Breedle 💛🐝🍯 | 🍉 #KeepEyesOnSudan
@kiyohmeohmy
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Writer | I write stories on ao3 @ kiyohmeohmy | Color yellow enthusiast | Kita Shinsuke enthusiast | HQ | Certified lover girl | Header + PFP by @drawnbymabel |
24 | she/her | INFJ | 18+
Joined April 2021
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For easy access, I will be pinning this to my profile. Feel free to stop by to get your clicks in, and share this around for easy outreach. Do this every single day. It takes no more than 5 seconds of your time to do. Free Palestine.
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Please, I am begging you—please, please, please do not lose your kindness, your empathy, your compassion. It is such a dark world we live in but loving others, finding wonder in the night skies, revering every blade of green grass, is what keeps the light alive. Keep it alive.
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Sakusa “If you really loved me you’d go drive to get me ice cream at 3am” Kiyoomi
Atsumu “You’re a manipulative little shit, what flavor do you want and also where are my pants?” Miya
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MY FAVORITE HAIKYUU CHARACTERS AS SQUISHMALLOWS: A thread.
Just hear me out, it’ll all make sense.
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I think my favorite part of Kiyoomi’s character is the wiggle room we all have to understand and “create” him for ourselves. We are given basics. He hates crowds and germs, struggled with nerves. He’s competitive. Driven. A little lonely, maybe. Came from a busy family.
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Sakusa “You don’t know a damn thing about me” Kiyoomi
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Miya “I don’t. But God, do I want to” Atsumu
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Atsumu is definitely the kind of boyfriend that observes Kiyoomi as he does the most mundane things with gooey, lovestruck eyes, like folding their laundry or reading a book. When Omi asks him what he’s staring for, he merely replies, “It’s just nice, watchin’ ya exist.”
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When Kiyoomi is angry with somebody, their very presence is enough to make his teeth grind together.
Atsumu is blissfully unaware of this fact for ages because, to the surprise of nearly everyone (including Kiyoomi himself), the blond knows how to keep on his good side.
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#sakuatsu
#hqprideweek
- Day 1: Coming out.
For the majority of Kiyoomi’s teenage years, he thinks he’ll never experience romantic love.
And that’s a problem, really, considering that it’s expected of him.
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Sakusa “I hate you, you’re so irritating” Kiyoomi
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Miya “You don’t hate me, ya want my dick in yer ribs” Atsumu
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If you’re a writer or an artist of any kind and you struggle with envy, listen up: there is enough space in this world for all of us to shine.
I want you to read that again.
There is enough space in this world for all of us to shine, to thrive, and to support one another.
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“KIYooMi hAs nO persONAlity hE iS SO duLl aND meAN anD SCaRY” this man wore a chef’s hat to hand a truck load of homemade chocolates out to his teammates, he is a theatrical dork.
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I have a personal headcanon that Atsumu acts like Mr. Bitches because he knows that he’s attractive, and he knows that he could get some if he wants to, but he just—hasn’t. He is not actually Mr. Bitches. It is a defense mechanism, this man is awkward and has no game.
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Atsumu and Kiyoomi cuddling in their bed, laptop resting across their legs, and a movie playing that they only half watch because they’re too busy sharing kisses.
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#sakuatsu
I feel like Atsumu and Omi are bad at being proper boyfriends to each other, at first. They don’t lack passion. They don’t lack feelings for one another — Lord knows they’re both intensely emotional beings, to begin with.
They merely lack experience.
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Miya “I want you on my team” Atsumu
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Sakusa “So does everybody else” Kiyoomi
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#sakuatsu
#sakusakiyoomi
Kiyoomi is single-handedly the grumpiest birthday boy known to man. No sniveling, bratty four-year-old who wanted vanilla frosting instead of chocolate is capable of competing—it’s not even close to a tie.
Atsumu doesn’t know what to do.
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“It’s cold inside of my head, sometimes,” Kiyoomi admits, cheek smushed against his propped up knee. His body curls inward like something broken. “It’s stupid.”
Fingers card through his curls, matted with sweat
“That’s okay, darlin’,” Atsumu assures. “Good thing I run warm.”
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#sakuastu
“Atsumu. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. Can we go back inside yet?” Kiyoomi moans theatrically, rubbing his mitten-clad hands against his arms.
Peacoats may be stylish but they clearly aren’t practical. Maybe a puffer jacket will be a nice Christmas gift this year, Atsumu notes.
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Sometimes, Kiyoomi feels empty. He isn’t sure why. Some days, the world just doesn’t seem as bright. Some days, he cannot think of reasons compelling enough to clamber from his bed.
