mari’s lil corner

placeholder bio to tell u i made a new blog just so i didn’t have my irls exposed to my writing

[motekill]

when a big dog thinks he's a small dog

[conniesbimbo-deactivated2024010]

Beautiful Morning

Sparrows chirp in greeting as Atsumu’s eyes flutter open. Rays of sunshine peek through rippling curtains — like little spotlights on his comforter. A cool breeze keeps him from sweating beneath the sheets. It’s a beautiful morning for none of these reasons.

Beside the blonde lies a mess of dark curls. Atsumu smirks lazily as he runs his fingers through the black veil of hair to reveal his partner’s face. Kiyoomi’s plush lips are parted ever so slightly; his cheeks flushed. He remains still while Atsumu pecks the pair of moles above his brow. 

Atsumu is not usually the first one up; it’s rare to catch Kiyoomi in this light. He’s lacking that furrow in his brow, the carving of passion that Atsumu comes to adore more and more each day. In its stead, he finds a vulnerable state of tranquility reserved entirely for Atsumu.

Soft hands travel, featherlight, from Kiyoomi’s cheek to his clavicle. Atsumu marvels at its definition — sharp and elegant, much like the rest of his boyfriend.

Atsumu’s eyes wander lower. A constellation of moles adorns Kiyoomi’s chest, striking against his pale complexion.

“You’re beautiful, Omi.”

[yee-haw23]

nsfw fem skts

posting this not from mobile for the first time since i was like 15 oh my god. anyway girls being gay!! fluff and smut that’s the whole thing :-)

Phone in hand and endlessly scrolling, Kiyoomi can’t seem to stop the shake of her leg even with her chosen distraction.

She shouldn’t be nervous. There’s no reason to be. They’ve met before. Talked before. This isn’t anything new. But everything has changed since they saw each other last.

A call for an incoming train overhead sends Kiyoomi’s heart into a frenzy. 1:32. She knows exactly who’s on that train.

As the sounds of the train pulling into the station, Kiyoomi’s heart jumps to her throat. Much in the same way it had when she first received that text from Atsumu some three weeks ago now.

i’m coming to tokyo to visit schools🥰 will u be free?

She hadn’t told Atsumu she would clear her schedule even if she wasn’t, but she was close to it. So they planned a few outings between school visits—though Kiyoomi hoped by the end of her visit they’d be more like dates. She didn’t mention that either.

Swarms of people exit the train, but Kiyoomi looks past them, through them even, to spot a head of long bleached hair. Even after a three hour train ride, Atsumu looks perfect, damn near like a supermodel.

It makes the heartbeat in Kiyoomi’s throat pound a little harder. Quicker, too, when hazel eyes meet her own and a wide smile spreads across Atsumu’s face.

Being so beautiful is surely a crime.

“Omi!” Atsumu’s voice pulls Kiyoomi through the crowds, pulled to her like a siren song.

Forgetting herself, Kiyoomi pulls the blonde into a bruising hug, only briefly realizing the quickness that Atsumu returns it.

“I’ve missed you.” That accent nearly has Kiyoomi’s knees wobbling.

“I missed you too,” Kiyoomi whispers, lips brushing against the top of Atsumu’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

When they pull apart, Kiyoomi can’t help but relish in the blush dusting over Atsumu’s cheeks, hooded eyes making her ever more beautiful. It takes everything in her not to lean down and kiss her in the middle of the station, to finally let herself cross that line.

They’ve hinted at it—these looming feelings—for months now through their texts. Little things to make each other question if maybe there’s something more than a friendship blooming between them.

It’s in the way Atsumu is always sure to tell Kiyoomi about the things in the day that make her think of onyx eyes and pretty twin moles. In the pretty smile that Kiyoomi gets to see whenever Atsumu feels like sharing what she’s doing during the day.

And it’s in the way Kiyoomi will send songs that make her think of Atsumu, all the lyrics adoring and soft. Or the way she asks about Atsumu’s twin, her mother, remembers the little details she hears about.

All of what’s unsaid lies in the way they look at one another when they pull apart, eyes speaking truths their mouths cannot admit to.

“It’s been a while.”

“Since last training camp,” Atsumu’s voice is low, soft, “‘bout two months.”

“Too long.”

The warm laugh that pulls out of her visitor makes Kiyoomi feel like a butterfly garden, wings fluttering wildly in her stomach.

“Ya miss me that much?”

