his hands scrabble against Kiyoomi’s back. “Use your words, love.” +

“Yes!” Atsumu gasps, digging his fingertips into Kiyoomi’s skin. “Yes, I like it.” Kiyoomi’s lips curl into a smile, and his cock hardens even more. “Are you going to be good for me?” “Yes, I’ll be perfect for ya, Omi!” +

“That’s my good boy,” Kiyoomi says, pressing down on Atsumu’s hips. “You’re going to come for me three times, and then I’m going to fuck you until you come twice more.” Atsumu moans, bucking his hips against Kiyoomi’s hands. +

“Then-“ he starts, licking his lips and swallowing before trying again. “Then will ya come in me?” +

Fuck. Fuck fuck /fuck/. Kiyoomi’s cock /throbs/ against his pants, but it’s not about him right now. He needs to take care of his omega right now, even though there’s so much pressure at the base of his cock that he almost thinks he could knot, despite not being on his rut. +

In one motion, Kiyoomi yanks Atsumu’s sweats and boxers off, pulling them down to his knees. Atsumu’s cock bounces out, heavily leaking against his hip. It’s large for an omega and plenty for Kiyoomi to work with. “Yes, baby. If you give me five, I’ll give you what you need.” +

Consumed by deep, rich liquor, Kiyoomi breathes in his omega’s lust-drunk scent as his hand trails slowly to Atsumu’s cock. Using his fingers to collect some of the pre-cum that Atsumu’s cock is drooling, he slicks up his hand before wrapping it securely around the base. +

Atsumu keens, bucking his hips. “Does that feel good?” Kiyoomi asks, using one hand to hold Atsumu down while he starts stroking with the other. The drag of Kiyoomi’s hand starts long and slow, but Atsumu’s so sensitive that he’s already whimpering and digging into Kiyoomi. +

On a different day, Kiyoomi might have Atsumu bound, or maybe he would have the instructions to not touch. Maybe he would punish Atsumu for not using his words. +

But today, he wants Atsumu to do whatever feels good, moving on pure instinct and feral pleasure, so he allows Atsumu to thrust into Kiyoomi’s fist, already close to his first orgasm. Kiyoomi has four more to work with, after all. +

“Omi, I’m-“ Atsumu gasps. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-“ Syrupy-sweet cum spurts from his cock, covering his chest in ropes. It’s about Atsumu right now, but Kiyoomi is only human. As he leads Atsumu through his orgasm, he swipes up Atsumu’s cum and brings it to his mouth. +

He’s drunk off of one sip from Atsumu’s cup. “Good boy,” Kiyoomi rumbles as he licks his fingers clean. “And you taste so good for me.” +

Atsumu’s whine pitches up as Kiyoomi brings him into overstimulation. His chest heaves as he comes down from his high, and Kiyoomi only gives him until he’s got his breath back before his fingers are teasing at the rim of Atsumu’s soaked entrance. “Color?” +

“Green,” Atsumu groans, throwing his head back when Kiyoomi slips a finger inside. Atsumu opens up like a dream, easily accommodating a second finger. He pants and moans as Kiyoomi finger fucks him languidly, waiting until his cock fattens up nicely in his hand. +

Once he’s stroking and fingering Atsumu simultaneously, the omega begins babbling, no longer making full words. He jerks his hips forward and back, overwhelming sensation assaulting him no matter which direction he moves. +

On his back, desperately rutting and moaning, Atsumu is a vision, flushed and glistening with sweat as his body works towards another climax. His eyes are barely open, but he’s not seeing anything, the glow of his irises barely visible under thick lashes. +

Kiyoomi feels Atsumu’s cock harden impossibly more before Atsumu’s eyes flash open. “I’m comin’- Omi! Omi /please/!” “Come on, Atsumu. Come on, baby. Come for me.” Atsumu’s hips stutter, and smaller, thinner strings of cum shoot out, only getting as high as Atsumu’s nipples.+

This time, Kiyoomi fully lets go of Atsumu, adjusting himself to lean over and clean him up with his tongue. The taste goes straight to Kiyoomi’s head, drawing a thundering growl of contentment. Fuck, Kiyoomi’s fangs sting with the desire to sink into Atsumu’s neck. +

