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#sakuatsu / NSFW ! uni au, friends/rivals to lovers, TAs kiyoomi and atsumu, drinking/drunk sex, breeding kink thanks for all your patience and endless love and thank you for following me and my silly lil ideas <3 you’re all so sexy. enjoy the chaos!

As always, it starts with a bet. Their professor was going to be on leave due to a family emergency for the next two weeks, leaving Kiyoomi and Atsumu to their respective recitation lectures and in charge of midsems. “My class will average out higher than yers, Omi.”

Kiyoomi glances up from where he’s currently drafting their classes’ revision sheet, unamused with the way Atsumu smirks at him, twirling his pencil between long fingers instead of revising the midterm exam.

“Statistically, my class tends to pay more attention than yours,” Kiyoomi grins, resuming his edits as he cross references the questions on his end of the exam that they’d compiled together. “Statistically, I have a higher ratin’ than ya as a professor.”

Kiyoomi frowns but he doesn’t take the bait. “You’re a TA.” Atsumu clicks his tongue and Kiyoomi sees him waving his hand from his periphery. “Semantics. Yer class only /seems/ ta pay attention ‘cause they’re scared of ya!” “If fear begets high grades, so be it.”

He finally puts his pen down, folding his arms across his chest. Atsumu leans forward, peering into Kiyoomi’s face – probably for any sign of weakness or fear. But Kiyoomi’s confident, and his cohort is smart.

“Ya acceptin’ my challenge, then?” “What are we betting?” “Whatever ya want, Omi.”

/ / / It ends with a lower class average and a bruised ego on Kiyoomi’s part as he scowls at Atsumu over the rim of his glass.

The sharp, tangy tequila-lime mixture coats his tongue and Kiyoomi bites back the urge to purse his lips at the sour aftertaste as he settles the glass on the table separating them.

"Jus’ admit it. I’m the better professor between tha two of us.” Atsumu stares at him with a smug smirk, the stem of his cocktail glass dangling between long fingers. “TA,” Kiyoomi corrects. It only makes Atsumu grin wider.

“So yer admittin’ it. I’m the better teacher!” He sits up straighter and settles the glass on the table, pointing an accusing finger at the curly haired man. “I’m not admitting anything,” Kiyoomi murmurs as he picks up his own drink and downs the rest of it.

He doesn’t typically drink during the semester, but teaching his lecture recitation on top of taking his own handful of classes for his master’s degree, and now losing to /Atsumu/ of all people, Kiyoomi is eager to feel anything but stressed and tired.

The waitress comes by to pick up their empty glasses and asks if they’d like anything else. Atsumu raises an eyebrow when Kiyoomi orders another round, along with two rounds of shots. “Ya seem a little –”

Kiyoomi interrupts him. “How did you do it?” The waitress quickly returns with their shots with the reassurance that their drinks will be ready soon. “How did your class get a higher average?”

Atsumu blinks at him before huffing out a disbelieving laugh. “Yer really strung up on this. We got into tha same program, ya know.” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and picks up one of the glasses, downing the bitter alcohol in one go. “Okay, okay. I mean, it’s pretty simple.”

Kiyoomi makes a gesture for him to proceed. “I make learnin’ fun. Put ambiguous concepts into real-life situations that are relatable and easy ta understand.” He shrugs indifferently as he continues, ignoring the blank stare that Kiyoomi currently gives him.

“University is borin’, Omi-kun. Ya gotta make it interestin’ or else they ain’t gonna learn nothin’.” Kiyoomi huffs, upset and irritated. He makes learning fun, he thinks to himself.

/ / / Atsumu is a lot like him. Though he came from a large university in Tokyo, and Atsumu hailed from a small community college in Hyogo, they both made it to the same highly-coveted program in Osaka for their master’s degree.

Competitive in their own right, both of them fought for the top spot in their cohort and the same positions, even going so far as to land the same TA position for their professor and teaching two separate recitation lectures.

These thoughts muddle Kiyoomi’s brain, accompanied by much more lewd fantasies of how charismatic Atsumu looks while teaching, desperate to bend him over the lecture desk and show him that he can be a good time too.