A blush burns down Kiyoomi’s neck, choosing ignore the question and take Atsumu’s bag instead. The refusal to answer is an answer in itself.

The hand that seeks out Kiyoomi’s free hand and laces their fingers together is an answer too. Atsumu missed her just as much.

Even though they talk nearly everyday, it still feels like there’s so much to discuss. The pair jump from topic to topic as they walk to Kiyoomi’s place, vacant for the next week as her parents travel for business. It’s a closer walk than Atsumu’s hotel, a convenient place to leave her bag while they wander around the ward, stopping at the places Atsumu picked out after weeks of planning.

Of course, Atsumu takes her all over the city, to places she’s never been to in her 18 years living there. Leave it to the ever adventurous one to force Kiyoomi into discovering new favorites. And if they become her favorites only because she gets to see Atsumu light up and talk endlessly about how amazing a place is, well, no one else needs to know.

As they parade through the streets, Kiyoomi swear she finds new things to love about Atsumu. The way she can carry herself through the crowds, somehow sparkling like something meant to stand out even in the seas of people. Her laugh sounds grating but somehow manages to slice right into Kiyoomi’s heart, to carve a home in there and make it pound just a little harder.

She demands attention simply by standing, garnering looks from everyone. It should make Kiyoomi shirk, make her want to skirt into the shadows. But instead, Kiyoomi finds that she wants to be beside someone so captivating—wants the world to know that the most stunning person in the room is accounted for.

That fact may not be entirely true, but still, Kiyoomi can only hope the assumption is made.

“What d’ya want, darlin’? Big hazel eyes look into Kiyoomi’s. The first time she’s dropped a pet name since they started the day.

“Hazelnut latte.”

It’s a shock to Kiyoomi’s ears when she hears the words tumble out without getting all muddled. Formulating a coherent sentence seems like a feat when her brain is a muddled mess. How is she supposed to function when her brain screams at the top of her lungs over a simple “darlin’”?

“Sweet,” Atsumu smiles, leaning in close enough that warm breath ghosts over Kiyoomi’s ear, “just like you.”

“Corny.” But still, Kiyoomi feels like her cheeks are on fire at the words.

“Ya like it, I know you do.”

Kiyoomi rolls her eyes, too ashamed to admit that maybe, just maybe, she does like it.

As they walk around, warm drinks in hand, the sun begins to dip lower and lower in the sky. The warmth of the day retreating, a chill looming around them.

“I suppose we should get your stuff from my place,” Kiyoomi tries not to sound sad about it, mourning the loss of even just a handful of hours more with Atsumu.

“We can.”

Again, Atsumu laces her fingers between Kiyoomi’s, this time letting silence fill the twilight. It’s nice, Kiyoomi thinks, to walk hand in hand with Atsumu. To feel the weight of her hand when it’s enveloped in Kiyoomi’s own.

Maybe it’s nice to be able to just be with Atsumu too, not having to wait for a reply and stare at words on a screen. Kiyoomi knows that’s it’s infinitely better to have the real thing by her side.

The walk is slow, both basking in the dying light of the day, in the dwindling minutes with one another. Kiyoomi wishes, hopes maybe, that Atsumu will ask to stick around. Maybe, just maybe, Atsumu wants to spend all her time with Kiyoomi too.

She gets her answer when they finally make their up to Kiyoomi’s place, when she starts fiddling with the handle of her suitcase, not really making any move to leave.

“Can I ask ya somethin’?”

A blush spreads on Atsumu’s face, softening her normally harsh words.

“Of course.”

“Could you give me a kiss?”

Hazel eyes meet Kiyoomi’s and it’s all that she’s ever wanted. The world stops as Kiyoomi nods, stepping towards Atsumu with no other words.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

There’s no time to acknowledge how embarrassingly true that is when Kiyoomi finds Atsumu’s soft lips pressing against her own. It’s so short, but it has Kiyoomi’s heart hammering in her chest. It takes everything in her not to linger, not to chase those lips again.

“One more?”

Kiyoomi smiles in the face of Atsumu’s pleading doe eyes. “One more.”

This kiss is just a little longer, Atsumu a little more desperate. When she pulls back, Atsumu still looks a little needy.

“One more? Please?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t bother answering this time, just pulls Atsumu forward. Chaste once more but burning with both of their desire for something more.

All the air is out of the room by the time they pull back. The question hangs on Atsumu’s lips, but Kiyoomi doesn’t let her get it out.

“If you ask for one more,” she whispers, low and husky, “I don’t think I’ll be able to let you leave.”

