Krispy 🖤🌻🧅

Krispy 🖤🌻🧅



Cw: self deprecation, body image problems Hurt/comfort /NSFW (body worship) Kiyoomi should be ashamed. /Would/ be ashamed if he hadn’t given up on any semblance of dignity the moment he joined a team with Miya Atsumu on it. Four years and he hasn’t been able to stop looking.

Short shorts and cropped tops showing off tanned skin. An incessant need to have his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Kiyoomi is merely a man. A hot blooded, horny man. Who might be in love with his best friend. His best friend that he wants to rail six ways from Sunday. Except… Kiyoomi doesn’t want to ruin what they have. Doesn’t want to chase away the closest person to ever understand him.

He’s been content to watch from afar as Atsumu wears imprints of purple and blue left by people Kiyoomi knows can’t give it to half as well as he can. All for the sake of friendship. All for the sake of longevity

It was working. It was a good plan. It was /fine/. Kiyoomi could watch Atsumu parade around in his tiny clothes and pretend the finger prints decorating his thick thigh were his own. He could take mental snapshots and store them in his spank bank. It was great.

Then Atsumu stopped wearing the 3-inch inseam athletic shorts and began favoring long basketball shorts. He abandoned his closet full of crop tops or cut off tank tops for baggy tees. Kiyoomi is in hell. The small oasis he’d found in his desert of self imposed celibacy dries up

right before his very eyes. Kiyoomi is halfway to lamenting his loss at the end of another Thursday evening practice when he sees it. The shy way Atsumu stalls for time in the locker room. Kiyoomi sees him trying and failing to procrastinate changing while talking to Joffe.

Realization pours through Kiyoomi like acid. Atsumu has never been ashamed of his body. He has never once been bashful or shy. It sets Kiyoomi’s teeth in edge to think that Atsumu might be hiding something from them. He thinks the worst. That maybe someone is hurting him.

So he waits. He lingers in the showers and stalls at his locker until the entire team has left and it’s just him and his best friend. “Omi, ya don’t hafta wait fer me,” Atsumu says, fingers fiddling with the hem of his too-big shirt.

Kiyoomi studies him. Eyes trailing over every available inch of skin, searching for any sign that someone dared to put their hands on something that’s hi- “Atsumu, is everything okay?” Kiyoomi takes a step closer. Atsumu takes a step back. “Yeah, Omi. Just got a lot on my mi-“

”We are past lying to each other. Did something happen did someone hurt you? Do I need to talk to Foster?” Atsumu lets out a wet laugh, golden eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No, no one hurt me.” Kiyoomi tries for another tentative step forward, fingers itching to reach,

to touch. “Then why are you covering up? Hiding yourself away? That’s not like you.” Atsumu sucks in a breath, “Nothin’ gets past ya, huh? Figures I couldn’t hide from ya.” “Talk to me, Atsu.” Kiyoomi chances another step closer, long fingers trailing along a tanned cheek.

“I didn’t want people ta see,” Atsumu replies quietly. “See what?” Atsumu peers up, staring into Kiyoomi’s eyes. There’s pain and uncertainty in that gaze. But there’s trust too. Kiyoomi wants to teach for him when Atsumu takes a step back but doesn’t. He gives his friend

the space he needs. Kiyoomi is surprised when Atsumu pulls off the T-shirt he’s wear and slide his shorts down his legs, leaving him standing there, nearly completely naked in front of Kiyoomi. The room is tense between them. Kiyoomi is torn between traitor understand

and drinking in every inch of skin laid bare before him. “I don’t know when they started happening and I-“ Atsumu chokes on a sob. Kiyoomi closes the distance, resting his hands on string shoulders. Trying to see whatever it is Atsumu sees. “Atsumu, wha-“

“The fuckin’ stretch marks!” Atsumu shouts. It echoes through the locker room, through Kiyoomi. Understanding dawns on him. Atsumu is self conscious because his body is changing. Kiyoomi’s heart cracks down the center. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, hands cupping

Atsumu’s cheeks, urging him to look up at Kiyoomi, to see the sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t lie,” Atsumu breathes, broken and hopeful all at once. Kiyoomi trails his fingers down soft skin, maintaining eye contact as he grazes the silver marks along Atsumu’s bicep.

“Can I touch you?” He asks. Silence lingers between them until Atsumu breathes out an affirmative. “These tell a story, Atsumu. A beautiful one.” Kiyoomi lowers his lips to trail along the curve of muscle in front of him.

“This one,” he drags a light fingertip along a particularly purple one that looks so gorgeous against the bronze of Atsumu’s complexion, “this one tells me about every service ace you’ve ever gotten.”

