Archive of Our Own

Atsumu is beautiful.

In every way he shines brighter than the sun.

Sure, he puts up the facade of an asshole who’s uncompromising in his quest for greatness, but if one bothered to look beneath the surface, they’d see the Atsumu Miya that shares his lunch with stray cats. The Atsumu Miya that wandered around for hours to help a lost kid find their mom in Ikea. The Atsumu Miya that knows the strengths and weaknesses of each one of his teammates, who packs spare sunscreen and depdorant and changes of clothes because Bokuto and Hinata are chronically forgetful. 

They’d see the Atsumu Miya Kiyoomi is hopelessly in love with, the Atsumu Miya who lights up his world which is otherwise pitch black. The Atsumu Miya that makes him feel loved in a way no one else is able. 

But Kiyoomi knows Atsumu doesn’t see this side of himself. Especially not when everyone else seems hellbent on hiding the truth from him. 

Atsumu is an insecure person by nature. He boasts and brags to cover it up - like throwing a tarp over yourself and hoping it shields you well enough from a torrential downpour - but the truth is that, for all his arrogance and self-righteous bullshit, his core is soft and sensitive. 

He needs to be handled with the utmost care, you see. And sometimes it’s hard because he makes you want to tear your hair out with his stubbornness and aversion to change. And sometimes it’s difficult because the world doesn’t work like a well-oiled machine, and luck cannot simply manifest out of nowhere. But the payoff is well worth every bit of sacrifice. 

The payoff being that Kiyoomi gets to hold him, and kiss him, and be with him, and love him. And there is no greater gift he can imagine. 

The world doesn’t seem to understand this. Doesn’t seem to get how lucky it is just to have Atsumu Miya in it. 

Kiyoomi knows this. But it doesn’t mean he has to accept it. 

The room reeks of self-obsession and booze, low lighting turning an otherwise unassuming establishment into an environment more threatening and on-edge than a singles karaoke night. Kiyoomi can’t imagine a single reason in the devil’s firey hell the team would want to go to an Alpha bar. 

So he leans on the bar and sips his whiskey and tries to convince himself that the mere seconds his husband is gone aren’t, in fact, the hours they feel to be. 

What a futile effort. 

“Must be pretty desperate if you’re coming to a bar full of Alphas,” Kiyoomi hears the words before the pungent scent of woodsmoke has his nose scrunching - it’s an awful scent, sharp and tacky, reaking of arrogance. Kiyoomi hates Alphas that showboat. “An itty bitty Beta. You really that desperate for attention?” 

He thinks at first that the voice may be speaking to him, but it occurs to him only seconds later that not only is he not a Beta, but there is only one other person in this Alpha-infested, beer-ripe bar. 

“Even if I did want attention, it wouldn’t be yers.” 

Atsumu’s voice is sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of the bar like a knife through butter. 

Kiyoomi swivles his head to the side to where Atsumu has traveled down the length of the bar to collect their drinks, a sudden burning anger lighting in the pit of his stomach as he sees his husband, his setter, his Atsumu, crowded against the bar by a man who must be Kiyoomi’s height or taller. His scent is strong and abhorrent, his stature imposing. 

Kiyoomi’s stomach coils with contempt, seething and burning a hole in him as he watches the man place a hand on the wood behind Atsumu, caging him against the bar sticky with beer. 

No one is allowed to touch Atsumu except him. And no one, absolutely no one is allowed to paint that expression of distinct fear across his husband’s face - Atsumu wears it now. His eyebrows scrunch, his pouty lips pull into a frown.

It would seem like mere annoyance if it weren’t for the way the blond’s knuckles blanch around a margarita glass, the neon blue liquid shaking in his hold. Atsumu has always been a stubborn bastard, unwilling to show weakness even when it’s perfectly reasonable. 

Kiyoomi crushes a napkin in his fist. 

Alphas have such a potential to be disgusting creatures - brute strength and powerful scents and the over abundance of arrogance that comes with knowing the power you possess. It’s all a very nasty combination, lending itself to situations few. 

“C’mon babe, don’t be pissy.”