It’s not a threat—more of a promise that this will lead down a path they cannot stop. One that can only end with them tangled under covers, sticky with sweat.

Between them, the silence grows thick, heavy with desire unspoken, hot with the boiling of their own need. Atsumu looks Kiyoomi dead in the eyes, blinking just once.

“One more?” Breathless, but determined.

The question snaps the tension with frightening speed. Kiyoomi walks Atsumu until her back is flush against the wall, one hand curled in blonde waves as she pulls Atsumu towards her.

Desire and desperation bleeds into that kiss, a restraint that Kiyoomi wasn’t sure she could possess the only stopping her from tearing Atsumu’s clothes off where they stand. Instead, she slows herself down. Allows herself to memorize the way Atsumu’s lips move against hers. When Atsumu all but writhes in displeasure at how chaste Kiyoomi keeps their kiss, Kiyoomi can’t help the breathy laugh that only leads to that first brush of tongues.

Kiyoomi has been drunk before, felt high on a mix of endorphins, but this—this is something new entirely. That first hesitant brush makes an addict out of Kiyoomi. A burning need to consume Atsumu whole taking place of her persistent restraint.

But still, Kiyoomi savors the near inaudible whines that spill from Atsumu’s mouth. Muted only by the heat of Kiyoomi’s own mouth, greedy in saving all those sounds for herself.

She basks in the twitch of Atsumu’s fingers where they rest upon her hip and waist. A need to pull Kiyoomi closer battling with the knowledge that they’re already as close as they can get.

Mostly she focuses on how she can pull more of those sweet sounds of Atsumu, how she can make her twitch and writhe.

Kiyoomi teases, only ever indulging Atsumu’s whims when she whines for it. Only lets Atsumu swipe her tongue into Kiyoomi’s mouth when she’s all but begging with the way her hands grab at Kiyoomi.

It’s when her hips start twitching, seeking out friction to soothe what Kiyoomi knows is a burning desire, that Kiyoomi finally lets her restraint snap fully.

No longer does she wait for Atsumu’s whines or swallowed pleas. Kiyoomi gives into her addiction, feeds her own desires. Taking complete control has Atsumu nearly writing beneath her, moaning at the the way Kiyoomi’s tongue explores her mouth.

As she pulls away to litter kisses down Atsumu’s neck, Kiyoomi lets herself savor the sound of unmuffled whines.

“O-omi,” Kiyoomi nips at the tan skin when she hears that needy little siren call, “please.”

When she takes her mouth away completely, Atsumu pouts, griping and grabbing at Kiyoomi’s hip and waist for something.

“What do you want, Atsumu?” Receiving little more than broken whining and grasps, Kiyoomi tries again. “I have to hear you say it.” She brushes her lips against the blush that’s burning on Atsumu’s cheek. “Can you tell me what you want, baby?”

A shiver wracks through Atsumu’s body as something mumbled gets lost in the sound of the city below them.

“One more time for me.”

Atsumu takes a deep breath, as if to brave herself when she looks Kiyoomi in the eye, “Thigh, need yer thigh.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi smiles as she readjusts, slotting her leg between Atsumu’s, relishing the way Atsumu collapses onto her. To torture her more, Kiyoomi leans forward, enough that her hot breath will graze Atsumu’s ear, “You can do whatever you want, baby, all you had to do was ask.”

Maybe Atsumu was holding back too, because with the permission she seems to light up, all of her desire bleeding into the air.

Kiyoomi’s grateful that the weather permitted shorts and dresses. It makes it all the easier Atsumu to get the friction she so desires, for Kiyoomi to let out her own groan at how wet Atsumu is from kissing alone. Atsumu wastes no time in building up a quick rhythm, helped by the hands on her hips that guide her forward and back. While drinking in each whiny pant coming from Atsumu, Kiyoomi trails kisses down her neck, fiddling with the buttons of Atsumu’s dress until she can mouth at the sensitive skin of her chest.

“So beautiful, baby,” Kiyoomi mumbles between kisses, “you sound sweet for me, look even sweeter.”

She gazes up at Atsumu as she trails her mouth closer to the lacy edges of Atsumu’s bra, tempted to sink her teeth into the skin when she finds pretty pink lips parted, eyes fluttering as she tries to move herself even faster, verging on sloppy. Atsumu is a needy little thing and it makes Kiyoomi burn all over. 

