#i think my sakusa obsession | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanasrkives · 23 days ago

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Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "PERMANENT NUMBERS" — Miya Atsumu, Suna Rintarou, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bokuto Kotarou and Oikawa Toru

In which, your boyfriend discovers your brand new tattoo! content : fluff. post timeskip. 3k words. Before reading : this was inspired by S2E1 of One Tree Hill!

── .✦ MIYA ATSUMU

It’s a lazy morning, sunlight slipping through the blinds, casting soft, golden lines across the tangled sheets. The air is quiet, filled only with the occasional rustle of fabric and the faint hum of the city outside. Atsumu’s half-awake, sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily draped across your waist.

You shift slightly, stretching as you adjust the oversized shirt you’re wearing—his shirt, actually. The hem rides up just enough, and the fabric shifts in a way that catches his attention. That’s when he sees it.

A small, sleek 13, inked in delicate black lines on the soft skin of your left ribs, just under your breast.

His breath hitches, blinking twice to make sure he’s not still half-dreaming. Then he props himself up on one elbow, squinting like he’s discovered a secret no one else knows.

“…Babe,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep but laced with something sharper—curiosity, surprise, and just a hint of disbelief. “Is that… what I think it is?”

You freeze for a second, realizing exactly what he’s looking at. Before you can respond, his fingers are already there, tracing the ink with a feather-light touch. His thumb brushes just below the tattoo, not bold enough to press directly on it, like it’s something fragile.

“You got my number?” he says, this time with a grin creeping into his voice, playful and cocky like always. “Ya really couldn’t help yerself, huh? Had to make it official?”

You roll your eyes, trying to shrug it off. “It’s not that deep, Tsumu.”

“Oh, babe,” he chuckles, leaning in, his lips ghosting over your skin, dangerously close to the tattoo. “It’s deep enough. You’ve got me on ya forever now.”

The teasing fades into something quieter when he looks up at you, his hand resting just above the ink. There’s a softness in his gaze, the kind he rarely shows without a smirk to cover it.

“Didn’t think I could love ya more,” he whispers, pressing a kiss just beside the tattoo, “but here we are.”

For the next few days, he’s obsessed—his fingers always finding their way to that spot, brushing over it absentmindedly, like he needs to remind himself it’s real. He’ll tease you about it nonstop, but the way his eyes soften every time he catches a glimpse says more than his words ever could.

── .✦ SUNA RINTAROU

It’s a late afternoon, the sun casting a soft orange glow through the blinds. You’re in the bedroom, casually changing into more comfortable clothes after a long day. Suna’s lounging on the bed, propped up on one elbow, lazily scrolling through his phone.

You pull your shirt over your head, not even thinking about it, and as you stretch, the fabric shifts just enough to reveal a small, neat 7 inked just above your hipbone, following the curve of your waist.

You don’t notice. But Suna does.

His scrolling slows, thumb hovering over the screen. He squints slightly, eyes narrowing—not in confusion, but in that signature Suna way, like he’s silently judging the universe.

“…Is that a tattoo?” he asks flatly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You freeze for a split second, then glance over your shoulder. His eyes are locked on your waist, a subtle glint of amusement hidden behind the usual boredom.

“Oh,” you say, tugging your shirt back down with casual indifference. “Yeah.”

He sets his phone down without looking away. “Is that… my number?”

You shrug, pretending not to care. “Maybe.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he shifts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes are still on you—sharp, curious, but with a lazy tilt to his smirk.

“Did I miss the part where you joined my fan club?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. The initiation ceremony was last week. Sorry you missed it.”

He chuckles softly, standing up and crossing the room with that slow, effortless stride of his. He tugs the hem of your shirt up just an inch—not asking for permission, just doing it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His fingers brush against your skin, tracing the edge of the ink lightly.

“Huh,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “It’s kinda cool. Looks better on you than it does on my jersey.”

You snort. “Don’t get used to the compliment.”

He smirks, leaning down to press a quick, soft kiss right above the tattoo. Then he straightens, hands slipping into his pockets like none of this fazes him at all.

“…Still weird, though,” he adds as he walks back to the bed, grabbing his phone again. “But, like… the good kind.”

And that’s the end of it. No dramatic declarations, no over-the-top reactions—just Suna being Suna. But later, when you’re both lying in bed, you catch him glancing at that spot again, his fingers lazily drifting there without a word.

Because that’s just how he is.

── .✦ SAKUSA KIYOOMI

You’re sitting on the couch, lazily flicking through your phone while Sakusa is settled nearby, his attention supposedly locked on his game. The faint clicks of buttons fill the room, punctuated by occasional bursts of commentary from the screen. But even with his focus on the match, you can feel his eyes flicker toward you every now and then—a brief glance, quick enough that anyone else would miss it.

You stretch slightly, setting your phone aside before standing to grab a drink from the kitchen. Your shirt shifts as you move, lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin—and with it, the small, black 15 tattooed on your lower back.

You don’t think twice about it.

But Sakusa does.

His gaze snaps to it, sharp and immediate, though the motion is subtle—so subtle you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t turned around just in time to catch the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. He quickly shifts his attention back to the screen, pretending nothing happened, but there’s a tension in the way his fingers tighten slightly around the controller.

“…That’s my number,” he says after a beat, his tone flat, almost indifferent. But his voice is quieter than usual, and when you glance back, his expression isn’t as composed as he wants it to be. His eyes are still lingering, dark and curious, betraying the calm façade.

You raise an eyebrow, playing it cool. “Yeah. It is.”

You expect a sarcastic remark, maybe a disinterested shrug—typical Sakusa responses. But none of that comes.