Kiyoomi’s bar stool screeches as he stands up, an obnoxious sound that’s swallowed by the ambient bustle of the bar - the man doesn’t even flinch nor look in Kiyoomi’s direction, merely stares at Atsumu with the eyes of a predator, hungry and wild, the kind of eyes that are unwilling to compromise. 

So he makes his way down the length of the bar, pushing his way through a tight knit crowd of preening Alphas, his eyes never straying from his husband’s beautiful face. It’s like pushing his way through a sea of molasses, but eventually he reaches where they stand. 

“I’m just giving you what you came here for. A Beta like you should be happy for the attention. I may not be Mr. Right, but you gotta admit you want me a little.” 

The setter spits, “A Beta like me wouldn’t want you if y’were my only fuckin’ option.” And a shock of pride runs through Kiyoomi. 

But even still, in spite of Atsumu’s tone, the imperious Alpha reaches out a clumsy hand, holding none of the care and grace that Atsumu deserves. Kiyoomi catches it by the wrist before this contemptuous man has the chance to touch his husband, to taint Atsumu’s purity, muddy his angel’s wings. 

He can feel his pulse race in his throat as the man turns his head, regarding Kiyoomi with red eyes that shimmer dangerously in the low light of the bar.

”Hey, hot stuff, maybe wanna let me go? Me and pretty boy here were in the middle of something,” his voice is rough and filled to the brim with an amusement that makes Kiyoomi’s stomach curl with contempt. He wants to hurt this man.

But he won’t. 

“Maybe you want to stop touching my husband first.” 

There’s a moment of silence, of the ruby-eyed Alpha sizing him up, before a wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, lifting up into what would be a charming set of dimples in a situation decidedly else. Kiyoomi hates the look of it, the obnoxious scent of firewood smoke that makes his nose wrinkle with disgust. 

“C’mon, you wouldn’t mind lending him to me? Just for a night?” Kiyoomi feels his blood boil with rage in his veins, hot like liquid fire - he knows it’s not uncommon for couples, even married ones, to “experiment”, especially with Betas who are considered lesser than, not worthy of possession. He knows that it’s perfectly normal, but- “I promise I’ll be gentle with him.” 

But Kiyoomi doesn’t share. Atsumu is his and only his, to hold and touch and care for. Atsumu is his and only his to love.

And the way Atsumu’s eyebrows twist tells him he doesn’t to be here anymore than Kiyoomi does - his morphed expression, something between repulsion and fear, has a knot growing in Kiyoomi’s stomach, unsettled at the sight of his husband’s discomfort. He hates this feeling, this feeling of seeing Atsumu scared. Of seeing someone look at his husband like a thing to be used. 

“He isn’t a sex toy. So get your hands off him before I do something really fucking illegal.” 

Kiyoomi’s fingers tighten around the stranger’s wrist, knuckles blanching as he feels the muscles clench under his grip. The man looks at him with adversarial contempt, as if Kiyoomi’s come in and stolen his favorite play thing. Ruby eyes glow with disdain. 

But he doesn’t make a move. His hand previously on the bar, closing Atsumu in, falls to his waist as he leans back on his heels. He rips his hand from Kiyoomi’s grip, and the spiker lets him go with little resistance, a pulse of relief shattering through him as Atsumu quickly steps out of the situation. 

The stranger plasters on a look of condescension, “Too bad you’re such a tight ass. Could’ve given that peice of yours a really good time.” 

And god, does Kiyoomi want him to hurt. But hurting this man does nothing for Atsumu. And Atsumu is what matters right now. 

So he watches as the man fades back into the fray of the crowd, leaving Atsumu and Kiyoomi alone in the wake of him, and he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t chase after his husband’s harasser, beat him to the bloody pulp he wishes he could. He doesn’t spit curses at his retreating figure. 

Instead, he stays silent.

Not seconds later, Atsumu is clinging tight to his chest, strong arms around his torso pulling him desperately close. Kiyoomi responds in kind with urgency, drawing Atsumu into his orbit, burying his face in soft golden locks, reminding himself that no one can hurt Atsumu like this - wrapped in his arms, safe and sound. 