And if Atsumu is needy, Kiyoomi is nothing but her loyal servant. Despite wanting to continue her exploration of the soft skin under Atsumu’s dress, Kiyoomi straightens. This way she can rock her thigh in time with her pretty, needy baby’s movements. The first time has Atsumu throwing her head back with a full-throated moan, followed by a string of “pleasepleaseplease.”

“Take whatever you want, baby. No need to hold back.”

“More,” the word grates out alongside a groan, “ please, Omi, need more.”

Something in Kiyoomi wants to push, wants to make Atsumu beg for whatever she wants. But when she sees the blissed out look on Atsumu’s face—the blown out pupils nearly rolled back, her mouth hung open, lips swollen from kissing and biting alike—Kiyoomi can’t bring herself to make that pretty mouth form any more words.

“More?” Atsumu nods “Alright, then. I’ll take care of you.”

The smile that sits on Atsumu’s face quickly fades when Kiyoomi takes her thigh out from between Atsumu’s legs. A burgeoning whine is quickly quieted by Kiyoomi’s mouth as she walks them back toward the bed. With the new contact, Atsumu seems less keen to lament the changing position, especially when Kiyoomi pulls away to start undoing the buttons of Atsumu’s dress.

Clumsy fingers lend aid to the more steady pair that takes their time. The blonde doesn’t have to wait very long at all, but still her impatience is sweet, making Kiyoomi burn with her own desire.

“Off,” Atsumu mumbles, tugging at Kiyoomi’s shirt. “Wanna see.”

“If you’d like,” Kiyoomi smiles in the face of Atsumu’s curt nod.

Hazel eyes track the movement of Kiyoomi’s hands. And if she makes a bit of a show of taking her shirt off, it’s all because having an audience sure is fun. Especially one as attentive as Atsumu.

She wastes no time in pulling Kiyoomi in by the belt loops of her shorts, kissing her with fervor.

Kiyoomi as no qualms indulging her needy little thing, relishes, even, in the lazy, open-mouthed kiss. But she does grow restless, aiming to please and see Atsumu fall apart.

With a gentle shove, Kiyoomi sends Atsumu falling onto the bed. Her pout invites one more kiss from Kiyoomi before she starts trailing down—her jaw, her neck, her chest, lingering on each of her breasts after Atsumu frantically shucks her bra off, then down her stomach.

It takes an enormous amount of power to remind herself that she’ll need something to protect her knees, reach aimlessly for a pillow before sinking down so she can kiss up Atsumu’s thighs.

The sounds that pour from Atsumu as Kiyoomi’s mouth ravages those thighs surpass addicting. In all of her desire, Kiyoomi wonders if she’ll need to drink in each whine and moan every day until she dies—as if she needs it to survive.

Each bite and kiss leaves Atsumu’s chest heaving, pleas leaving her mouth just as often as those sounds Kiyoomi craves do. Perhaps she’s just a bit cruel, dragging out the worship of those thighs just to hear the way Atsumu begs.

“O-omi please, fuck please Omi.”

The little plea only earns Atsumu a firm bite and subtle laugh—a resounding groan in protest has Kiyoomi grinning a wicked thing.

“What do you want, Atsumu? Tell me, baby.”

“More, just—fuck—“ Kiyoomi soothes the bite she left as Atsumu’s breath stutters, “more, please.”

Kiyoomi hums, trailing her lips closer to Atsumu’s wet cunt. She leaves a kiss right at the juncture of her thigh, on a mole so close but so far from where Atsumu craves Kiyoomi’s mouth.

“Do you want me to make you fall apart?”

She gets not response—at least not one that would be coherent to anyone. Atsumu’s legs widen, a needy whine spilling past her lips as she arches her back just a little, as if to entice Kiyoomi.

Firm hands bring Atsumu back onto the bed before keeping those ravaged thighs spread.

“All you had to do was ask.”

It’s a mercy when Kiyoomi finally lets her tongue dip between Atsumu’s folds—it’s a bit of a blessing too. With just one taste, Kiyoomi knows she won’t be able to live without it.

She wastes no time in making Atsumu fall apart, sucking on her clit and earning a fist in her hair.

“Shit,” Atsumu breathes out, arching when Kiyoomi switches to broad strokes with the flat of her tongue as if to get Kiyoomi even closer.

But Kiyoomi is ever the tease, toying with her just to hear the way Atsumu babbles—curses and pleas slurring together. Sucking on her clit again sends heat all through Kiyoomi, one hand tempted to dip down and get herself off through her shorts. Each sound that pours from Atsumu is obscene, heightened when Kiyoomi chooses to slip her fingers in Atsumu’s tight cunt.