Instead, he sets his controller down slowly, almost too carefully, and stands. There’s a brief pause, like he’s second-guessing himself, then he crosses the room in a few quiet steps. He stops just behind you, the warmth of his presence making your skin prickle. Without saying a word, his hand lifts, fingers hesitating for the briefest moment before lightly pressing against the ink.

His touch is feather-light, almost like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

“I didn’t think you’d do something like that,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, quieter, as if admitting it out loud makes it more real. His fingertips trace the edges of the tattoo slowly, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest pink flush dusting his cheeks, though he refuses to meet your gaze. His eyes stay locked on the tattoo, his expression unreadable—but there’s something softer there, something unspoken.

“But…” He clears his throat softly, fingers twitching slightly as he lets his hand fall back to his side. “I’m glad you did.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns away, walking back to the couch as if nothing happened. But his movements aren’t as fluid as before—there’s a stiffness in his posture, like he’s trying too hard to be nonchalant.

Later that night, when the game is long forgotten and you’re both lounging on the couch, your legs stretched out across his lap, he casually brushes his hand along your lower back. His fingers drift lazily, almost absentmindedly, until they find their way back to the tattoo.

This time, he doesn’t pull away.

His fingertips linger, tracing slow, gentle circles over the ink, as if memorizing it by touch. His gaze stays fixed on the TV, but his voice comes quietly, softer than before:

“…I like it.”

You don’t respond—not with words, anyway. But the warmth blooming in your chest says enough.

── .✦ BOKUTO KOTAROU

The apartment is filled with the comforting hum of everyday life—music playing softly in the background, the faint clatter of dishes as Bokuto rummages through the kitchen, humming along with the beat. His energy is infectious, even in the simplest moments, like he can’t help but pour all of himself into everything he does.

You’re getting ready for bed, standing in front of the mirror, changing into a tank top when your shirt lifts, revealing the small, bold 12 inked along your ribcage, just beneath the curve of your sports bra. It’s simple, black ink, but striking against your skin.

You don’t think much of it.

But Bokuto sees it.

He freezes mid-step, a glass of water in his hand, eyes wide like he’s just spotted something unbelievable. There’s a beat of complete silence—rare for him—before he blurts out, voice loud and filled with awe:

“HEY—WAIT! IS THAT A TATTOO?!”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find him staring, eyes locked onto your side like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

You blink. “Uh… yeah?”

He rushes over in record time, completely forgetting about the glass in his hand, which sloshes water onto the floor as he sets it down hastily. His eyes are practically sparkling, and without hesitation, he lifts the hem of your tank top slightly—not roughly, just eager, his fingers warm against your skin.

“That’s a 12!” he exclaims, his grin stretching wide, full of excitement. “THAT’S MY NUMBER!”

You laugh, trying to tug your shirt back down, but he gently bats your hand away, still marveling at the tattoo like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“When did you get this?!” he asks, eyes flicking between your face and the ink.

“A while ago,” you say, amused by his reaction. “I just… didn’t mention it.”

His mouth drops open, completely scandalized. “YOU DIDN’T MENTION IT?! This is like—like—MONUMENTAL! This is LIFE-CHANGING INFORMATION!”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “It’s just a tattoo, Bokuto.”

“JUST a tattoo?” He looks genuinely offended, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “It’s MY NUMBER. On YOUR BODY. Forever!”

His voice echoes through the room, but there’s a warmth beneath the theatrics, something genuine in the way his fingers brush over the ink with surprising gentleness. His grin softens slightly, his loud energy settling into something quieter as his thumb traces the outline.

“…It’s really cool,” he says after a pause, his voice softer now, almost shy. “Like… really, really cool.”

You nudge him playfully. “Glad you approve.”

He laughs, bright and unrestrained, pulling you into a tight hug. “Approve? I LOVE IT!” He squeezes you like he’s trying to absorb the happiness radiating from the moment.

Later that night, when you’re both tangled up under the blankets, you feel his hand drift to your side again. This time, there’s no rush, no loud declarations—just his fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoo, a quiet reminder of how something so simple can mean the world to him.

── .✦ OIKAWA TOORU

It’s late in the evening, and you’re curled up on the couch, flipping through your messages and checking in with friends when your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen—Oikawa.

You can’t help but smile, your fingers swiping across the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, Tooru,” you greet, your voice light.

The call connects, and Oikawa’s face appears on screen. He’s lounging in his hotel room after a long day of practice, his hair a bit messy, looking cute despite himself. He flashes his signature grin, eyes sparkling with his usual mischief.

“Hey, hey, (Y/N),” he greets in that deep, drawling voice of his, his hands dramatically cupping his face. “You miss me already? You can’t get enough of me, huh?”

You roll your eyes at his usual playful antics, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. “Sure, Tooru, that’s exactly it.”

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, but as you lean back into your couch, your shirt rides up slightly, exposing a small 13 inked just below your collarbone. It’s subtle, but enough to catch his eye.

His gaze snaps to the screen, his eyes widening in surprise, and he freezes mid-sentence. You notice the shift immediately.

“Wait…” he breathes, leaning forward, his face filling the screen. “What was that? I—did you—?”

You tilt your head, pretending not to notice the intensity in his eyes. “What’s up, Tooru? Something on my face?”

He stares at you in disbelief, his voice rising in pitch. “Is that—Is that—MY NUMBER?!”

You try to stifle your laugh, watching his exaggerated reaction unfold. “Yup,” you say casually, leaning in just slightly to show him the tattoo more clearly. “It is.”