He isn’t necessarily lonely. He isn’t sure of what he is, really. He merely feels hollow.
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I MADE A QUIZ BECAUSE I GOT BORED. Take it, if you’d like! 💛
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Their first kiss, Atsumu figures, doesn’t really count as one at all.
Because just as their lips brush—a featherlight, barely there touch—Kiyoomi leans away, averting his gaze with impressive speed. His cheeks glow red like an apple, brows furrowing together discontentedly.
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“May I kiss you?”
“May I touch you here?”
“Do you like that?”
“Is this alright?”
“I want you to feel safe.”
“Tell me what you like. I want to know how to touch you.”
KYAAAAAAAAA *screams in sexy consent*
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Kiyoomi “Loving me is hard work” Sakusa
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Atsumu “I’ve always been ambitious, I’ll even work overtime” Miya
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Hot take: Kiyoomi kicks his feet in bed/squeals into his pillow when Atsumu and him are bantering via text during the “talking stage” of their relationship. He would rather set himself on fire on the hottest day of the year than EVER be caught doing it.
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Atsumu is a classic romantic.
Some days, he carries Kiyoomi bridal style, dashes into their bedroom, plops all six feet and change of him onto their unmade bed. Atsumu gives him back massages. He lathers his pale, mole speckled skin with body butter; he takes his sweet time.
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Kiyoomi is Disgust from Inside Out. No, I will not be explaining this any further. It just is.
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NSFW//
TO MY SEXUALLY ACTIVE MOOTS WITH VAGINAS: Use. Condoms. Do NOT take no for an answer. If your partner refuses to use a condom, your partner doesn’t respect you and you shouldn’t be laying down with somebody so emotionally immature and disrespectful. Protect yourselves.
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MY FAVORITE HAIKYUU SHIPS AS UNIQUE, “EASIER TO MISS” DISPLAYS OF INTIMACY — in my humble opinion, of course. A thread!!
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Atsumu, cursing at the television screen like a sailor on the high seas as he plays some video game or other, while Kiyoomi politely ignores him to flip quietly through a book beneath a blanket and sip a glass of wine. This is a canon event!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Atsumu definitely busts his ass—and apologizes profusely for whatever the hell he did—to gain Kiyoomi’s favor once again.
The team teases him relentlessly for being “whipped”. But when Kiyoomi’s eyes soften and his lips brush Atsumu’s cheek, the setter decides he doesn’t mind.
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“Good.”
With that, Atsumu kisses him. He kisses like he’s starving, or dying, or both. He kisses Kiyoomi like he never will again.
The onslaught of affection nurtures his soul. Sure, the kisses don’t heal what’s been broken.
But if nothing else, they’re one hell of a start.
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Kiyoomi and Atsumu are both socially awkward dweebs. Atsumu tends to be too loud, too excitable, too “big” with his emotions. Kiyoomi is overly cautious, and people might think he feels nothing outside of his anxieties.
Alone together, they can let down their defenses and be.
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“Typical Miya. Always running off at the mouth and never taking the time to hear what I have to say.”
“Because ya never say anythin’ worth listenin’ to! Ya just cross yer arms and pout like a fuckin’ child n’expect me ta know what ya want.”
“I wanted you to stay. That’s all.”
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In my mind, Kiyoomi is wearing a robe, drinking a glass of Chardonnay, and reading a mystery novel after a long day of volleyball practice and Atsumu is donning a “kiss the cook” apron, burning something in their little kitchen, cursing on FaceTime with Osamu. It’s canon to me!!!
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Certifiably insane, Kiyoomi guesses. Maybe already a little bit in love.
He doesn’t say so, though.
He just yanks the blond in closer by his shirt collar.
“It makes me unsatisfied,” Kiyoomi snaps. “Because we stopped. So, fucking kiss me, Miya. Don’t make me regret it.”
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Kiyoomi, angrily: You’re so insufferable, Miya, it’s a shame that you’re attractive. What a waste.
Atsumu, grinning: So, ya think I’m attractive?
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He huffs in lieu of a response, taking a long and hard sip of his tea. It burns his tongue. Still, Kiyoomi finds that he doesn’t care, even as it scalds his throat.
This ongoing trend — the bickering, the screaming matches — hurts more than a cup of far-too-hot tea.
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“You shouldn’t kneel on the floor. It’s dirty. You’ll ruin your jeans.”