“Good boy,” Kiyoomi coos into Atsumu’s skin. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.” Atsumu’s panting, lips parted and so wanton that Kiyoomi just /has/ to lean up and lick into his mouth, making Atsumu groan. His mouth chases after Kiyoomi when he pulls back. +

“You’re doing so well,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “What’s your color?” “Green,” Atsumu says immediately. “I want more. Want ya to fuck me.” He looks so needy that Kiyoomi’s cock is starting to hurt. He shucks off his pants to relieve some of the pressure, letting his thick cock hang.+

Atsumu’s pupils dilate so much that Kiyoomi can’t even see the gold ring. “I need ya, Omi,” he says. “Please.” Wrapping one hand around Atsumu’s soft cock, Kiyoomi takes his own at the base, more swollen than usual, and guides it between Atsumu’s thighs. +

“Do you want this?” Kiyoomi asks, rubbing his straining cock against Atsumu’s slicked entrance as he starts stroking again. He nods, whimpering. “Yes, Omi! I want it!” +

“Then come for me, baby,” Kiyoomi hums, picking up the pace as he jerks Atsumu’s abused cock, coaxing it back to full hardness. “Give me a little more, and I’ll fuck you.” Atsumu groans as he bucks his hips to rub his fluttering rim along Kiyoomi’s cock. “Be a good boy, okay?” +

Kiyoomi sits back on his heels, moving his cock away from Atsumu, as his slicked fingers find Atsumu’s entrance, and he slides two in at once. He fingers Atsumu while pulling rivulets of pre-cum out of his overstimulated cock. “Omi, Omi, Omi!” Atsumu chants. “More, /please/!” +

Though he knows that Atsumu wants his cock, Kiyoomi slips another finger through Atsumu’s pliant rim. “One more, baby. You can do it.” +

Atsumu groans, furrowing his brows as he rocks into Kiyoomi’s fingers, trying to take him deeper. He’s in pre-heat, so his body is craving a knot. There’s no way that Kiyoomi’s fingers are going to be enough for him; he /needs/ Kiyoomi’s cock. +

It takes time, but eventually, Atsumu’s hips lose their rhythm, and he’s stammering, “Omi, ‘m- I’m comin’!” before cum dribbles out of his cock. Kiyoomi catches it all, cleaning it up quickly once Atsumu is spent. +

“/Good/ boy,” Kiyoomi purrs, scooping Atsumu up into his arms. “You did it. I knew you could.” He presses wet kisses down Atsumu’s throat, sucking lightly as he goes. +

Atsumu’s lidded eyes flash open when he starts coming down from his climax. “I d’d it!” he slurs, hands rubbing all over Kiyoomi’s back. Kiyoomi laughs, a deep, thunderous thing. “That you did. What’s your color?” +

“Green!” Atsumu whines, grinding his vacant ass down into Kiyoomi’s lap. “‘m so green! Please! I need ya to fuck me, Omi!” Kiyoomi’s cock twitches, pulling a desperate whimper from Atsumu. He’d intended on giving Atsumu time to cool down, to reset, but his omega needs him. +

Who is he to refuse? “Okay, baby, okay. I’ll fuck you,” Kiyoomi says, patting Atsumu’s flank. “Present for me.” +

Atsumu scrambles to obey, propping himself up on arms and knees with trembling, tired muscles. He’s /dripping/, and it takes little to no effort for Kiyoomi to fill him all the way in a single thrust, snapping his hips until they’re flush with Atsumu’s delicious cheeks. +

They let out simultaneous groans, Kiyoomi so absorbed in perfect, wet heat. Atsumu clenches rhythmically around him as he stretches to accommodate Kiyoomi’s thick cock. +

Suddenly, Kiyoomi pushes himself /just a little deeper/, and Atsumu screams, slick leaking out of Atsumu around Kiyoomi length. There’s no way. Did he just… +

A quick reach around to Atsumu’s softening, sensitive cock shows that yes, yes he did come from just having Kiyoomi’s cock fully inside him. Kiyoomi leans forward, groaning as his cock pulses inside of Atsumu. +