It fills him with a soft relief, cool like mint or warm like spring sunshine. 

“Omi I promise I didn’t do anythin’ ya make him think-“ 

Kiyoomi’s heart splinters in his chest. He holds Atsumu tighter to heal it.

“I know.” 

“I didn’t lead him on-“

”Baby I know,” it hurts to think that Atsumu would blame himself - he always does. Everything is always his fault in that beautiful brain of his. “You don’t have to justify anything to me. He’s an asshole at a bar who harassed you, it’s not your fault.” 

Kiyoomi presses the promise to his husband’s temple with a kiss, the soft scent of his hair unmarred and perfect.  

Smoothing down his golden strands, Kiyoomi kisses assurance after assurance into his husband’s skin - “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” 

-

The apartment drowns in darkness when they step into it, the only light being the moonlight that spills through their windows and glitters on every surface. It’s cold, begging to be warmed.

Atsumu slips off his shoes in the genkan, movements lifeless as a corpse - it hurts Kiyoomi’s heart to watch how he drags his limbs through the motions. His husband isn’t someone who gets naturally dejected, nor is he someone who allows setbacks to ruin him. For better or for worse, Atsumu stubbornly pushes forward. 

But now, it’s as if he can’t even muster the energy to care for himself, his will stopping in time. 

He melts to the ground when his shoelaces don’t cooperate the first time, frustration evident in the way a grunt tears from the back of his throat. Kiyoomi’s heart aches for him, shaking in his chest as he watches Atsumu slam his palm against the hardwood of their entryway with irritation when the knot refuses to untangle itself. 

“Fuck.”

Kiyoomi falls to his knees beside his husband, the knocking of his knees against the floor hardly registers as he presses a hand to the small of Atsumu’s back, the other to his wrist. Setter hands stop where they fiddle with the stubborn knot, falling to the side, clenched in tight fists. 

“Hey,” he smooths out his tone and presses a kiss to Atsumu’s muscled shoulder, deftly sorting out the troublesome knot. “Hey just breathe.” 

Atsumu takes in a breath but he doesn’t relax. Still his shoulders stay tense, still his muscles strung, as if the rigidity is the only thing holding him together, the only thing keeping him from breaking down

Kiyoomi let’s the strings fall limp and Kiyoomi helps him remove his shoe. Which seems to be the final tether of his strength, because the next moment sees tears clear as crystal streaming down flushed cheeks. Atsumu’s shudders with a sob, the movement before the noise. 

Kiyoomi’s heart falls. 

“Omi,” Atsumu breaks into a sob, heart-wrenchingly sad, tearing Kiyoomi’s heart from his chest with its sorrow, “I smell like him,” Atsumu says it at a whisper, full to the brim with a shame he shouldn’t be carrying. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t waste a second before pulling him in, gathering the setter tight to his chest, running a gentle hand through soft, golden hair as Atsumu buries his face against the crook of his neck. Ever so tender, Kiyoomi scents him, nosing lightly behind his ear - Atsumu is right. He smells of woodsmoke and cheap cologne, but it’s okay. 

Because Kiyoomi kisses near where his scent glands would be were he an Omega or Alpha, allows Atsumu to press their skin together, breathe him in and hold him close, until Atsumu eventually smells like him - like soft mint and the camomile scent of his special toning shampoo. Until he smells like home. 

“It’s okay,” Kiyoomi whispers, voice riding the wave of silence that shivers through their apartment, the cold that moves around their small cuccoon of warmth. “You’re okay.” 

“Omi- Omi I dont wanna smell like him-“ 

“You don’t,” Kiyoomi holds him against his chest and kisses the shell of his ear, running his fingers through the small, fuzzy hairs of Atsumu’s undercut. “You don’t Atsu, you don’t. You smell like home.” 

There’s a beat of pressing silence, like Atsumy has something he needs to say, and then, 

“I’m sorry I’m just a Beta,” his voice is clear, strong and unwavering and it breaks Kiyoomi’s heart into a thousand tiny peices. “I wanna be more fer ya Omi.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true, though.” 