“Fuck it, I don’t care about my jeans! I care about you, Kiyoomi! I love you. I love you so much, Omi. Don’t ya know that? How can you doubt that?”
“Because I’m unbearable.” He sobs, voice breaking.
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When Kiyoomi greets Atsumu with a glowering stare and a spat, “Can you stop breathing so loudly?” in lieu of a simple ‘good morning’, however, the blond knows that his golden streak has come to a violent and sudden end.
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“I know I’m not easy to be with. I know that I complain and I nitpick and I can be an asshole, but so can you, Atsumu. But I still miss you. I miss you, and you act like I have the plague. Is being around me so awful?” He asks.
“Baby, no.”
“Do you even love me anymore?”
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Kiyoomi Sakusa is this black cat Squishmallow. Pretty, grumpy, and equipped with claws.
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“I don’t care if you’re angry. We can talk it out. I’ll stop being so stubborn. I’m tired of going to bed angry. Just be with me there. Okay?”
When Atsumu sniffles, puffy eyes crinkling at their corners, Kiyoomi knows that they have a deal.
“Okay.”
And for now, it’s enough.
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“No quittin’ on us, right?”
“No quitting.”
“Even when it’s hard?”
“Especially when it’s hard.”
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And those words slice through him, cutting sharp like a carving knife. Because Kiyoomi can see it, deep in those glossy eyes, as clear as morning dew. It’s sheer honesty, being spoken.
‘Yer tha best thing I’ve got.’
Kiyoomi sniffles.
“So, then where do we go from here?”
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“Even at your very worst, I still want you. Even if you don’t want me.” Kiyoomi rasps, voice fizzling out to the faintest of tearful, trembling whispers.
“Please don’t say that love isn’t enough anymore. Please, just — what can I do, Atsu? What will make it enough?”
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But just how long can an umbrella hold up in a hurricane?
“Are you happy, Atsumu?” He asks.
“Am I happy?” The blond parrots, words falling from his mouth slow.
“Are you?” Kiyoomi repeats. “Because I love you. I’m in love with you. But I’m not happy.”
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Bokuto Koutarou is this gray owl. There is literally nothing behind those eyes. Just — so empty of all thoughts. He sure is cute and friendly looking, though! 13/10, would give a huge and loving squeeze.
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//The end. Consider this thread the sequel to my previous. The story hadn’t felt finished and — hint hint — it still isn’t.
Thank you for reading. For all of the people who have sent me beautiful messages, saying this thread felt personal for you:
It doesn’t rain forever. 💛
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He allows the broken, hiccuping sobs to escape him, tears pouring down his face in rivers. Perhaps the tears are wasted water, but there is no way to stop them from falling now.
“Omi.” Atsumu pleads. “I didn’t mean that, baby, c’mon. Look at me.”
“Didn’t you, though?”
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Hi guys!! I am not ready to come out to my IRL’s but since it’s Pride Month, I’d like to say this for myself: I am demisexual! It has been a long road of feeling out of place for “moving too slow” and feeling embarrassed of my own desires — or lack therof.
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“Givin’ me the silent treatment? That’ll fix it, right?”
Atsumu scoffs darkly from behind him. Kiyoomi flinches, his long fingers tightening around the handle of his mug.
Still, he says nothing.
“Come on, Omi. Just tell me what I did wrong.”
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Atsumu’s nibbled raw lips part. He searches for the words to say, floundering.
“Just tell me the truth.” Kiyoomi encourages. “Please.”
The blond swallows. “No. No, m’not. But I don’t wanna leave ya. A rough patch ain’t worth givin’ up on ya. Yer tha best thing I’ve got.”
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But it’s never that simple.
‘S’not fair of ya.’
After all, Atsumu knows how to push buttons.
“I’m the one who isn’t fair?” Kiyoomi asks quietly; he is deceptively calm.
“Because I find it unfair that you have to ask me what you did wrong. Shouldn’t you know?”
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“Kiyoomi—”
“You clearly meant it, if you said it. You clearly meant it, if you don’t come home anymore. We barely sleep together. On the weekends, you get home when I’m waking up. When we have practice in the morning, you hardly hold me. You act like we’re strangers.”
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Atsumu’s hands come to cup his face, and Kiyoomi finds the nerve to look at him. He sees nothing but aching looking back.
“Yer not unbearable, nothin’ about ya is unbearable.” Atsumu whispers tearfully. “I’m a dick with a bad temper. That was fucked up of me, m’so sorry.”
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“Have ya ever asked yerself why I’ve been goin’ out with tha team more? Why I haven’t been answerin’ tha phone?”
