Gray 🤠 | wow moments are hard y'all

Gray 🤠 | wow moments are hard y'all



Streamer!Kiyoomi & college student!Atsumu, roommates with tension; #sakuatsu — “Are you serious? He crit?” Kiyoomi throws his head back against the back of his gaming chair, knocking his headphones askew as he restarts the battle. “Come /on/, game.” +

His chat floods with “RIP”s and “WHITEOUT”s, so he increases the whiteout counter and stares at his webcam as he turns the game back on. “Alright, alright. We whited out. What Pokémon do we sacrifice?” +

The chat moves so fast that it’s hard to process, but the overwhelming majority is for Ekans to be sacrificed. “Pour one out for ‘noodsss’, for he has been chosen to atone for my crimes,” he says as deadpan as possible. +

Various emotes fly across the chat, some celebratory and some mourning. Kiyoomi himself is rather down about it; Atsumu is going to be devastated when he finds out that one of the Pokémon he secretly named is a victim of Chat’s capricious nature. +

“Alright, so I think we’ve gotta get more coverage before we can finish this gym, since we’re so underleveled,” Kiyoomi says, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table while the game boots back up. +

He idly wonders if Atsumu is watching in the next room. He sometimes puts Kiyoomi’s stream on while he studies, citing that he likes the context for Kiyoomi’s theatrics and enjoys hearing—well, reading—most sides of the thousand-person conversation. +

Kiyoomi had tried to hide his streaming at first, back when they were first assigned as dormmates before Kiyoomi had dropped out to pursue streaming full-time. His stream still thinks that he has a secret cat or something, because quiet subtlety has never been Atsumu’s nature. +

When Kiyoomi moved off campus, Atsumu had offered to come with him to split rent; they were surprisingly compatible roommates and unlikely friends. Never mind that Kiyoomi has been unable to shake the thought of them as a little more than friends, as of late. +

Atsumu had grown up playing sports games and fighting games with his brother, and he was wholly unfamiliar with the concept of streaming. The first time Atsumu had made a comment about Kiyoomi’s stream, Kiyoomi’s jaw nearly snapped from how hard it hit the ground. +

“How do you know about that?” Kiyoomi had squeaked in a completely masculine and composed way. Atsumu had laughed. “Ya know Kenma and I are like… friends, right?” Then he had cocked his head. “At least, I think we are. It’s hard to tell with Kenma.” +

Kenma, AKA Kodzuken, AKA Kiyoomi’s inspiration for streaming had clued Atsumu in, which meant that… “Oh my God, does Kenma know about my stream?” “Mmhmm,” Atsumu had said. “Oi! Don’t be lookin’ all star struck on me! He’s a little gremlin, and he’s chronically online!” +

Kiyoomi had thought he might be ascending, but then Atsumu dragged him back through earth and into hell by tackling him onto the couch. “Don’t leave me fer Kenma, Omi! He’s never lint rolled anythin’ in his whole life!” That was a long time ago. +

Now, Atsumu is finishing his degree in kinesiology, and “Kiyoomisel” is one of the top streamers in his specific niche: speedruns and strange mods for Pokémon and Mario games. He’d even raced Kodzuken in a speedrun and won. +

Perhaps the biggest change from then and now, though, is that past-Kiyoomi slapped Atsumu’s hands away and scrambled across the couch when he’d been tackled. Current-Kiyoomi would probably moan. But it’s as they say: God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. +

Accelerated movement in the chat breaks Kiyoomi out of his reverie. “Oh, sorry. I was buffering,” he says, blinking the memories away. “Let’s go release ‘noodsss’ at the sacrificial altar.” +

The chat bursts into dramatics as Kiyoomi navigates towards a specific location modded into the game with a two-tile “altar.” This might be one of the strangest mods he’s played, but it’s been fun so far. +

“I feel like we should toast to him,” Kiyoomi says as he pulls up the “release” menu. “He’s done so much for us.” As if on cue, Kiyoomi hears his door open, and someone pads confidently into the room with slight clinking accompanying each step. +