Atsumu’s moans, the squelch of Kiyoomi’s fingers as Atsumu’s cunt swallows her fingers, and Kiyoomi’s own muffled groans all mix together, creating a symphony. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t let up, two fingers becoming three as she starts to leave kisses back on Atsumu’s thighs.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Of course, Kiyoomi knows it does. Still, she shivers at the responding moan—Atsumu so overwhelmed with pleasure she can’t even begin to form coherent words.

As much as she enjoys torturing Atsumu, dragging out her pleasure, Kiyoomi can’t keep herself away. Her fingers are relentless, curling up just as her mouth latches back onto her clit.

The simultaneous stimulation has Atsumu’s back bowing, the hand buried in her hair keeping Kiyoomi’s mouth on Atsumu’s clit.

Slurred begging encourages Kiyoomi to keep her pace, not letting up until Atsumu’s cries break—a silent scream taking over as Atsumu stiffens then twitches. Even a moan tears out from Kiyoomi at the way Atsumu’s cunt clenches around her fingers, pulling her in even deeper.

Kiyoomi slows, milking out that orgasm until Atsumu’s whines verge into the overstimulated territory, peppering kisses to the inside of Atsumu’s thighs.

“You’re so sweet, baby. Did that feel good?”

Atsumu hums, low and sweet, bringing Kiyoomi up to take a look at her face.

Blonde hair fans out like a halo, sweat making a few strands stick to her face. Her eyes are closed, a soft smile on her face—blissed out and looking so precious. Kiyoomi nearly crumbles at the sight.

As delicately as she can, Kiyoomi crawls so she’s hovering over Atsumu, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Slow as molasses, Atsumu opens her eyes, the hazel barely visible with the way her pupils are blown.

“Hi,” Kiyoomi whispers.

Atsumu hums before she wraps a leg around Kiyoomi dragging her down so they’re a tangled mess of limbs on the bed. With a gentle laugh, Kiyoomi leans forward, brushing their noses as Atsumu comes down from her high. One of Atsumu’s hands draws shapes on Kiyoomi’s back as she peppers kisses all over Atsumu’s face.

The affection brings a smile to Atsumu’s face. “Yer somethin’ else, Kiyoomi.”

Whispered like a precious little secret, of which this side of Kiyoomi certainly is, the words make Kiyoomi’s cheeks burn.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Kiyoomi buries the adoration that lies on the tip of her tongue into a kiss, languid and slow. Whatever Kiyoomi wishes to say gets communicated through the slow brush of their tongues and the parting and meeting of their lips.

Silence descends upon them as they part, instead trading light touches fueled by longing and the certainty that this can finally be their reality, even if for but a moment.

As they lay there, tangled together, the light begins to die, neon pouring through the window, making a mosaic of their skin as they trade lazy kisses. Time ticks on and on and Kiyoomi can’t stop her rational brain from bringing up the obvious.

“It’s getting kind of late, we should get you back to the hotel.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu laughs, something sly slithering into her gaze, “about that—never booked the hotel.”

Kiyoomi blinks. “What?”

“Never booked one, was honestly kinda bankin’ on somethin’ like this happenin’.”

Flushed and looking all kinds of smug, Kiyoomi can only shake her head at Atsumu’s antics. Of course, she can’t help but kiss Atsumu too, grateful she wasn’t the only one who was holding onto hope.

[yee-haw23]

My very first cross post back onto tumblr! Anyway here’s some sakuatsu angst, no happy ending :-)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first was his father, ages ago now, the crack that’s the faintest. It was a throwaway comment probably. Nothing meant to linger. But isn’t that the horrific beauty of humanity? The ability to create long-lasting harm without a spare thought.

Kiyoomi asked if his father would be attending his first ever volleyball match, very near bubbling with excitement just at asking. Such an emotion was rare then, just as it is now.

Still, Kiyoomi’s father laughed, “I have no time for silly games, Kiyoomi. Certainly not when they’re the whims of a child.”

Volleyball wasn’t a whim then, just as it isn’t now. His father attends his important games. Kiyoomi still remembers the laugh, the utter disbelief, at his asking for his father’s support.

The second was a bit harsher. It’s jagged and deep, still scarred over.

High school crushes shouldn’t hurt like that, Kiyoomi thinks. But he’s always been a touch more sensitive, a little more easily broken.