“That’s a good boy,” Kiyoomi murmurs, kissing Atsumu’s shoulders. He opens his mouth to ask, but Atsumu beats him to the punch: “Green, green, green, fuck me, Omi! Please, /please/!” +

“Anything for my omega,” Kiyoomi says, letting Atsumu whimper at the statement before he /fucks/ him. +

The pace he sets is brutal, rough and quick, but Atsumu doesn’t complain. With how much noise and slick he’s making, Kiyoomi can only assume that he /likes/ it, if the way he pushes back on Kiyoomi is any indication. +

He wants deeper? Kiyoomi can show him deeper. He pulls out, flipping Atsumu over before pushing back in. He hooks both of Atsumu’s legs over his shoulders, relishing the feeling of Atsumu’s thighs on his chest. God, he’s beautiful. +

He fucks Atsumu hard, nearly folding him in half as he pounds into him. Atsumu is long past words, desperately moaning with every thrust. Kiyoomi feels himself getting closer, feels the knot at his base starting to swell. +

It doesn’t make sense - Kiyoomi /isn’t/ in rut - but he can’t question it now. He just grabs Atsumu’s cock, pumping it in tandem with his thrusts. “Come on, baby,” he rasps, his own pleasure mounting. “One more. Come once more for me, and then I’ve got a fat knot for you.” +

The promise of a knot has Atsumu arching his back, fully coming off the bed as he comes, clenching so hard that it’s like he’s trying to trap Kiyoomi’s cock within himself. +

Kiyoomi doesn’t stop fucking, even as Atsumu comes down. Atsumu just whines and begs and pants, seemingly used to the overstimulation, used to being fucked out so hard that it’s impossible for him to think. +

Kiyoomi doesn’t last much longer as Atsumu’s slick runs down Kiyoomi’s thighs. His knot swells, and it finally slips past the rim, popping in short measure. He pumps load after load of cum into Atsumu, into his omega, and it is the best orgasm he’s ever had in his entire life.+

“Bite me,” Atsumu gasps, bearing his scent gland. “Make me yers.” Atsumu isn't fully in heat yet, so it won’t last, but Kiyoomi can’t deny that a claiming mark would look beautiful on Atsumu’s tanned skin. So as he fills Atsumu up, Kiyoomi leans forward to sink his teeth in. +

A thread snaps, and Kiyoomi’s bathed in white-hot perfect pleasure as he promptly meets God herself. +

When Kiyoomi finally descends from his spiritual fucking journey, his knot has deflated enough that he can pull out, absolutely ruining the bedsheets with fluids. Atsumu doesn’t seem to care, what with arms wrapped around Kiyoomi like a koala. +

Kiyoomi adjusts them, laying down next to his mate and pulling him onto his chest, whispering praise and sweet words between kisses to his head. Once Atsumu rejoins the land of the living, Kiyoomi carries him to the bathroom, cleaning them both up with meticulous measures. +

Later, when they call Atsumu’s doctor to ask about his heat breaking through his suppressants, they learn about something that Kiyoomi had previously believed to be a myth. “Was it a full heat?” the doctor asks. “No?” +

“And was your partner in rut?” “No?” “Were they able to knot you regardless?” “Yes?” A low chuckle over the phone. “Damn. You don’t see fated mates that often anymore. Congratulations.” +

Kiyoomi had never been a huge fan of alcohol, didn’t really like the way he’d lose himself in inebriation. But spending the rest of his days drunk off Atsumu’s spiced rum sounds like heaven on earth. +

It makes sense, then, that they’re fated mates. Kiyoomi had always gravitated towards him, had never been able to consider a life without him. He says as much to Atsumu, who smiles and presses a soft kiss to Kiyoomi’s jaw. “Now ya never hafta, ‘cause I ain’t lettin’ ya go.”+

Kiyoomi supposes that it doesn’t matter so much where this story starts, so long as it ends right here like this, with Atsumu tangled in Kiyoomi’s arms for the rest of their lives. /end

hahahaha that was a fucking doozy. thanks for reading it all! it’s tricky to work bdsm into fated mates getting together, so I hope y’all are satisfied. thanks again for all the support. love y’all loads ❤️❤️❤️


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