“What the…” Kiyoomi asks, looking back before he catches Atsumu, hips-to-shoulders, in his webcam. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, unbuttoned to just below the swell of his pecs, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, exposing his muscular forearms. +

He’s gone so far to have pulled out a “serving tray” (a flattened-out takeout container Osamu left a few weeks ago) with a black hand towel draped over his arm. On the serving tray is the only scotch glass the two of them own, complete with ice and a clear, odorless liquid. +

As garnish, a single strand of cooked instant ramen noodle hangs out of the cup. “Wh-What’s this?” Kiyoomi blurts as he takes the glass off the tray, sniffing it. Is it just water? +

Atsumu steps forward so that he can be heard in the mic, but not so far forward that his face can be seen on camera. “Forgive me, Sire,” Atsumu says with a dramatically terrible butler’s accent. “I felt that a tribute to our fallen lamb was in order.” +

As he speaks, his real accent peeks through the fake one, and Kiyoomi is charmed all over again, like he’s never heard his roommate and /best friend/ speak before. His cheeks warm, and he can /see/ them turning pink in the webcam. +

“Uh, yes. Thank you,” Kiyoomi says, shaky. “Where did you get the ramen noodle? You couldn’t have boiled one that fast, could you?” +

Atsumu’s laugh rumbles above Kiyoomi, and he’s definitely getting redder and redder. “I’d appreciate it if ya didn’t ask, Yer Omi-jesty. Ya might not like the answer.” He’s completely abandoned the butler voice, now, and Kiyoomi is a weak, weak man. But not that weak. +

“Oh, gross!” Kiyoomi groans as he picks the noodle up with two fingers and slings it at Atsumu’s broad chest, watching as the cold, tacky noodle sticks to the fabric of Atsumu’s shirt, framing his left pec. +

Atsumu laughs, peeling off the noodle. Kiyoomi is short-circuiting. “Anythin’ else I can getcha?” “No, get out of here,” Kiyoomi manages to say, wrenching his gaze away from how the wet noodle mark reminds Kiyoomi of how shibari ropes would look— +

Then Atsumu turns, and the camera catches his thick ass and thighs just before he steps out of frame. Kiyoomi chances a look at himself in the webcam, and—oh god, he’s a flustered mess. Chat, predictably, is losing their collective marbles. +

“WHO IS HOT GUY” “TIDDIES!” “big tiddy man BIG TIDDY MAN POGGERS” “Butler???” “Butler-san!!!” “HOT BUTLER???” “lol kiyoomisel is freaking out lmfao” “POG” “Did y’all see a collar?” “Am I watching a Merlin AU??” “OH DOES HE HAVE AN ACCENT” “ACCENT ACCENT” “rich bitch alert??” +

“Oh wait that accent was fake BUT THIS ACCENT OH MY GOD” “is kiyoomisel gay?” “LOL LOOK AT KIYOOMISEL IS HE DYING OR ASCENDING I CANT TELL” “is that a noodle for garnish?” “THE NOODLE FOR NOODSSS IM CRYING” “who is this guy???” “sexy butler-san” +

“DID HE JUST SAY OMIJESTY? Like OMI majesty??? DOES HE CALL KIYOOMISEL OMI???” “OMI!!!” “That’s so fucking cute they have to be boyfriends” “KIYOOMISEL IS SO RED HAHAHA” “hahaha man is not cute enough to make kiyoomisel any less neurotic tho haha nasty noodle” +

“OH MY GOD you can get me mystery butler-san if OMI doesn’t want you!!” “bring back tiddy man!” “Don’t leave mr tiddy!!” “NEVERMIND THAT ASS u can walk away any time” “hate to see him go but love to watch him leave” “soooo are they boyfriends??? Is Kiyoomisel dating an ADONIS?” +

Kiyoomi wants to bury his face in his hands, but he’s just touched Atsumu’s gross old dinner scrap, so he pumps a healthy dollop of his desk-hand sanitizer into his palms before working it in with gusto. As he rubs, he glares at the camera. +

“If you’re in here, you’d better not be reading this chat right now,” is all he says Atsumu knocks twice on their shared wall, as if to say, ‘oh I’m definitely reading chat right now, Omi.’ +

As the chat goes on at /length/ about their thoughts on the mysterious, “Big-Tiddy Butler-san,” (BTBS for short), Kiyoomi realizes acutely that he is not God’s strongest soldier, not by a long shot. +

[ive already started the next part and it will definitely be nsfw eventually so keep that in mind. I will likely update this later today lol!]