“Because you only care about yourself.” Kiyoomi says coolly, reaching for a napkin to sop up the spilled tea.
“No. Because yer fuckin’ unbearable ta be around.”
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Atsumu scoffs, dragging a palm down his face. “This fuckin’ shit again.” He mutters, just loud enough for Kiyoomi to hear.
Just loud enough to hurt, to drive the point home clear as crystal — Kiyoomi’s discontent is burdensome.
“If I’m askin’, then I don’t fuckin’ know!”
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Atsumu regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. Kiyoomi can tell by the shell-shocked expression on his face, whiskey eyes blown wide as though someone besides himself had spoken them.
The visible regret makes the words hurt no less. Regret doesn’t make them a lie.
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“Kiyoomi.”
“I know your favorite colors. I know that you hate broccoli because you’re a fucking child and you only eat like, three vegetables. I know your shoe size, your pants size, every single one of your favorite comic books. But I forgot how to make you happy.”
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“Stop bein’ a fuckin’ child and speak up.” Atsumu snaps, still prodding. “S’not fair of ya.”
And really, Kiyoomi shouldn’t make things any worse than they have to be. He should keep his mouth blissfully shut, drink his piping cup of oolong and let the blond tire himself out.
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“Listen ta me. We’re in a bad spot right now. We’re fightin’, and we’re not seein’ eye to eye tha way we used to. But yer tha only person in this whole world that I will ever fight this hard for. I love you, Kiyoomi. So much. Yer love has always been enough for me, darlin’.”
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Kiyoomi snaps at that, slamming down his mostly full mug with a trembling fist. It clatters against the table with a thud.
“How do you not fucking know, Atsumu?” He shouts.
“Because yer fuckin’ impossible! Ya don’t fuckin’ communicate, s’like datin’ a toddler!”
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“Oh, I don’t communicate? Well, how’s this? You’ve been staying out all night with the team, you don’t clean a single fucking thing in this house, and you act like you having a fucking stick up your ass half the time that I’m around you. Do I need to continue? Because I can.”
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“I’m sorry.” Kiyoomi sobs, eyes clenched tight enough to hurt. “I’m so sorry, for everything.”
“I am, too. M’sorry that I said love ain’t enough anymore, I was just upset.”
“Do you promise?” Kiyoomi whispers, words broken and muffled by Atsumu’s now dampened skin.
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There’s this guy that lives alone in my apartment complex and he seems super grumpy and is very, very shy. But he has a little garden area out back that he tends to every day and a hummingbird feeder in his window and a bunch of plants and he’s Kiyoomi, I’ve decided.
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Atsumu Miya is this bright orange fox. Look at the trickery afoot in those deceptively cute eyes. Just look. This Squishmallow would totally eat your dessert while you’re not looking, if he had arms.
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As much as I enjoy the flavor that is cocky, boisterous Atsumu with an undercurrent of insecurity, matched with Kiyoomi and all of his scathing, humbling remarks…. what if both of them dared to enter their partnership with vulnerability?
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It was fucked up. Those words hurt Kiyoomi, like little else ever has. Even in their worst moments as a couple, Atsumu has never taken it so far.
Neither of them have.
Regret morphs Atsumu’s eyes into an unmistakable painting of grief. The sorrow mirrors Kiyoomi’s own.
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Kiyoomi swallows thickly, averting his gaze. He refuses to cry.
As Atsumu inches closer, steps measured and creeping, he shuts his glazed eyes altogether.
Kiyoomi swears that he won’t cry.
Yet, when a warm, unsteady hand comes to rest atop his back, Kiyoomi does.
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Atsumu speaks up first, as he always does.
“I didn’t mean that.” He whispers, as though he cannot bear to raise his voice an octave higher. It���s funny, really.
He had no problem shouting recklessly before.
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“Kiyoomi, we invite you out with us all tha fuckin’ time. Yer tha one with the bad attitude, actin’ like yer too good ta be seen in public with anybody.”
“That’s not what I act like and you know it.” Kiyoomi defends.
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“Maybe I’m tired of going out. If you ever paid any attention to me, you’d know that. But all you care about is yourself because you’re fucking selfish.” He spits.
Atsumu laughs humorously “Oh, now m’selfish? Gotta add that one to tha list! Keeps gettin’ longer by tha day.”
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What’s worse is that Kiyoomi cannot pinpoint what exactly they’re fighting for. Lately, it seems that they shout just to have something to say.
Vulnerability has been so hard, these days.
How did they get here? How did they get to crying on the kitchen floor?
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