Oikawa’s expression goes from shock to full-on theatrical amazement. His hands fly to his face, his mouth forming a perfect “O” as he stares at you, still in disbelief.

“No way,” he says, his voice full of mock offense. “You—You got my number inked on your skin? For everyone to see? That’s so bold, (Y/N).”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “I thought it was a nice tribute, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” His grin widens, mischievous and dramatic as ever. “But come on, I’m flattered. Really. I mean, I do have the best number in volleyball history, so I guess it makes sense that you’d want to carry it with you forever.”

You laugh, but there’s a small rush of warmth in your chest. Oikawa’s usual teasing tone is so playful, but there’s something softer underneath it that you can feel even through the screen.

“Seriously, though,” he continues, his voice gentler now as he lowers his hands from his face, his eyes glued to the tattoo. “I’m… I’m glad you did that. I didn’t expect it, but I’m… honored.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift. His gaze softens even more as he leans closer to the screen, as if trying to get a better look at the tattoo. His fingers twitch like he wants to touch it.

“It's kind of perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I’m glad you picked me.”

His usual theatrics are back in full swing as he suddenly grins wide. “So, does this mean you’re my biggest fan now? Am I your favorite player? Huh?!”

You roll your eyes at him again, but the warmth in your chest lingers. You knew Oikawa would have a big reaction, but the affection in his voice caught you by surprise.

“Okay, I think you’ve made your point,” you tease, leaning back against your pillows. “I’ll make sure to flaunt it around.”

“I’m definitely gonna show this off,” he says, his grin still wide, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’m putting you on display for the world. Who wouldn’t want to see my number proudly tattooed on someone as amazing as you?”

You laugh, feeling your heart beat a little faster. “You’re too much, Oikawa.”

But as the call continues, you can’t help but notice the way his fingers linger near the screen, as if he’s touching the tattoo in his own way. He may be putting on his usual show, but beneath the dramatics, there’s a sincerity that makes your heart flutter.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @arwawawa2 @elmaa127

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foreveia · 11 days ago

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the leaders’ pact ⤨ sakusa kiyoomi

⨭ genre; college!au, friends-with-benefits to lovers

⨭ pairing; sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 12.7k

⨭ description; as it turns out, you and sakusa are the only people who truly understand just how much stress it is to run a student government, and well… you two find a way to blow off steam.

⨭ warnings; a lot of suggestive content, no graphic stuff tho sorry to disappoint this is Not smut, explicit language

⨭ a/n; i've decided sakusa is officially the most difficult person i've ever written abt which means y'all r gonna have to suffer through some horrible fics before i finally figure out the secret to kiyoomi. in the meantime, until i get to the level of being able to write him to my satisfaction, enjoy this part 2 of the asu trilogy :)

song i listened to writing this: 'don't wake me up' by mercer henderson

one.

Furudate University is, in one word, loud.

It’s one of its biggest charms, really—there’s something oddly comforting about being one in a crowd of thousands, about the constant hum of a campus that never fully sleeps. The lively debates over coffee-stained notes, the skateboarders who tempt fate on the cobblestone paths lining the central road, the professors who could be world-class researchers but still have to remind students to submit assignments in PDF format and not screenshots—it’s chaotic, it’s exhausting, and despite everything, you love it here.

That being said, at 1:47 AM, when you’re still in the ASU office drowning in a sea of unread emails and budget spreadsheets, you think maybe—just maybe—you should have picked a smaller school. One with fewer students. Fewer problems. Fewer reasons for you to be awake at this ungodly hour, questioning every life choice that led you here.

Because you’re the ASU president, and behind the lofty title is an overworked, drained, pitiful student who is really at her wits end, shoulder-deep in stupid complaints about the dining halls and unreasonable requests from faculty and alumni. And at this current moment in time, you’re stressed out about an event more than a month away, but already causing you significant problems in your life: the annual Spring Festival.

It’s a week-long ordeal, ending with a massive fundraiser gala that’s all dazzling lights and delicate floral arrangements; you spend half the budget on catering and the other half praying the student performers don’t ruin the atmosphere with an impromptu drum solo. It’s supposed to be the ASU’s shining achievement—proof that this student government is more than a glorified complaint department.

But right now? Right now, it’s a logistical nightmare.

And sitting across from you, flipping through a thick folder with all the enthusiasm of someone reading Terms & Conditions, is the only other person suffering through this hell with you.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, ASU’s executive vice president.

Sakusa, who has been in this office with you for hours, sifting through the same mountain of paperwork, answering the same stupid emails, keeping everything in order with his obsessive attention to detail.

Sakusa, who somehow manages to look completely fine while doing all of this.

You have personally descended into full goblin mode. You’re hunched over your desk, hair slipping out of your bun, posture absolutely horrendous. There is a growing stack of empty coffee cups by your desktop and a pad of post-its covered with scribbled reminders and notes; your workspace is as much of a mess as you are right now. Sakusa, meanwhile, is sitting up straight, scrolling through his tablet with an air of absolute indifference, looking like he could walk out of here and into a corporate meeting without breaking a sweat.

You hate him a little bit for that.

“This is a disaster,” you mutter, rubbing your temples.

“It is,” Sakusa agrees. “But that’s not new information.”

You glare at him. “Okay, but if one more person asks if we can move the gala to a rooftop venue, I might actually lose my mind.”

“They want a rooftop?” he asks, flipping to another page. “In April? In a city where it rained last year?”

“Apparently, ‘the ambiance would be breathtaking.’”

Sakusa stares at you. “The litigation would be breathtaking.”