Kiyoomi doesn’t finish the stream until late, and Atsumu is already tucked into bed before Kiyoomi shuts everything off. Then, he’s gone for his morning run when Kiyoomi wakes, and he’s in the shower when Kiyoomi cooks breakfast. He leaves for class when Kiyoomi showers. +

By that point, it gets too awkward to bring it up, so Kiyoomi never does. They easily fall back into their regular routine of light, almost-tender touches and genuine compliments nestled between harsh insults and playful banter. +

Kiyoomi thinks that he might be able to forget the entire thing happened (not the case for his /chat/, unfortunately, who ask about him /constantly/). That is until Atsumu does it again. +

“I’m out of water,” Kiyoomi tells his chat while he speeds through repetitive bike sequences in his random-eggs-only modded run. “Gonna have to grab more in a sec, once we hatch these guys.” +

Eleven minutes—and seven arguments with Chat about egg groups—later, Kiyoomi’s mouth begins to feel dry at the same time his door /bursts/ open. “Fuck!” he yelps, jumping three feet in the air before spinning to see Atsumu in his doorway. “What are you doing here?” +

Atsumu waves his phone, which is playing Kiyoomi’s stream, and smiles as he walks forward, just in frame enough for him to be visible neck to thighs. “Heard ya were thirsty,” Atsumu says, a little winded. “Was comin’ in from my run and reckoned I’d grab ya some water.” +

It’s now that Kiyoomi processes that Atsumu is wearing the white crop top with “Daddy’s Girl” printed over the tits that Suna had gotten him for Christmas last year. It’s a women’s fit, so it barely fits over his broad chest, the stretch distorting the lettering. +

His running shorts have the most indecent inseam that Kiyoomi can fathom. “Uh,” he says, intelligently. “Okay.” Atsumu huffs, eyes crinkling, as he holds out Kiyoomi’s second comfort water bottle, the one with a blue vinyl sticker color palette intended for emergencies. +

“Now hand me the empty one. I’ll wash it for ya.” Completely driven by reflex, Kiyoomi grabs his primary comfort water bottle (with a neon color theme) and passes it to Atsumu, catching himself in his webcam to see he’s redder than the Voltorb that just hatched from the egg. +

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi forces himself to say as he accepts the full bottle, because he can’t stop looking at Atsumu’s straining shirt fabric and rippling abs, so thanking him is the least he can offer at this time. +

Atsumu laughs, taking the bottle and waving lightheartedly. “No problem, Omi. Hydrate or die straight. Let me know if ya need anything else!” +

Then he leaves, as if he didn’t just set Kiyoomi’s whole stream ablaze /again/, and his ass wiggles with each step until he closes the door behind him. Kiyoomi spins fully back around to face his chat. “Guess I don’t have to get that water, so what are we naming the Voltorb?” +

Unsurprisingly, Chat does not offer helpful naming suggestions. Instead, Chat goes absolutely feral, and Kiyoomi has to instruct his mods to start handing out bans for some absolutely unhinged comments about what his subscribers want Atsumu to do to them. +

“We are not naming the Voltorb BTBS,” Kiyoomi says firmly. After someone donates an obscene amount of money to request the Voltorb be named BTBS, Kiyoomi goes back on his word, and BTBS stands proudly with Kiyoomi’s trainer in the Hall of Fame picture at the end of the game. +

Chat is thrilled. Kiyoomi wants to pass away. BTBS becomes a more regular topic of conversation after that. Kiyoomi’s fans also start calling him “Omi.” Once is an anomaly, twice is a pattern. Chat smells a rat, and they would stop at /nothing/ to get to the bottom of this. +

Fortunately for them, they don’t have to wait much longer, because Atsumu returns to Kiyoomi’s stream in dramatic fashion not three days later.