Atsumu’s breath hitches. Kiyoomi smiles into the warm skin under his ministrations. “This one is for every spike you’ve ever set to me.” A warm tear drips onto Kiyoomi’s cheek. He thumbs it away with a gentle caress. His fingers continue their journey across each divot and line

Each mark a reminder of how much Atsumu has given for this team. A celebration of his strength and diligence. Of his love for a sport that loves him back just as much. Kiyoomi kneels on the tile floor in front of him, not even caring that it’s with hai bare skin.

Not when Atsumu is looking back at him with as much emotion as Kiyoomj feels bubbling up inside him. /I really love him/ he realizes. Atsumu gasps when Kiyoomi presses a kiss to his hip bone, decorated with as much history as his biceps. “These are from every insane set

and every incredible feat of athleticism you’ve ever given us.” Atsumu is breathing more quickly now. Golden rises nearly eclipsed in black. Cock half hard and so close to Kiyoomi’s face. He wants. /God/ does he want. He wants Atsumu to see himself the way Kiyoomi sees him

Like he’s the first golden rays of an early spring morning. Like he’s the first sip of coffee on a Sunday morning. Like he’s the only thing that has ever made any sense to Kiyoomi. Fingertips dance along the waistband of Atsumu’s briefs in a silent question.

Atsumu hooks his thumbs in his underwear and slides them down those thigh Kiyoomi dreams about. Obsidian eyes bore into a golden-amber gaze and Kiyoomj is so thankful to worship at this altar. “You are gorgeous,” Kiyoomi breathes, taking in the thick cock nestled in

trimmed, dark hair. Atsumu is built like a tank. Broad and packed with muscle, but tiny waist and defined abs. He’s so unfairly attractive. Kiyoomi wants to finally mark him as his. To tell the world that the story Atsumu’s body has to tell is his alone to read.

”Omi,” Atsumu breathes, strong fingers winding into his curls. “Please.” It’s a prayer that Kiyoomi is eager to answer. He wraps his fingers around the length in front of him, the weight and girth if it has him throbbing in his own shorts.

Precum beads at the tip and Kiyoomi tastes it. His tongue darting out and teasing the slit for more, hoping it will spill onto his wait palate. Kiyoomi lets his fingers wander, lets them dance across more beautiful stretch marks here on Atsumu’s thighs.

Atsumu grips his curls tight enough to spark pained pleasure throughout his entire being and Kiyoomi swallows him down. His dick brushes the back of Kiyoomi’s throat and it’s perfect. “/fuck/ Omi, fuck,” Atsumu curses, small aborted thrusts pushing him further into Kiyoomi’s

throat. Kiyoomi makes eye contact, rests his hands on Atsumu’s hip, and relaxes his throat. It’s been awhile so his gag reflex might not hold out on him but he’s going to try. A moan spills out of Atsumu when he realizes what Kiyoomi is offering. The seconds between the offer

and the realization are so charged, Kiyoomi is certain he can feel the tingle of static electricity throughout the room. Atsumu slides out almost to the tip, one hand still twisted in Kiyoomi’s curls and the other tracing along his jaw. “I’ve wanted you for -ah- for,” Atsumu

gasps. “Oh god.” Kiyoomi groans around the cock in his mouth, duck throbbing in his shorts. “So pretty, Omi. /Hnnggh/“ Atsumu says, pace picking up. Kiyoomi swallows. Drool spilling out of his lips and down his chin. He drops a hand down to palm himself through his shorts.

It would be worth it to cum in his pants just like this. He moans. “Kiyoomi,” Atsumu moans, hips jerking before he spills down Kiyoomi’s throat. It’s so hot and there so much that Kiyoomi spills into his own shorts, overwhelmed by everything. Atsumu slips from his mouth and

Kiyoomi coughs, post orgasm haze coating his in sticky satisfaction. Calloused fingers trail through the mess in his chin and push in between his puffy lips to rest on his tongue. If he hadn’t just came he’d be twitching in his underwear. “Yer unreal,” Atsumu whispers.

Kiyoomi pulls Atsumu’s fingers from his mouth, pressing little kisses to each knuckle. “I meant everything I said. You’re beautiful, Atsumu. You’ve given so much and your body is like a roadmap of the love you’ve freely shared. You deserve to feel appreciated and seen.”

Atsumu pulls Kiyoomi to his feet and presses their mouthes together. It’s slow and sweet and reverent and a reflection of the years of feelings Kiyoomi has stored away. It’s perfect. Just like Atsumu.

Follow us on Twitter

to be informed of the latest developments and updates!

You can easily use to @tivitikothread bot for create more readable thread!
Donate 💲

You can keep this app free of charge by supporting 😊

for server charges...