“Right?” You throw up your hands. “I give it an hour before someone drinks too much and falls off the side.”

“Or before you push them.”

“...I’m not saying I would, but I’m not saying I wouldn’t.”

He hums, unimpressed, before pushing a document across the desk toward you. “Facility contracts,” he says. “Pick a venue so I can start drafting agreements.”

You groan, dropping your head dramatically against the table. “I can’t make any more decisions tonight.”

“Tough.”

“I physically cannot. I am a husk of a person.”

“Then drink some water.”

You lift your head just enough to frown at him. “Did you just tell me to hydrate? That’s your solution?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Fuck that. I need wine or something,” you huff, annoyed.

Sakusa doesn’t even blink. “Then go get some.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “...That sounded suspiciously close to permission.”

“I’m not your parent.” He finally looks up from his tablet, arching a brow. “You’re an adult. If you want to drink yourself into oblivion because of a student event, that’s on you.”

That’s all the encouragement you need.

Five minutes later, you’re sitting cross-legged on the office couch, the wine bottle freshly uncorked between you. Sakusa had taken exactly one look at the cup you found in the ASU storage cabinet (which had definitely been used for some underclassmen’s illicit party at some point) before deciding to drink straight from the bottle instead.

Fine by you.

You take a long sip before passing it back, watching as Sakusa tilts the bottle back with far less hesitation than you expected. You almost comment on it, but then again—if anyone needs to drink, it’s him.

The office is dimly lit, the overhead lights flicked off in favor of the warm glow of a single desk lamp. The exhaustion weighs heavy in the air, mingling with the soft clink of glass and the low rustle of Sakusa flipping a page in his binder.

For a while, there’s just silence.

Comfortable, in a way.

And maybe that’s why, when you finally tilt your head back against the couch, wine warm in your veins and pink in the cheeks, you finally break it. “This job is killing me,” you mutter.

Sakusa exhales, rubbing his temple. “Join the club.”

“You’re the only other person who gets it,” you murmur, staring at the ceiling. “Everyone else just sees the power trip. They don’t see the fucking bureaucracy, the politics, the alumni breathing down our necks. I swear to God, if one more administrator calls me ‘sweetie’—”

“They don’t respect us,” Sakusa says simply. “They never will.”

The words sit heavy between you. It’s the truth, the unspoken reality of student government. You have influence, sure. Responsibility, absolutely. But at the end of the day, you’re just placeholders—students playing pretend at running an institution that will outlive you by centuries.

And it’s exhausting.

Your eyes flicker to Sakusa. The furrow of his brows, the tight set of his jaw. He’s exhausted too.

You shift slightly, your knee brushing against his. He doesn’t move away.

The warmth of the wine lingers, but it’s not enough to explain the heat creeping up your neck. You tell yourself it’s just the exhaustion—just the absurdity of being awake at nearly 2 AM, drowning in bureaucratic bullshit with the only person who understands. But when you glance at him again, catching the way his fingers press absently into the label of the bottle, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze lingers on the floor for a second longer than necessary before meeting yours…

Something flips in your stomach.

A mistake, your brain whispers. A complication waiting to happen. You have to work with him. See him every day. Endure another semester of late nights in this very office, drowning in deadlines and bad coffee and biting remarks that somehow still feel like companionship. You don’t even want to think about what happens if this goes wrong.

But he doesn’t pull away.

Your breath catches. You can hear it, the quiet sound in the stillness of the office. Your heart is an unsteady drumbeat in your chest, something traitorous stirring beneath your ribs. His gaze flickers—down, then up—his throat bobbing in a quiet swallow.

Then he moves.

His lips meet yours, firm and deliberate. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the sharp edge of tension snapping between you, unraveling all at once.

You don’t think. You just react, your fingers threading into his dark hair as he pulls you closer. The empty wine bottle slips from your grasp, landing with a muffled thud against the couch cushions, but you barely notice.

He’s warm. Solid. His hands don’t just grip your waist—they press, anchor, claim. A slow, deliberate pull, like he wants you here, exactly here. There’s something controlled about the way he moves, like he’s holding back, like he’s measuring every touch, every breath.

It makes your skin burn.

You shift, legs draping over his lap, the fabric of his shirt soft under your fingertips as you tug him closer. When your hips roll against his experimentally, his breath stutters—a sharp inhale, his fingers flexing against your sides. The sound sends something electric through you, a shiver that starts at the base of your spine and spreads outward, curling hot in your chest.

Your breath is ragged when he finally pulls away, lips swollen, eyes dark and unreadable. He stares at you for a moment, something flickering across his expression—something unspoken, something dangerous.

“We shouldn’t—” he starts, voice hoarse.

You cut him off with another kiss, hands sliding under his shirt, nails skimming lightly over the firm plane of his stomach. He exhales sharply against your mouth, grip tightening—not just on your waist now, but your hips, your thighs, the fabric of your sweater bunched between his fingers like he’s trying to ground himself.

Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe this is reckless, a mistake in the making.

But right now, it doesn’t feel like one.

Right now, you just need this.

And judging by the way Sakusa exhales, tilts his head back slightly as your lips trail along his jaw, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, so does he.

two.

You wake up to warmth.

The blankets are too heavy, too soft; the pillow beneath your head isn’t yours, and the mattress is firmer than what you’re used to. The air smells faintly of laundry detergent, crisp and clean, and for a few blissful seconds, none of this sets off any alarm bells.

Then you shift.

And your leg brushes against something—someone.

Your entire body goes rigid.

Slowly, carefully, you open your eyes.

Sakusa is lying beside you, still half-asleep.