Pointedly not addressing the surge of “KiyoomiSIMP” compilations, Kiyoomi starts up his stream like everything is perfectly fine. He wonders if Atsumu has seen the “Kiyoomisel gawking at Big Tiddy Butler-san for 2 minutes gay” videos, but he doesn’t think about it for too long. +

Kiyoomi is doing a moon challenge in Super Mario Odyssey, and it’s going quite well—except his room and hands being cold, but he explains to chat that it can’t be helped given his roommate’s need for the air conditioning to run itself to death—until he enters New Donk City. +

The music plays, and a firm knock sounds at his door. Kiyoomi knows it’s Atsumu, because who else would it be. His arrival is likely because Kiyoomi bitched about it being cold, so he’s fully expecting Atsumu to enter with hand warmers, blankets, or an illegal space heater. +

Nothing could have prepared him for Atsumu /sauntering/ into his room wearing a fucking playboy bunny suit and ruby-red heels, complete with fishnets and a bow tie choker. His tits and thighs are practically bursting out of the outfit. +

Kiyoomi is frozen solid while Atsumu enters the camera’s frame, ‘easy as ya please.’ “What the fuck are you doing, Atsumu?” Kiyoomi hisses, forcing himself to ignore the chat going completely apeshit. +

“What? Ya said ya were cold, so I’m here to heat things up a li’l bit,” Atsumu says, lackadaisical grin tacked on so loosely that Kiyoomi feels the visceral need to kiss it off. Atsumu spins, showing off the way the suit hugs his ass and the fishnet distorts over his thighs. +

“What do ya think? Pretty hot, right?” Kiyoomi’s chat has /never/ moved this fast. “Uh, I gotta go,” he croaks into his mic. “I’ll let you know on Twitter when I’ll be back.” And with that, he scrambles to end his stream, much to the likely despair of his fans. +

“Omi?“ Atsumu asks, but Kiyoomi is on his feet and shoving Atsumu into his bedroom wall before he even knows that he’s doing it. Atsumu’s searing skin on Kiyoomi’s cold fingers /burns/ in the best way. +

“You really think you can keep coming in here, looking like this?” Kiyoomi seethes, so close to Atsumu’s face that his breath moves Atsumu’s hair. “You thought I wouldn’t do anything?” +

Atsumu smiles and swallows. Kiyoomi’s eyes lock on his throat. “Well,” Atsumu says, “I was hopin’ ya’d do somethin’ the first time, so I had to get creative.” Then his hands settle into the narrow divots of Kiyoomi’s waist. “Figured this’d be the best way.” +

Kiyoomi’s neatly-trimmed fingertips dig into the meaty flesh of Atsumu’s bare shoulders. “God /damn/ it, Atsumu,” he growls, “I’ve been holding back for so long, and you’re gonna break me just like that?” +

Atsumu’s smile grows into a crooked grin. “That’s the plan.” “Then I’ll have to break you just as bad.” “God, I hope so.” +

[[ nsfw; cw: dom/sub dynamics, praise kink ]] Kiyoomi grabs Atsumu’s shoulders and shoves him past his computer desk and onto his bed. Atsumu falls gracefully, making sure to slip out of his pumps before drawing his feet onto Kiyoomi’s bed. Holy shit—Kiyoomi /loves/ him. +

“Atsumu,” he says, but he can’t find any words. How is he supposed to think over how dizzy he is at the sight of Atsumu, splayed out over Kiyoomi’s bed like a gourmet meal? How can he, between the fattening of his cock, the watering of his mouth, and the pounding of his heart? +

Atsumu bites his lip. “Omi,” he says, and that’s enough for both of them. Kiyoomi straddles Atsumu and leans down, pressing their lips together. Atsumu smells like low-fragrance shower soap and mouthwash, and his lips are dry but so, so plush. +

Kiyoomi /needs/ to know how his tongue tastes, so he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue against Atsumu’s. The texture, the feeling, the flavor—it’s overwhelming, and Kiyoomi moans into Atsumu’s mouth. “Fuck,” he mutters between kisses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” +