“It’s not true,” Kiyoomi rocks them back and forth, pressing kiss after kiss to the crown of his head. “It’s not true, Atsumu, you’re exactly what I want.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, “You’re exactly what I want.” 

Atsumu is silent after that, soundless sobs wracking his chest as he holds patches onto Kiyoomi with his crushing setter grip. It’s warm and tender, the kind of embrace that melts your soul into its component parts, that makes the world feel safer, even if just for the moment. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, just existing together for the sake of it, for the comfort that closeness brings. But they linger in the dredges of time, the softeness, the slowness. And the number on the clock doesn’t really matter.

Eventually, when Kiyoomi finally manages the will to move his stiff limbs, they draw to a standing position - slowly but surely, Atsumu leaning his full body weight on Kiyoomi’s shoulder with exhaustion through the whole process. 

And when he menuvers them to the bedroom, Atsumu falls into the bed like raindrops into a pool, limbs looking as if they weigh more than lead.

For the first time that night, genuine calm spreads through him - a shimmering, soft feeling, like being bathed from head to toe in liquid, pale sunshine. He breathes his first clear breath of the night. 

He considers, for a moment, allowing Atsumu just to sleep. But the dysfunction in him insists he undress his husband from the clothes that smell of hot-headed Alphas and cheap alcohol - the sudden remembrance that they forgot to tell the team they were leaving hits him, but it’s pushed to the periphery of his mind as Atsumu rolls on his side to regard him. 

Atsumu demands sleepily, “Omi, c’mere an’ gimme cuddles.” 

Kiyoomi’s laugh is subtle but there if one cares to listen. 

“Alright. But only because you’re sensitive tonight.” He feels the lie leave his lips with insincerity - Atsumu can demand attention any day, any time, and Kiyoomi will cater to his every whim. 

He strips of his pants and shirt before slipping onto the bed beside his husband, allowing Atsumu to rove his hands over every inch of expeosed skin the moment he lays down. Atsumu feels him up like a man starved of touch, hungry fingertips tracing the divots of his muscles. 

Kiyoomi sighs into the gentle touch of his husband - Atsumu’s hands are magic, he’s sure. What other explanation is there for the way Atsumu can melt him to putty in his fingers with a few only simple strokes and kisses?

“Mmm,” Kiyoomi hums, a satiated melody, as Atsumu meets his lips in a kiss that tastes like strawberry chapstick and fruity liquor. Atsumu always tastes so good, especially after stealing all of Kiyoomi’s drinks. 

Atsumu slides a hand up his torso, palming at his pec, squeezing the muscle of his shoulder. His hot tongue pushes between Kiyoomi’s lips, exploring him, dragging along the roof of his mouth with slow intent - there is nothing rushed nor desperate about it, just slowness with the subtlety of spring sun. 

Kiyoomi rolls atop his husband, proping himself up on a forearm so as not to crush Atsumu beneath him. His mouth never leaves his the setter’s, the need for them to be connected at every point overriding the burning for air in his lungs. 

Atsumu makes a sound, a needy sound, a gorgeous sound, a sound that has Kiyoomi addicted just from the way it feels against his tongue - silky smooth and sweet. He’s heard it before, but he knows he has to hear it again. 

He laves his tongue across the roof of Atsumu’s mouth, sliding his hand across the satin surface of his husband’s thighs. Atsumu is truly heaven on the senses - impossibly silky skin, lips petal soft and pillowy and sweet, muscles firm under Kiyoomi’s touch, smelling of home and mint and camomile, looking like a dream come to life. 

“Mmm,” Atsumu presses a needy sound into the nonexistent space between them. “Ya keep kissin’ me like that, yer gonna have that fuck me, baby.” 

What a tantalizing proposition, the kind that has his cock hardening in his boxers, against Atsumu’s soft, muscular thigh. Atsumu seems to sense his moment of weakness, pressing his leg up between Kiyoomi’s - sparks of pleasure shoot up and down his spine, mouth falling open. 