Oh. Oh, shit.

Your brain kicks into overdrive, panic slamming into you at full force.

You don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t blink—like maybe if you stay perfectly still, reality will reset itself and you’ll wake up in your own bed, like none of this ever happened.

You rub your eyes. Nope. No, you’re still here. In Sakusa’s bed.

Last night comes rushing back in fragments.

The office, the spreadsheets, the overwhelming weight of responsibility pressing down on you both. The frustration, the exhaustion, the bottle of wine. The way his voice had dipped lower, the sharp inhale when your fingers slipped beneath his shirt. The way he kissed you—deliberate, controlled, like he was trying to hold himself back but couldn't quite bring himself to stop.

And, apparently, didn’t.

Your face burns.

You can’t do this. You need to get out of here. Right now.

Very, very carefully, you begin to inch toward the edge of the bed. If you can just get up without waking him, you can grab your clothes, sneak out, and pretend this never happened—

“You’re awake,” Sakusa mutters, voice rough with sleep.

You freeze.

His eyes are barely open, but there’s enough clarity in them to tell you that he’s fully aware of the situation. He blinks slowly, processing, before exhaling and rubbing a hand over his face.

For a moment, there’s silence.

You should say something. Address the elephant in the room. Acknowledge that, somehow, you and Sakusa Kiyoomi—the only other person in ASU who understands your suffering, who you bicker with more than you talk, who is supposed to be your goddamn vice president and right-hand man—woke up in the same bed.

Instead, the first thing out of your mouth is:

“This is bad.”

Sakusa lets out a quiet, barely-there groan and turns his head slightly toward you. “I was hoping it was a dream.”

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

Another silence. Neither of you move.

Your heart is still hammering in your chest, but now that the initial panic is fading, your brain starts working through the situation. Rationalizing.

You and Sakusa don’t even like each other. Okay, that’s not entirely true, but your dynamic has always been built on mutual endurance, on suffering together in the trenches of student government. Exchanging exhausted sighs over idiotic administrative emails and bitter remarks over ridiculous student requests.

This wasn’t… feelings.

It was stress. Overwork. Too much responsibility and not enough outlets to relieve it.

You sit up slowly, pulling the blanket around yourself. “Look, let’s just… not freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You look like you’re contemplating the meaning of life.”

“I always look like that.”

Okay, fair point. Still, you don’t miss the way his fingers are curled slightly into the sheets, tension lingering in his posture.

You take a deep breath. “Last night was a mistake.”

Sakusa’s gaze flickers to you. “Obviously.”

Something about the way he says it irritates you. You roll your eyes. “Wow, again with the rudeness.”

“I just mean it was inevitable,” he exhales sharply, rubbing his temple.

You blink. “Wait, you think this was inevitable too?”

He gives you a flat look. “We spend too many hours locked in an office together. We argue constantly. We both hate our jobs but are too stubborn to quit. We drink after meetings. Statistically speaking, this was bound to happen.”

You stare at him. “That is the most unromantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic.”

You pause. Something about that statement makes something in your chest loosen just slightly.

He’s right. This isn’t romantic. It’s not complicated. It’s not some star-crossed bullshit.

It’s just stress.

And you can work with that.

A thought occurs to you, a ridiculous, stupid, reckless thought, and before you can second-guess yourself, you say it out loud.

“We could do it again.”

Sakusa’s entire body stills. His dark eyes snap to yours.

“Not right now. I just mean…” You keep your expression neutral, forcing yourself to stay composed as you shrug. “I mean, think about it. We’re both overworked. We don’t have time for relationships. This was just a way to let off some steam, right? It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Sakusa watches you carefully, expression unreadable. “You’re saying—”

“No feelings. No complications. Just stress relief.”

His brows furrow slightly.

You lift your hands, palms up. “I’m just being practical. We both clearly need an outlet, and this was… effective.” You tilt your head, smirking slightly. “Unless you regret it?”

Sakusa exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face before glancing away. “No.”

There’s something in his voice—something almost reluctant, like the admission costs him something. You decide not to dwell on it.

Instead, you grin, ignoring the way your heart picks up slightly at his answer. “So? Agreed?”

Sakusa’s jaw tenses. He looks at you for a long moment, eyes dark and considering.

Then, finally, he exhales. “…Agreed.”

You clap your hands together. “Great. Now, where the hell are my clothes?”

As you slip out of bed and start gathering your things, Sakusa watches you from the corner of his eye. His expression is neutral, unreadable. Outwardly, he looks composed, unaffected.

But inside, something is twisting in his chest.

This is good. Logical. You’re too busy for anything more. He doesn’t do attachments. This is supposed to be simple.

So why does he already feel like he’s in trouble?

three.

For the first week, you and Sakusa keep it lowkey.

It’s surprisingly easy. Between the endless meetings, the flood of emails, and the general chaos of festival planning, no one seems to notice that anything has changed. You and Sakusa don’t act any differently—at least, not in ways that anyone would immediately pick up on. You still bicker, still throw exasperated looks across the office, still exchange sarcastic remarks whenever an administrator sends a particularly idiotic request.

But there are differences. Subtle ones.

The way his hand lingers on your back a second too long when he brushes past you. The way you glance at him when no one else is looking, catching the momentary flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. The way your fingers graze when he hands you a folder during a meeting, a barely-there touch that still sends a jolt up your spine.

Still, you’re both careful. No one knows. And it stays that way—until a week later.

It’s late.