Kiyoomi has always had a single-minded focus during sex; when he’s kissing, he forgets his hands, when he’s fucking, his mouth. With Atsumu, though, it’s not enough. His hands roam over Atsumu’s strong, healthy body, his well-fed muscles, his chastely sun-kissed, smooth skin. +

The pads of his fingertips crawl over the rough, scratchy fabric of the Playboy bunny costume, and he hooks his fingers beneath the leotard. Sitting up and pulling away from Atsumu’s lips, Kiyoomi asks, “What do you say about us taking this off? It can’t be comfortable.” +

“Yes, Omi, /please/,” Atsumu whimpers, squirming to allow Kiyoomi access to the zipper. A dark flush sits high on his cheeks, and his lips are swollen and shining with spit. His hands slip underneath Kiyoomi’s hoodie. “Off, all of it.” +

“Alright, alright,” Kiyoomi chuckles, forcing the zipper down with probably more effort than needed before shucking his hoodie off. Atsumu pushes the leotard down, exposing his bare chest. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” Kiyoomi breathes as he lowers his mouth to Atsumu’s pecs. +

“Hnng, Omi, please,” Atsumu gasps. Kiyoomi hovers over one nipple, pebbling in the shock of artificial cold. “Are these sensitive?” he murmurs, watching the nub stiffen. “What?” +

In lieu of an answer, Kiyoomi wraps his lips around Atsumu’s nipple, dragging his tongue over the hard tip and sucking gently. Atsumu moans, and his hands quickly find themselves back on Kiyoomi’s waist. His grip is firm, warm fingers likely bruising Kiyoomi’s cold, pale skin. +

It just spurs Kiyoomi on, sucking harder and bringing one hand to the other nipple, alternating between stroking and pinching to keep it stimulated. Atsumu bucks his hips, shoving his obscenely hard cock into Kiyoomi’s abdomen in search of /any/ friction. +

“Omi!” Atsumu wails when Kiyoomi softly grazes his teeth over the nipple. “I need—/fuck/!” “Guess they are sensitive,” Kiyoomi says, lips still brushing over Atsumu’s nipple with every word. “But I don’t want you to tap out before I can fuck you.” +

Atsumu shakes his head. “I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t. I can do it for ya, I can,” he pants. Humming, Kiyoomi sits up and rests his palm over Atsumu’s cock, bulging and leaking through the crumpled fabric of the bunny suit. +

“I believe you, and I fully intend to push those limits,” he says, squeezing Atsumu’s cock whisper-light. “But you wanted me to break you today.” Atsumu keens, bucking up into Kiyoomi’s palm. “Fuck me,” he gasps. “Please.” “So desperate,” Kiyoomi tuts. +

“How long have you wanted this? Wanted to be mine?” Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Atsumu bites /hard/. “A while,” he moans, muffled. Even if Kiyoomi wanted to play stoic, his body wouldn’t let him. +

He’s smirking against his will, and he pats Atsumu’s flank with the hand now damp from Atsumu’s precum. “You’re lucky that I like a good, needy boy.” He grabs Atsumu’s jaw, forcing him to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes. “You’ll be that for me, right?” “Yes, Omi, yes,” Atsumu whimpers. +

“I’ll be anythin’ ya want. Just fuck me.” His flush creeps down his neck and chest, and Kiyoomi leans forward to sink his teeth into the meat of Atsumu’s neck, just below his bow tie choker. Atsumu moans as he wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist. “That’s my good boy.” +

While he kisses, bites, suckles, and licks Atsumu’s neck, Kiyoomi slips out of his sweatpants and starts pushing Atsumu’s leotard further down his legs, revealing his hard cock, straining against and strangled by the fishnet fabric. +

He gives Atsumu’s neck a break as he leans back to take in the picture before him. Atsumu is a /wreck/, and Kiyoomi hasn’t even done anything yet. “Oh, baby,” Kiyoomi coos, “let’s get those off too, yeah?” “Yeah.” +