He shakes his head as Atsumu opens the door to their shared apartment – an agreement they both settled on as they entered the second year of their degree in a desperate attempt to save money and a bit of their sanity.

But now, as Kiyoomi watches Atsumu put his shoes away in the genkan, Kiyoomi wonders if it really was a good idea.

Kiyoomi’s as gay as they come and he’s not blind to Atsumu’s favorably good looks. On top of his unbearable charm and devil-may-care attitude, Atsumu is, shockingly, Kiyoomi’s type. But he put these thoughts on the backburner in favor of focusing on his studies.

These thoughts have resurfaced with plenty of help from the alcohol he’s consumed all evening, along with the way Atsumu returns to the living room in his usual eveningwear:

a pair of thigh-hugging boxer briefs and a baggy v-neck shirt that hangs loosely across his shoulders and chest. Kiyoomi wills his dick to go down as he crosses the threshold to his room across the hall and change into something less constricting. “Let’s watch a movie, Omi!”

“Aren’t you tired?” he calls from his room as he searches his drawers for a pair of shorts. “It’s only ten, old man.” He hears Atsumu’s bare footsteps cross the hallway and into the kitchen, already rummaging through the cabinets and drawers.

Kiyoomi is already seated on the couch when Atsumu returns with two bottles of water and a bottle of vodka. Kiyoomi can only stare at him. “Aren’t you tired of drinking?”

“I’m cashin’ in on my bet!” Atsumu grins. Kiyoomi blinks at him, waiting for him to continue. “Wanna spend th’night with ya, Omi.” Kiyoomi tries not to think too deeply into it, but his heart races at the thought of spending the night with Atsumu with far less clothes.

“But not borin’ old Omi who only wants ta study and watch nature documentaries,” Atsumu continues as Kiyoomi huffs. “Ya gotta do what I say.” When Kiyoomi glances at Atsumu, the blonde has a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grabs the television remote from the coffee table.

“Drinkin’ game. We’re watchin’ 50 Shades.” Kiyoomi squirms in his seat. He hasn’t watched the movie before, but he’s read enough reviews and seen enough previews to know exactly what the movie is about,

and it’s enough to get his heart racing and blood pumping throughout his body. He sits as stiffly as the characters interacting for the first time; his body is rigid except for when Atsumu shouts out, “/Drink!/” and Kiyoomi does so automatically –

anything to get the awkward sensation of watching this trainwreck of a couple get together. When the first sex scene appears on screen, Kiyoomi can’t help but squirm in his seat, eyes focused on the way they move together.

It’s embarrassingly vanilla, Kiyoomi thinks, for a movie that’s supposed to portray BDSM.

But then the man’s kissing down her body and burying his face into her thighs, and Kiyoomi briefly wonders what it’d be like to see Atsumu between his legs and face nestled against his cock.

The startling thought forces Kiyoomi to take a sip, and only then does he take a glance at Atsumu, who sits suspiciously quiet and hasn’t yelled for them to take a drink for several minutes.

And when he looks, Kiyoomi can’t help but part his lips at the way Atsumu’s eyes are trained at the screen, eyes glossy and bottom lip trapped between his teeth as the lightest sheen of pink coats his cheeks.

Kiyoomi’s completely ignoring the movie and watching something much more interesting, and his drunk brain decides that watching Atsumu shift in his seat, thighs tensing underneath the knitted blanket across their lap shifting with every movement, is /much/ more interesting.

To his side, he hears the distant sound of gasps and moans, and Kiyoomi wonders what it would sound like coming from Atsumu’s lips.

The scene is far too short, and Kiyoomi doesn’t get enough of Atsumu, who suddenly turns around, eyes widening when he realizes Kiyoomi’s gaze trained solely on him. “Omi –”

“Why’d you choose this movie, Atsumu?” he interrupts, his throat dry and voice low beneath the murmur of the television. “I –”

Kiyoomi puts his drink down and turns completely to face Atsumu. He doesn’t move, but he notices Atsumu turning to meet him, knees bumping underneath the blanket. Kiyoomi presses his knee further, bones digging into each other, waiting for Atsumu to crack.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who’s usually so loud and honest.” Kiyoomi pauses, deliberately dragging his eyes across Atsumu’s rather still form, pausing at the not-quite-discrete bump along the flattened blanket across Atsumu’s lap. “Tell me what you really want.”