Too late for anyone to still be in the ASU office, but here you are, wrapping up an executive board meeting that somehow stretched two hours past its scheduled end. The festival is fast approaching, and the stress is at an all-time high. The VP of Finance, Futakuchi, keeps sighing loudly; Ushijima, the sustainability representative, looks entirely unbothered, and Kiyoko, the VP of campus affairs, has the expression of someone who desperately needs sleep but knows she won’t get any. Even the internal VP, Aone, who’s usually silent and stoic, rubs a hand over his face in a rare display of frustration.

The exhaustion in the room is palpable.

But eventually, mercifully, the meeting ends.

“Finally,” Futakuchi groans, stretching out his arms. “I swear, if I get one more email about the catering, I’m deleting my inbox.”

“You can’t do that,” Kiyoko mutters, but she sounds just as tired.

“I can and I will.”

Ushijima nods thoughtfully. “That is not an efficient way to handle the problem.”

“Whatever, man.” Futakuchi waves him off. “I’m going home before I start throwing chairs.”

The rest of the exec board follows suit, shuffling out one by one. Within minutes, the office is empty—except for you and Sakusa.

He doesn’t say anything as he shuts his laptop, methodically gathering his things. But you know him well enough by now to catch the slight tension in his posture, the way his fingers flex against the strap of his bag. He’s tired, too.

And yet, he lingers.

Your heart is already hammering in your chest before you even fully process what you’re about to do.

You wait until the last footsteps fade down the hallway before stepping closer.

“Sakusa,” you murmur.

He looks up, expression unreadable, but you catch the flicker of something in his dark eyes before he schools his face into neutrality. “What?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you grab the front of his hoodie, pull him toward you, and kiss him.

He exhales sharply against your lips, but he doesn’t hesitate—not for a second. One of his hands finds your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch, and then he’s pushing you back, guiding you without breaking the kiss.

You barely register the click of the storage closet door as it shuts behind you.

After that, it becomes a thing.

Not every night. Not every meeting. But often enough.

Enough that you start slipping into supply rooms and empty hallways whenever you get the chance. Enough that you stop pretending it’s just a fluke, stop pretending it’s just a one-time mistake. Enough that you start looking for excuses to stay behind after meetings, just to see if he’ll do the same.

The stress of festival planning only gets worse as the days tick down, but somehow, you feel... lighter. And unfortunately, you’re not the only one who notices.

“Okay,” Futakuchi says one afternoon, arms crossed as he leans against the table. “What’s up with you?”

You blink at him over your laptop. “What?”

“You.” He gestures vaguely at you. “You’re… less miserable.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“I’m serious.” He narrows his eyes, studying you. “A week ago, you were two stress-induced breakdowns away from setting the office on fire. Now you’re—” He squints. “Weirdly calm.”

You scoff, looking back at your screen. “Maybe I just got better at coping.”

Futakuchi snorts. “Sure. And Aone’s secretly a stand-up comedian.”

Across the room, Aone looks up from his notes, blinks, then goes back to writing.

Meanwhile, Ushijima watches you with mild curiosity. “It is true that you seem less fatigued.”

“Maybe she’s just sleeping more,” Kiyoko suggests.

Futakuchi smirks. “Or maybe she’s not sleeping.”

You choke on your coffee, the burn in your nose causing you to cough. Kiyoko swiftly hands you a tissue from her desk and sighs. “Kenji, please.”

“I’m just saying,” Futakuchi says innocently, shrugging. “She’s been spending a lot of extra time here after meetings. And so has Sakusa.”

You feel your pulse spike, but you force yourself to roll your eyes. “We’re working.”

“Sure you are.” Futakuchi hums. “Just seems interesting, is all.”

Ushijima nods, ever serious. “You and Sakusa have been in close proximity more frequently.”

You school your expression into neutrality, ignoring the way your face warms. “Noted.”

Futakuchi snickers. “That wasn’t a no.”

You pretend not to hear him.

Across the office, Sakusa is focused on his laptop, seemingly oblivious to the conversation. But when you glance at him, just for a second, you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

A silent acknowledgement.

A secret you both share, that’s meant for you two alone.

four.

At first, nothing really changes.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The routine remains the same. Meetings, long nights in the ASU office, the occasional stolen moment in a storage room when stress becomes too much. You and Sakusa still pretend like this is nothing more than convenience—like it’s just stress relief, like it doesn’t bleed into the rest of your lives.

Except it does.

It starts small. You realize one day, midway through a meeting, that Sakusa’s been sitting closer to you lately. Close enough that his knee brushes against yours under the table, close enough that you can pick up the faint scent of his detergent. Close enough that when you pass him a folder, his fingers linger just a second too long against yours.

You tell yourself you’re imagining it.

But then, the conversations change.

It happens one night in the office.

You’re both buried under paperwork, exhausted but determined to finalize the last of the festival logistics. It’s late—past midnight, the campus outside empty and still. The only light in the room comes from your desk lamps, throwing soft, golden pools across the stacks of documents between you. The air smells like old paper and Sakusa’s coffee, a little burnt because he never times it right.

The quiet is comfortable, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of his laptop keys and the occasional shuffle of papers.

Then, out of nowhere, he asks, “Do you ever wonder what you’d be doing if you weren’t here?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“If you weren’t ASU president,” he clarifies. “If you had never run for office.”

You pause, pen hovering over the paper. The thought has never really occurred to you. Student government has consumed your life for so long that the idea of not being in this position feels foreign.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I’d have more time to actually enjoy college.”

Sakusa hums, his gaze flickering to you. “So you don’t enjoy it now?”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy it. It’s just… exhausting. I feel like I’m constantly putting out fires. Like I’m carrying this huge weight, and if I mess up, everything will fall apart.”