Kiyoomi pulls the tights down in one graceful motion, pulling them and the bunny suit fully off and leaving Atsumu completely naked, save for the little bow tie choker and assortment of bruises and hickeys that are purpling on his neck and chest. +

When the tights are removed, Atsumu’s cock fills completely, resting heavily on his belly and drooling precum. “How are you so wet for me already?” Kiyoomi asks, running his hands over the sensitive skin of Atsumu’s pelvis. “You’re making such a mess.” +

“‘m sorry,” Atsumu pants. “I couldn’t wait.” Kiyoomi’s eyes widen, and he hooks his hands under Atsumu’s knees, pulling them up and apart to expose his hole, made all the more noticeable by a red, glittering plug nestled deeply inside. +

Closing his eyes, Kiyoomi takes a deep breath to keep himself from jerking himself to completion just from the sight of it. It wouldn’t take long. “Baby,” he asks carefully, “did you work yourself up for me? Get your pretty little hole all ready for my cock?” +

Atsumu pulls one hand back from Kiyoomi’s waist to throw his arm over his face, cheeks darkening. “I needed ya,” he mumbles. “Got myself all ready before I showered, but then it wasn’t enough while I was gettin’ ready. So I…” +

It touches Kiyoomi’s heart and—more importantly—his cock, throwing Kiyoomi into something urgent and greedy. “You have me,” he says, “and I won’t make you wait much longer.” +

Kiyoomi leans over, pulling a bottle of lube and a condom out of his bedside table, taking off his boxers before settling himself between Atsumu’s spread legs. “Well, baby? Do you like it?” he asks, stroking himself to full hardness. +

He knows his cock is big, and he knows that he’s good with it, but he preens under the dilation of Atsumu’s pupils. Atsumu drags his gaze away from Kiyoomi’s cock to look him in the eyes. “I need it. I need ya,” he breathes. +

Kiyoomi leans forward, kisses Atsumu gently, then pulls away. “I know.” He uncaps the lube, pouring some over his fingers before setting it aside and running his fingers around the plug. He plays with it briefly, lightly fucking Atsumu before he takes it all the way out. +

He had thought that Atsumu would likely need more preparation, but when Kiyoomi removes a long, /thick/ plug, he realizes that Atsumu was literal when he had said that he got himself “all ready.” +

Without the plug, Atsumu’s hole clenches desperately around nothing, so Kiyoomi slides three fingers inside, drawing out a breathy moan from Atsumu, while he tears the condom open with his teeth and slides it on his aching cock. +

“Hnng, O-Omi!” “I know, I know.” With quick but fluid motions, Kiyoomi slips his fingers out, slicks up his cock with the excess lube, and lines himself up with Atsumu’s needy hole. +

“Deep breaths, baby. It’s a lot,” is all Kiyoomi says before he starts pushing his way into Atsumu’s tight, warm heat. +

Atsumu is no slouch; he’s prepared well, and he’s wet and relaxed but still so, so tight. Kiyoomi fights his eyes rolling back into his head and forces himself to watch Atsumu as his mouth parts and he arches his back, letting out the most delicious whine Kiyoomi has ever heard.+

Eventually, the sensation of fucking into Atsumu is too much for Kiyoomi, and he screws his eyes shut, groaning as he bottoms out. “You’re so perfect, baby.” “Jus’ fer you,” Atsumu slurs. “Perfect fer ya, Omi.” +

Kiyoomi’s eyes open, and he runs his dry fingers through Atsumu’s hair, sweat-damp near his scalp. Atsumu nuzzles into the movement, arching his back and sucking Kiyoomi somehow deeper. “That’s a good boy. Are you ready? I meant it when I said I would break you.” +

Atsumu gasps, rolls his hips, and nods. “‘m ready.” With one last stroke of Atsumu’s cheek, Kiyoomi slips his hands down to Atsumu’s waist for stabilization. He draws his cock out, draws beautiful moans from Atsumu, then slams back in, immediately setting a brutal pace. +

Kiyoomi may play video games for a living, but he’s not unfit. He lives with a kinesiology major, and maintaining his health is important to him. He’s not Atsumu-shredded, but he’s much stronger than he seems. +