His eyes track Atsumu’s throat as he visibly gulps, hand shaking the glass in his hand. Kiyoomi reaches forward to take the glass, but he halts as his fingers caress Atsumu’s, who inhales sharply beneath the din of the movie. “Atsumu,” Kiyoomi goads.

“You,” Atsumu finally breathes. “I want you, Omi. Kiyoomi,” he says, clearing his throat. He feels Kiyoomi’s fingers squeeze around his hand on the glass at the confession, at the sound of his given name breaking through his lips. “Fer a while now. I want you.”

Kiyoomi’s fingers loosen Atsumu’s grip, taking the glass and blindly placing it beside his own on the table. He’s still leaning over Atsumu, faces centimeters apart as he looms over the blonde, like predator to a prey.

His hand drops to Atsumu’s knees, rubbing them through the thick fabric, and against his own, underneath, he can feel Atsumu widen his legs, letting Kiyoomi between his thighs. Kiyoomi’s hands travel up and Atsumu’s hands fall on his waist. “What else do you want, Atsumu?”

He squeezes Kiyoomi’s hips, and Kiyoomi cants his hips forward involuntarily, cock barely brushing against Atsumu’s.

“Fuck, I want ya. I want ya inside me. Want ya t’fuck me, Kiyoomi,” he whines as Kiyoomi continues to tower above him. In desperation, Atsumu grabs the blanket between them and tosses it to the floor, thrusting his hips upward.

But Kiyoomi’s quick and he lifts himself, smirk playing on his lips. One of his hands guides Atsumu to lay on the couch, the other gripping his thigh as he wraps it around his own waist, fingers grazing the skin along his knee.

From where he hovers above him, Kiyoomi can see the way Atsumu’s cock is tented against his briefs and he can’t help but graze the length with his fingers. Atsumu lets out a pathetic whimper as he thrusts his body upward, craving friction, but Kiyoomi keeps his shoulder down.

“Are you going to beg for it, Atsumu?” Atsumu’s jaw drops, and Kiyoomi knows he’s ready to fire back with something dumb, so he palms Atsumu’s erection instead.

It’s beautiful, watching someone so used to mouthing off go slack and silent, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he arches his back towards nothing and craving /something/.

“Please,” Atsumu whispers, eyes fluttering open. He lifts his hand and cups Kiyoomi’s face, bringing him closer to him. “Fuck me and fill me up, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi’s only reaction is to draw himself closer to Atsumu, lips devouring him like it’s his only meal for the rest of his life –

and Kiyoomi might just believe it with the way he savors the taste of Atsumu’s tongue, his own diving in to lick into the wet cavity and claim it as /his/.

His grip tights around Atsumu’s thigh and he grounds his pelvis against Atsumu’s, pleasure wracking his body as their cocks brush against each other in tandem.

It’s nothing but heavy paintings and soft moans as they rut against each other, hands tugging at fabric until they’re down to skin and sweat.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Kiyoomi murmurs against Atsumu’s lips, peppering his lips and face with chaste kisses, a drastic contrast to the abuse he’d previously placed on his mouth.

He continues to kiss down Atsumu’s neck, who whines at every nip and suck Kiyoomi litters across his tanned skin.

Kiyoomi savors each miniscule sound and reaction Atsumu lets through his typically flirtatious demeanor, enjoying the way his bravado has been suddenly reduced to nothing but writhing and heady breaths.

A whimper when Kiyoomi thumbs at Atsumu’s nipples, fingers squeezing at Kiyoomi’s shoulders when he pinches them too hard. A soft cry when Kiyoomi bites too hard at the flesh along his chest, and a sigh when he licks at the bruised indents.

A moan when Kiyoomi wraps his fingers around Atsumu’s heavy cock, thrusting upward when Kiyoomi collects the precum from his leaking slit and smearing it across the sensitive underside of his length.