For a moment, Sakusa doesn’t say anything.

Then, quietly, he says, “I get that.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“Volleyball is kind of the same,” he continues, eyes still on his laptop screen. “I love it. But sometimes, it’s a lot. The pressure, the expectations. Some days, I wonder if I’d still play if I didn’t have to.”

You study him for a moment—the tension in his posture, the way his fingers tap idly against the desk. It’s rare for Sakusa to talk about himself like this.

Impulsively, you say, “I could come to one of your games.”

His fingers still. He finally looks at you, brows slightly furrowed. “Why?”

You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. “Because. You put up with all my ASU crap. I can support you, too.”

Sakusa doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, he exhales and looks back at his screen.

“If you want,” he mutters.

But you see the way his ears turn pink.

After that, the changes keep coming.

One night, you fall asleep in Sakusa’s dorm.

It’s not on purpose.

You were both exhausted, drained from another grueling meeting that had stretched far too late. The weight of festival logistics, last-minute approvals, and endless emails had pressed down on you until neither of you could keep your eyes open. What was supposed to be a brief pause—a moment to catch your breath before making the trek back to your dorm—turned into you lying there, too tired to move.

You’d meant to get up. You really had.

But then Sakusa had tugged the blanket over you with an almost reluctant kind of care, his movements cautious, deliberate. His arm had settled around your waist, warm and steady, like he’d done it without thinking; his breathing had evened out against the back of your neck, deep and slow, and suddenly, the thought of moving felt impossible.

You don’t remember falling asleep—only that the next thing you know, soft morning light is filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. For a moment, you forget where you are. The sheets smell like him—clean, crisp, something faintly citrusy beneath it all. The kind of scent that lingers, that sticks to your skin in ways you can’t quite shake.

You should get up. You should leave before this gets any weirder.

But then Sakusa shifts beside you, his grip tightening, just for a second. His voice is rough with sleep, barely more than a murmur.

“Go back to sleep.”

And, for some reason, you do.

The lingering turns into something more.

You start walking back to your dorms together after meetings, shoulders brushing in the cold night air. Neither of you talk about it. Neither of you acknowledge the way Sakusa always seems to fall into step beside you, how his hands slip into his pockets but his body angles just slightly toward yours.

The touches that used to be quick, fleeting, become longer. His hand stays on your lower back when he passes by, his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your shirt. When you both reach for the same document, his fingers brush against yours, and he doesn’t pull away as fast as he used to.

It’s not just the physicality that changes.

He starts noticing things about you—things no one else does.

Like how he always makes sure there’s an extra bottle of water on your desk because he knows you forget to stay hydrated when you’re stressed. How he starts bringing you food when you work late, tossing it onto your desk without a word. Eat, he mutters, barely meeting your eyes. You’re going to pass out if you don’t.

And then there’s the morning after another late night in his bed.

You wake up groggy, the lingering warmth of sleep making you slow to realize that Sakusa isn’t next to you anymore. The room smells like coffee, and when you push yourself up onto your elbows, you see him standing by the tiny dorm kitchen, placing two plates of food on the counter.

You blink at him sleepily, confused. “Did you make extra on purpose?”

He doesn’t look at you as he plates the food, but you don’t miss the way the tips of his ears turn pink.

“You’re already here,” he says simply.

That’s all he says.

But when he sets the plate in front of you, something warm settles in your chest.

The first game you go to, Sakusa plays like his life depends on it.

You hadn’t planned on sitting so close to the court, but one of his teammates had insisted, ushering you into a seat with a too-knowing smirk. The energy in the gym is electric, the air thick with anticipation. You’ve never really watched him play before—not like this.

He’s already on the court when you spot him, stretching near the net. His head turns slightly, scanning the crowd like he’s looking for something. His eyes pass over you once, then snap back.

For just a second, he falters.

It’s quick—so quick that if you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you might’ve missed it. The moment his gaze locks onto yours, his fingers twitch at his sides, his jaw tightening.

Then, he exhales. Rolls his shoulders back. Locks in.

You’ve never seen him play like this before. Focused, sharp, completely in control. His serves are ruthless, each one hitting its mark with unwavering precision. Every spike is calculated, every movement fluid. The intensity radiating off him is almost palpable.

His team wins, of course.

Afterward, you wait for him outside the locker room, arms crossed, watching as players filter out one by one. When he steps out, fresh from a shower, his hair damp and his bag slung over one shoulder, he stops the moment he sees you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you play that well just because I was watching?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sakusa scoffs, rolling his eyes.

But his lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smile.

You grin. “You totally did.”

He mutters something under his breath but doesn’t argue.

And when you both walk back to your dorms later, shoulders brushing, his fingers graze yours before he pulls away too quickly.

You pretend not to notice.

That night, after another round of pretending this is just stress relief, neither of you move when it’s over.

You’re lying on his bed, your head turned slightly toward him, watching the way his chest rises and falls with each slow breath. His arm is draped loosely over your waist, fingers resting lightly against your skin. The room is quiet, save for the muffled sounds of students passing by outside and the rhythmic hum of the dorm heater kicking on.

You could get up. You should get up.

But instead, you speak.

“You know this isn’t normal, right?” you murmur.

Sakusa doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“This,” you say, voice quieter now. “We don’t have to do this.”

His fingers tighten slightly against your hip, just for a second. “I know.”

A beat of silence.

You swallow. “So why do we?”

Sakusa finally opens his eyes, looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something there—something simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken yet unmistakably there.

You expect him to dodge the question, to brush it off the way he usually does. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you.