“C’mon baby I know ya want to,” Atsumu’s whisper in his ear is dirty and lewd and drawing him ever closer like a magnet. In the way that the moon holds agency over the tides, Atsumu holds him in callused setter hands. His heart thrums against his ribcage. “I can feel how hardja are fer me. Y’wanna fill me up with yer thick cock an’ fuck me ‘till I cry-“ 

But no, that’s not what he wants… He wants- 

“I want to make you feel good.” 

The words fall off his lips unbidden, before he has a chance to swallow them down. The truth always uncovers itself - someone said that once, Kiyoomi is sure. 

So he digs in his heels, looking Atsumu in hazel eyes as he whispers, “I want to make you feel good, Tsumu.”

Atsumu’s eyes sparkle with something that sits so close to tears, but they never fall. Instead a small smile takes root, achingly fond. 

“I really love ya Omi.” 

Kiyoomi’s hand moves on its own then, rooting through their nightstand of its own accord until he locates a small bottle of lube. His lips never leave Atsumu’s skin as he dexterously flips the cap and slicks up his fingers, warming the substance in his hands - tonight is about making his husband feel safe, comfortable and loved and cared for. 

Tentatively, he slips Atsumu’s boxers down his long legs, taking the chance to drag his palms against silken skin, before slipping his hand between muscled thighs. Atsumu’s heat radiates, breath quickening as Kiyoomi’s fingers press against his rim - the spiker’s mouth waters just thinking about how hot it must be inside him.

“God babe, so fucking good for me,” he whispers, reveling in the way Atsumu’s body reacts under his touch, the way he twists his head to the side with reigned-in pleasure as Kiyoomi pushes a finger into him. Atsumu’s chest rises and falls with moan-laced breaths - Kiyoomi’s stomach coils right with arousal as Atsumu grabs the pillow under his head with one hand, rapture twisting his beautiful face.  

As predicted, Atsumu is hot, walls soft and hugging his fingers too tight. He can only allow his head to fall forward as desire ride up on him at the thought of being wrapped in Atsumu’s heat.

“Does it feel good baby?” Kiyoomi kisses the words against his pec, pressing a kitten lick to his pert pink nipple before taking it into his mouth fully. Atsumu moans, long and lewd, rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. Kiyoomi can only groan, reverent, as he pushes in a second finger in to the base of his knuckle and receives in return Atsumu’s back lifting off the bed in a perfect arc. 

He paints a vivid picture, lost in pleasure, skin glowing under the devotion of moonlight, so ethereal he’s almost too good to be true. A porcelain doll with soft rosy lips that part around silent screams, crystal tears falling from his eyes. 

A matrimony of sin and virtue that dances on his skin, in his eyes - endless pools of bottomless hazel that draw him in and drown him in their depths. 

Kiyoomi pulls his fingers apart, stretching Atsumu’s blushing hole. 

“Oh, oh, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu grips the sheets in one hand, crumples the pillow in the other, as he writhes. Pleasure twists his eyebrows together, “God, god Omi.” 

“Tsumu are you ready?” 

Atsumu nods, shallow and slow on a gasping breath as he pulls his fingers out. Kiyoomi drops their foreheads together, affection over spilling his heart’s capacity. 

“Atsumu, you are beautiful,” Kiyoomi knows his husband doesn’t believe him, he can see it in the soft shimmer of golden-hazel eyes, in the tears that have yet to fall. He kisses where they will be, where they have been. “And I don’t care what anybody says to you, you always have been and you always will be enough for me.” 

With the gentlest touch, he eclipses Atsumu’s hand in his own, pressing feather light kisses to his palm, his wrist, each digit of his fingers. 

“You are a Beta. And you-” Kiyoomi captures his lips, soft and sweet and filled with every bit of fondness he holds for the setter. He whispers against plush lips, “And you’re amazing. And you are gorgeous and talented and you work so hard. And I’m so fucking proud of you Atsu.” 

Atsumu sobs, heartbreakingly sad, and draws Kiyoomi close close close with muscled arm around the spiker’s shoulders. Kiyoomi presses their chests together, heartbeats in sync, and kisses and kisses and kisses. 