So when he’s able to hold Atsumu’s thighs up with ease as he fucks, never once losing rhythm, it makes Atsumu’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and he moans. If Atsumu looked delicious splayed out earlier, he is nothing less than a feast at Valhalla now. +

His legs are spread and pushed back, his arms are tensed beside his head with his hands clutching the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him, and his cock bounces on his flexing abs with every thrust. +

His eyes are so lidded that Kiyoomi can barely see them, but from the slit he can see, he knows they’re blown and hazy. Atsumu is lost in pleasure, breathily moaning little “hah”s and “hnn”s as Kiyoomi renders him fucked out. +

Focusing on Atsumu’s pleasure is the only thing that’s keeping Kiyoomi from enhancing his own too quickly. Atsumu squeezes his cock just right, coaxing him to fuck deeper and deeper and deeper, building pressure at the base of his cock. +

“God, baby, you were made for my cock,” Kiyoomi says. “You feel so good, so fucking good for me.” Atsumu whines, strangled, and arches his back fully off the bed as Kiyoomi changes angles, putting more and more pressure on Atsumu’s prostate. +

His muscles strain, but a gradual build-up is essential to making Atsumu come so hard that he forgets his own fucking name. He’ll remember Kiyoomi’s, though. That’s for damn sure. +

Every thrust, every shift, every motion is calibrated, using the signs of Atsumu’s body language to guide him. When his cock starts jumping, leaking so much precum that Atsumu’s abs are glistening, Kiyoomi knows he’s close. There’s just one more thing. +

Kiyoomi hooks Atsumu’s legs over his shoulders and reaches his hands up Atsumu’s chest until he’s stimulating Atsumu’s nipples, rubbing and stroking and petting in between sharp pinches. Atsumu screams. +

“Omi, Omi, Omi,” he chants, fingers twitching and convulsing like he’s counting beads on a rosary, praying to Kiyoomi to bring him to paradise. “I’m—Omi!” +

Kiyoomi groans, feeling his own climax approach rapidly. “Are you gonna come for me, baby?” he pants as he fucks, relishing in the feeling of his balls slapping against Atsumu’s perfect ass. “Come on my cock for me?” +

He screams again, higher pitched and more desperate. His eyes flash open, but it’s all pupil—Kiyoomi can’t see any of Atsumu’s beautiful hazel irises. He looks animalistic, driven to his most basal form all from Kiyoomi’s cock in his ass. +

It’s enough power to drive any sane man to madness. “Come on, baby. What do you need?” Atsumu throws his head back, the long lines of his throat severed by the bow tie choker. “Omi!” he wails. +

“I know you’re close. You can come from just my cock, right?” Kiyoomi goads. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Made just so I could fuck you?” “Y-Yeah,” Atsumu whimpers. +

Kiyoomi pinches on Atsumu’s nipples /hard/, finally angling himself to drive into Atsumu’s prostate, unrelentingly stimulating, regardless of the direction of the thrust. There’s no escape, no way out, other than— “Omi! Omi I’m—/fuck/!” +

He feels the fluttering of Atsumu’s hole, the contraction of his muscles, and the tightness of his balls before he watches Atsumu’s cock thicken impossibly and release thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen. +

“That’s my good boy,” Kiyoomi groans as he finally lets himself fuck into Atsumu with abandon, spilling deep into the condom with a loud moan, closing his eyes against the stars that flicker in his vision. +

Fortunately, Kiyoomi is the way he is, and once the light clears, he gently pulls out, removing the condom and tying it before dropping it in the trash can he keeps by his bed. He grabs skin-safe wipes from his bedside drawer, quickly (and loosely) cleaning the two of them up. +

Once his skin stops itching from the filth, Kiyoomi drops onto Atsumu’s chest, breathing heavily. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around Kiyoomi and holds him tight. +

The way their chests are pressed together, Kiyoomi can swear that their hearts are knocking into each other as they beat. “I love you,” Kiyoomi says before he can convince himself not to. “I really hope you didn’t want this to just be a sex thing.” +