Ushijima Wakatoshi put a lot of stress on Kiyoomi’s heart—very nearly broke it. But Kiyoomi managed. Even when Ushijima turned him down in his straightforward, no nonsense tone, Kiyoomi resolved not to break. It was only when he saw the way Ushijima looked at Tendou that he finally permitted himself a healthy sob in the locker room.

Kiyoomi had built up a future in his all about he and Ushijima. To see it topple down, to crumble to bits, was his first true loss.

They remain friends, of course. Though it still aches a bit to see that glint of gold on Ushijima’s finger. To know who wears a matching one.

More lost loves along the way made tiny little cracks. Kiyoomi attaches himself easily, trusts too much, feels too deeply. Then the whims of his fancies change, leaving him in the dust. He owns personal packs of tissues for sanitary purposes just as much as he has them more emotional purposes.

At a certain point, Kiyoomi assumed he would always be like this—a little broken, too bitter to ever truly believe in love.

But then came Miya Atsumu.

He was everything Kiyoomi couldn’t stand, yet everything he craved. It took months for Atsumu to wear him down, to let him in, to let those warm feelings cascade through him once more. Even a mere text from Atsumu would send Kiyoomi’s heart into a frenzy.

Atsumu was everything Kiyoomi had been searching for. Honest, kind, ambitious, dedicated—above all else, he sought Kiyoomi out, time after time. When Kiyoomi would make a snide comment in retort to whatever foolishness spilled from Atsumu, he wouldn’t let Kiyoomi push himself away. Instead he’d laugh, lighting up the whole room with his joy.

Where Kiyoomi would reject touch, Atsumu would respect that line. Never pushing until Kiyoomi asked for it, until he admitted how badly he needed that touch. And Atsumu gave so much of it. Atsumu freely showered Kiyoomi with affection as if it were no problem at all.

Even with all those fractures in his heart, Kiyoomi felt ready to hand it over. He was prepared to trust Atsumu with the delicate little thing—all Atsumu ever showed him was love, after all.

As he turned his heart over to the care of Atsumu, it all seemed to go swimmingly. With those darlings and sweethearts and “how’s yer ma doin’, hon?” Kiyoomi thought everything was just fine. Atsumu was diligent and careful, respectful and alarmingly loving.

Kiyoomi swore the fractures healed under honey-sweet words, placating touches when Kiyoomi had a bad day. Once again, Kiyoomi found himself building a future with someone. This time with Atsumu. A man who had shown time and time again just how much Kiyoomi could rely on him.

As rain pounded against the windows of Kiyoomi’s apartment, he found his head in Atsumu’s lap, one of Atsumu’s hands threading through the locks. Kiyoomi didn’t say a word about it, not even when he knew that it would ruin the pattern, force him to tame it into submission.

He found a smile on Atsumu’s face when he looked up, soft and sweet.

“You’re smiling.”

Atsumu hums, looking away from his phone. “What?”

“You were smiling.”

“Ah, yeah,” the blond lets out a laugh, removing the hand in Kiyoomi’s head to run it through his own, “I, uh, I get like that when I’m talkin’ to certain people.”

Butterflies erupt in Kiyoomi’s stomach, head burning through him.

“Kita just said he was comin’ into town to deliver some rice for Samu. Wanted to see me.”

Kiyoomi smiles, hums. He knows how much the senior means to Atsumu, knows how much Atsumu cares about what he thinks.

“It’s so stupid, but…”

Atsumu trails off and Kiyoomi feels confusion wash over him. The smile still fights its way onto Atsumu’s face, his hands starting to fidget with nothing. Something is making him nervous.

“I kinda wanna confess to him.” Everything around Kiyoomi stops. “I’ve liked him for so long and it’s just so—I dunno—daunting? But I feel like he might want me back, ya know? I mean he wants to see me. Like just me.”

Had Kiyoomi read every signal wrong? Was it user error? Was he like this with everyone?

“What d’ya think, Omi?”

And, fuck, Atsumu looks so hopeful, so sincere. How could Kiyoomi ever do anything but support him.

“Go for it.”

As a smile splits Atsumu’s face in too, shining the entire room in radiance, Kiyoomi feels his heart shatter.

Atsumu talks all about how Kita makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud, how he’s so sweet it nearly makes Atsumu get cavities. Kiyoomi listens. Listens and listens, engages and watches as Atsumu’s heart fills with more and more love.

Kiyoomi listens as he tumbles to the ground, heart in hands. Shattered, broken.