“You are everything to me. And you deserve the entire world,” Kiyoomi wraps the setter in his arms, pressing their foreheads together so they’re connected at every point. “And I’m sorry I can’t give  it to you. Because if I could-“ 

“Yer my entire world Kiyoomi,” Atsumu chokes out before he can finish, eyes sparkling, lips stretched with a sob slowly morphing into a trembling smile. He whispers shakily, “Yer my entire world.” 

The thick thighs around his waist squeeze then, ever so slightly, tightening and encouraging his hips forward - Kiyoomi abides by their wishes, sinking into his husband, sparks of pleasure shooting up and down his spine as Atsumu’s tight hole clenches around his cock. Atsumu whines, high and loud into the space between them, and Kiyoomi stops without having to be told. 

“Atsu,” Kiyoomi whispers, ever patient. Sometimes this happens - Betas are not like Omegas who produce slick and pain-mediating hormones during sex, who’s bodies prepare themselves to be bred. So sometimes he needs to be treated gently, and sometimes Kiyoomi needs to be patient with him. People think it’s a fault in their relationship but Kiyoomi knows it’s the crux on which it is built. “Atsu am I hurting you?” 

Kiyoomi brushes back bangs from his husband’s teary eyes, sparkling with a fresh wave of tears. Kiyoomi kisses his lips, once, twice, again and again as Atsumu sobs, shuddering and fragile. 

“Slower please, Omi,” Kiyoomi nods, running deft fingers through golden locks, pressing soft kisses to every part of his husband’s face - his cheek, his nose, his forehead. “I’m sorry Omi-“ Atsumu coughs. “I’m sorry-“ 

“No, no no no,” Kiyoomi hates when Atsumu apologizes for what he feels, for how he’s hurting. He hates it that the setter feels like he has to apologize for who he is. That he can’t seem to love himself the way he deserves. “No, Atsumu why are you apologizing?” 

“I-…” the words stop on a choked off sob as another wave of tears rolls down rosy cheeks. “I want ta be everythin’ ya deserve.” 

Kiyoomi’s heart breaks in his chest, eyes burning as he looks down at this man who deserves nothing but love and reverence from the world yet somehow ends up with the opposite. This man who he loves more than anything else in the world, who owns every bit of his heart and then some. 

“Atsumu…I don’t deserve you,” he tells the setter earnestly, not a single hint of dishonesty. He pushes in, keeping his pace slow and voice steady, even as liquid bliss flows through his veins, “And I know I never will. But you make me so fucking happy. And you always make me feel so good, okay? It doesn’t matter if you’re a Beta, no one else can make me feel like you do.” 

Atsumu holds onto his shoulders as if Kiyoomi will disappear if he lets go. 

”Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect,” Kiyoomi drops their foreheads together and pushes in to the hilt until Atsumu’s pelvis cradles his hips. Fully seated inside his husband, Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, holding his Alpha at bay - Atsumu doesn’t can’t handle fast and hard tonight. “I’m so in love with you. I’m so in love with you Atsu, I could never want anyone else.” 

He flattens his palms against his husband’s thighs, squeezing the well-developed muscle and kneading it between his fingers. 

“Am I okay to move, babe?” 

Atsumu nods, sliding his fingers up the length of Kiyoomi’s neck to tangle in dark curls, pulling him impossibly close. 

Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu slow and achingly tender as he thrusts shallowly into the setter, keeping his movements soft and languid, careful not to hurt his husband. It feels so fucking good, so tight and hot inside Atsumu, walls velvety and silky around his cock. 

“God you’re so fucking perfect, Atsu,” Kiyoomi presses the words against hot skin, rolling his hips so that their bodies slap with blissful collision, a lewd symphony when in harmony with Atsumu’s soft moans. “So fucking gorgeous.” 

Atsumu’s abs ripple beneath his, hips rolling up into his, fucking himself back on Kiyoomi’s cock to meet his every thrust. 