A sob when Kiyoomi’s two fingers breach Atsumu’s tight hole with nothing but a hefty load of spit, a wail when Kiyoomi curls his fingers inwards and scissors his fingers out before repeating the movement again and again and again.

“Kiyoomi, /please/,” Atsumu begs as Kiyoomi curls in three fingers and uses his thumb to press against the underside of his balls, sensitivity driving Atsumu closer to the edge.

He gives in to one final thrust before pulling his fingers out, smearing his lube-slicked fingers against Atsumu’s thighs.

“You’re going to wait here patiently,” Kiyoomi mutters, running his clean hand through Atsumu’s hair. “Wait – I have – there’s condoms. In the side drawer.” Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. “Do I want to know why there are condoms in the side drawer?”

If Atsumu’s cheeks can redden even further, he’s sure they would, but instead he just turns his head to hide beneath the cushion, abashedly.

Kiyoomi watches Atsumu in his periphery as he leans to the side table that house their drinks, reaching into the drawer to find – indeed – a row of unused condoms.

He takes one and slides the condom over his cock, pumping several times before lining it up to Atsumu’s waiting and gaping hope. He leans over, finger grabbing Atsumu’s chin and squeezing his cheeks together, forcing him to look up at Kiyoomi.

“We’re going to talk about this later.” He rubs his cock against Atsumu, who breathes heavily between his squeezed cheeks. “Sure thing, /daddy/,” Atsumu murmurs.

Kiyoomi releases his hand from Atsumu’s face, leaning into his space until their lips are brushing. “I like you better when you’re moaning,” Kiyoomi whispers before landing his lips on Atsumu at the same moment he pushes his cock into him.

He swallows Atsumu’s moans and cries, hands gripping at any expanse of skin he can touch. When he bottoms out, he releases Atsumu’s lips, who immediately cries for more. Kiyoomi sets a punishing pace,

hands lifting Atsumu’s thighs and wrapping them around his waist as he pounds Atsumu into the couch, hair splayed out on the cushions as he arches his back and squeezes Kiyoomi’s cock from within him.

“More, more,” he pants, desperate. “Touch me,” he whines. Kiyoomi ignores the hands that grab for his, desperate to watch Atsumu come undone, untouched. “/Please/ – I need ya – Omi – Kiyoomi – touch me – fuck, harder – breed me – fill me up, /please/.”

The command stirs something within Kiyoomi, who drops Atsumu’s thighs and, without pulling out of Atsumu, shifts so he’s seated on the couch with Atsumu straddling him .

The change in position has Atsumu completely sitting on Kiyoomi’s cock, pushing even further than Atsumu had expected. He groans, throwing his head back as his hands grab onto Kiyoomi’s shoulders for stability.

“You want me to /breed/ you?” Kiyoomi growls, hand gripping the back of Atsumu’s head so he can face him. “I’ll fill you up until you’re leaking for /days/, if that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

Atsumu moans at the term, tightening around Kiyoomi with his own cock slapping around between them at every thrust into him.

He’s babbling as Kiyoomi forces Atsumu’s gaze on him, eyes alight with lust, and with a single command to “Come for me, Atsumu,” he’s spilling onto their bodies between them, a desperate wail leaving hips lips while Kiyoomi continues to pound upwards into him.

“Fuck, Atsumu, you’re – fuck, godamn gorgeous coming on my cock,” Kiyoomi grunts, finally spilling into Atsumu with a tight grip on his waist.

Atsumu continues to whine as he feels Kiyoomi filling him to the brim, cum seeping out of his hole with every additional thrust and staining the couch beneath them.

He reaches around Atsumu, his fingers gathering the leaking cum traveling down his spent cock and thrusting his used up fingers into Atsumu’s slack mouth. His tongue lazily sucks on his own cum, laving across Kiyoomi’s fingers as he watches, mesmerized.

Atsumu may have won the bet, but Kiyoomi knows who the real winner is. /end

I rewatched the first half of fifty shades for this and I didn’t even get laid after smh.

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