Atsumu grunts, tightening his grip. “No way,” he rasps, voice s little wrecked from all the noise he’s been making. “Yer mine. I’ve loved ya way too long to let ya go. Ya ain’t gettin’ away.” +

Kiyoomi nods, smiling into the crook of Atsumu’s neck as he nestles in closer. “Good. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.” They lay in the afterglow, soaking in their love, when Kiyoomi’s phone starts ringing. +

It’s on his computer desk, vibrating violently against the hard wood. “I’ll call ‘em back if it’s important,” Kiyoomi says, making himself comfortable on Atsumu’s chest. But then it rings again. And again. And again. +

And then Atsumu’s phone starts ringing, the horrible ringtone muffled through their shared wall. “What’s goin’ on?” Atsumu slurs, halfway towards post-sex coma. “Omi?” +

Kiyoomi frowns, crawling to the edge of the bed to reach out and snatch his phone off his desk. “I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” He flops back down, laying on his back side-by-side with Atsumu. “Let’s see.” +

The first thing Kiyoomi sees is that he has one hundred and twelve text message notifications and seventeen missed calls. He must have missed some while he was… preoccupied. +

Most of them are from Kenma and Motoya, but some are from Akaashi, Suna, and even Osamu. As Kiyoomi scrolls through the notifications, his eyebrows knit together in worry, as most of them are nonsense. Then he sees it. From Kenma: “hey, u left ur stream on” +

His heart stops. He dies right there, probably.

He rapidly scrolls through the other texts: “this would be hilarious if I weren’t about to vomit” (Suna, Osamu) “I didn’t know you were a camboy now” (Akaashi) “good job getting your shit together. say hi to Atsumu for me! Lmk if you need help getting a new job lol” (Motoya). +

“No,” he whispers, sitting up straight. “No, no, no. No fucking way. I didn’t. I did /not/.” Atsumu jerks out of the sleep he’d fallen into. “Wha’? Omi, baby? Are ya okay?” +

Kiyoomi grabs Atsumu’s shoulders, shaking him into full alertness. “I left the fucking stream on!” he shrieks, then realizes that the stream is /still on/. +

Unwilling to show his face, he scrambles across Atsumu and barely manages to reach his computer, stabbing the power button with a ferocity it does not deserve. It’s the only way he can be sure. “Oh my god, my life is ruined,” Kiyoomi moans, burying his face in his hands. +

Atsumu sits up, wrapping Kiyoomi in a warm bear hug. “Then we’ll fix ya up a nice new life. Like I said, I’ll getcha anythin’ ya want.” “A shot to the head?” “…except that.” +

Kiyoomi doesn’t stream again for two weeks. Surprisingly, not because he’s embarrassed. He does damage control on Twitter that evening with Kenma to guide him, and he’s mentally prepared to face the music. +

He is, however, temporarily suspended from his streaming platform for inappropriate content, which is fair. When the ban is lifted, since it’s Kiyoomi’s first offense, Kiyoomi tweets his upcoming stream schedule and prepares to suffer until the internet forgets. +

He’s already heard some of their… audio being used for short form videos, and the compilation videos all get new soundtracks. “You don’t have to do this, you know?” Kiyoomi says to Atsumu, watching him fiddle with his button-up, unbuttoned just enough to show off his pecs. +

“It was my mistake.” Atsumu laughs, resting his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “Nah, y’ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, sugar cube.” Laughing, Kiyoomi drops a kiss on Atsumu’s forehead. “Alright then, let’s get going.” +

Kiyoomi starts the stream, and once the largest audience he’s has ever had enters the chat, he waves. “Hey, Kiyoomisel here. Although most of you have been calling Omi. I have someone very special to introduce you all to.” +

He gestures to Atsumu, who waves with a crooked grin. “Howdy, y’all, I’m Atsumu!” “Chat,” Kiyoomi says, taking a deep breath. “I’d like you all to meet Big-Tiddy Boyfriend-san.” /end

[the poll was: does Kiyoomi accidentally leave the stream running & y’all pretty much unanimously voted yes hehehe] [[thank y’all for reading! I told u it got wildly out of hand lmfao hope u enjoyed]]

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