“Ah ah ah,” Atsumu whines, throaty and delicious, thick with bliss as his cock, hot and heavy and leaking precum between them aids the slick slide of their bodies - Kiyoomi shakes his head to keep his inner Alpha at bay, knowing that rough and intense is not what Atsumu needs. He needs it soft and sweet, needs to be loved, to be shown just how fucking good he makes Kiyoomi feel. “Omi.” 

“Are you- fuck-“ Kiyoomi drops his head to the crook of Atsumu’s neck, pleasure wracking through him as his swollen cockhead hits Atsumu’s prostate dead on and the setter tightens around him like a vice. “Fuck Atsu…Atsu do you feel good?” 

“Yes, yes Omi,” Atsumu humps his hips up faster, strong legs pulling him deeper, urging him closer - Kiyoomi obliges, fucking into Atsumu harder and harder until the movement of their bodies shakes the bed, headboard slapping against the wall of their bedroom. “Feels good, feels good Omi please-“ 

“God yes, Atsu,” Kiyoomi can’t stop the edge of something out of control from seeping through his movements as he rocks his hips faster and faster, fast enough so that Atsumu’s moans have become needy and borderline desperate. He slides his hands to the underside of the setter’s perfect thighs, pushing them up to his tits. “Atsu I- You have to tell me if I- Fuck, mnnng Atsumu.” 

“Don’t stop Omi,” Atsumu’s hands in his hair curl tight as he nearly screams, Kiyoomi finding his prostate again and again. “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, feels so good Omi don’t stop-“ 

“I won’t- god, I won’t, baby you’re so good to me,” Kiyoomi doesn’t even know what he’s saying, all the love he holds for the man beneath him spilling out in his words as sweat beads at his hairline, the heat in his abdomen coiling tight tight tight - he’s so goddamn close he can feel his orgasm riding up on him as his hips meet the curve of Atsumu’s plush ass and gorgeous thighs over and over. “I love you so much Atsumu, I love you so much, I swear to fucking god baby- Fuck-”

Atsumu whines breathy sounds, clenching around Kiyoomi’s cock as the spiker fucks into him. The pressure is tight and hot and pulls a shuddering gasp off Kiyoomi’s lips as pleasure burns his every nerve - Atsumu always feels so fucking good, like heaven wrapped around him, moaning under him, Kiyoomi’s every wet dream come to life in the package of god-like body and thick cock pressed between their abs. 

It wouldn’t matter if Atsumu were an Alpha, an Omega, or a Beta, it doesn’t matter what Atsumu’s type is, just that he’s him and he’s beautiful in whichever way he exists. And that Kiyoomi will love him for forever and a day. 

It only takes a couple more hot thrusts into Atsumu’s tight hole for Kiyoomi’s mind to go blank, pleasure tingling in his fingertips, heart beating in his chest for the man in his arms as he comes deep inside Atsumu. It’s intense, and perfect and bliss burns hot beneath his skin as he spills into his husband, those thick thighs and strong arms holding him desperately close. His lips are open in a gape, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the hot skin of the setter’s neck as he rides out his orgasm, canting his hips in shallow circles to push his husband over the edge. 

“I love you I love you I love you,” falls from his lips on a rush as Atsumu squeezes his thighs around Kiyoomi impossibly tight, his back arching off the bed in a beautiful arc as he comes hot between their stomachs. His hands grip Kiyoomi’s shoulders too hard, nails digging crescent moons against his skin, but it’s euphoric, and the way Atsumu’s gorgeous face twists with pleasure as he reaches his peak is enough to make Kiyoomi fall in love all over again. 

“I love you, Atsumu,” he whispers reverently as they come down - he strokes a hand through his husband’s sweat-soaked hair, thumbs across a plush bottom lip, kisses away the stray tears that paint his cheeks. He means each word, each syllable, when he says, “You’re my everything.” 

Atsumu smiles at him - his first full, real, beautiful smile of the night - and Kiyoomi feels his heart swell too big for his chest. 

“Yer everythin’ everythin’?” 

And Kiyoomi knows in this moment that he would do anything anything anything just to see his husband smile like this - so genuine and full of joy. He would capture the stars from the sky and burn the world to the ground. 

So he promises, “My everything everything.”