And you realize, in that moment, that you don’t really want to hear his answer.

You just want him to keep looking at you like that.

five.

A week before the festival, the networking event is in full swing. The banquet hall is filled with students, alumni, and faculty—mingling, exchanging business cards, and making polite conversation over expensive hors d’oeuvres. The hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of polite laughter—all of it blends into a constant, low-level buzz, the kind that starts to wear on you after the first hour.

And it has been an hour. An exhausting one.

You’ve spent most of it bouncing between conversations, smiling until your cheeks ache, engaging with donors who are all too eager to talk about their latest ventures. It’s tedious, but necessary. Part of the job. You, as much as you sometimes wish you weren’t, are the face of the ASU, and that means standing here, playing nice, keeping people happy.

Across the room, Sakusa is lurking near the back, a glass of water in his hand, his expression unreadable. He never cared for these kinds of events, and you’re not sure why he bothers attending in the first place. Maybe because you’re here. Maybe because it’d be more suspicious if he didn’t. Either way, he’s kept his distance all night, watching the room with the sharp, observant eyes you know so well.

You’re halfway through an exhausting conversation with a donor when someone sidles up beside you, close enough that the scent of his cologne—something expensive, overly strong—settles in the air between you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying just enough self-assurance to set you on edge. “You look good tonight.”

You barely remember his name—Terushima, maybe? Some business major, someone who always carries himself like he’s the most interesting person in the room. He’s charming, in that forced, calculated way, and it’s clear he expects the same back.

You force a polite smile, instinctively taking a step back. “Thanks,” you say evenly. “Are you enjoying the event?”

He barely acknowledges your words. His eyes linger. It’s not overtly inappropriate, but it’s enough to make your skin prickle with discomfort.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask—”

Before he can finish, a hand lands on the small of your back. Warm. Steady. Familiar.

You glance up just in time to see Sakusa step in beside you, his expression unreadable but his presence unmistakably possessive. His fingers flex slightly against your waist—not hard, not urgent, but firm enough to ground you.

The guy’s smirk falters.

“Oh,” he says, glancing between you and Sakusa, processing. “Didn’t realize you were… with someone.”

Sakusa doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. The air around him shifts, a quiet warning woven into the sharpness of his gaze.

The guy clears his throat, mutters something about catching up later, and disappears into the crowd.

Sakusa’s hand doesn’t move.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, tilting your head up at him.

He exhales sharply, finally letting go. “He was annoying.”

You bite back a smile. “You’re grumpy.”

He gives you a look—flat, unimpressed—but there’s something unreadable in his expression, something tense, something simmering just beneath the surface.

You don’t think much of it. Not until later.

That night, everything feels different.

Sakusa’s touch is rougher than usual. Not careless, not cruel—just… more. Harder. His grip on your hips is firm, his fingers pressing deep into your skin, like he’s trying to anchor himself. His kisses are deeper, hungrier, laced with something unspoken, something desperate. Like something inside him has snapped, like he needs to prove something—not to you, but to himself.

You notice immediately.

The way he pushes you back onto the mattress, the way his body moves against yours, the way his lips chase yours with a kind of urgency you’re not used to—it’s different. There’s a tension in him that wasn’t there before, a weight behind his touch that makes your breath hitch. It’s not impatience, not exactly. It’s more like restraint fraying at the edges, barely holding together.

When he settles between your legs, when he pulls you against him like he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers, you smirk against his lips.

“Someone’s in a mood,” you murmur, voice teasing, but there’s an underlying curiosity there too. A question you don’t quite ask.

He exhales sharply against your neck, a breath that sounds almost like a laugh—but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts your chin up, kisses you harder, swallowing whatever words might have come next. And just like that, the conversation ends.

You don’t tease him after that.

Later, long after the room has gone quiet again, your breath is still uneven, your body still humming in the aftershocks of it all. The warmth of his skin lingers against yours, the feeling of his touch still imprinted in every place he’s been.

You expect him to roll away like he usually does—to shift onto his side, to put that familiar distance between you. Sakusa isn’t distant, not in the way that people assume, but he’s careful. Careful with his space, with his touch, with how much of himself he lets you see.

But tonight is different.

Instead of moving away, he stays close. One arm draped loosely over your waist, his fingers resting against your skin. His breathing is slow, deep, steady. When you shift slightly, his grip flexes—just barely, just enough to keep you there.

You blink, caught off guard.

Sakusa is guarded, meticulous, composed. He doesn’t do things without reason, doesn’t let his guard slip without meaning to. And yet, right now, he’s letting himself be close. Letting himself stay.

You watch him for a moment. His curls are messier than usual, some strands falling over his forehead. In the dim glow of the night, his features are softer, more open than they usually are. There’s something about seeing him like this—unguarded, still half-lost in the haze of sleep—that makes something tighten in your chest.

Without thinking, you reach up, brushing the hair away from his face.

Sakusa’s eyes flutter open.

You freeze. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. His gaze lingers on you, dark and unreadable. Then, after a moment, he exhales, his eyes slipping shut again.

You take that as permission.

Your fingers move again, slower this time, threading through his hair. His breathing evens out, his shoulders relaxing beneath your touch. You don’t think he even realizes it, the way he melts into the warmth of your palm, the way his body unconsciously shifts closer.

A strange warmth settles in your chest. Something soft. Something quiet.

The urge to be closer to him—to feel more of him—creeps in before you can think better of it. And so you don’t think. You just act, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

Sakusa’s eyes snap open again.

He stares at you, startled, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

“What?” you ask, amused. “I can’t kiss you?”

His brows furrow, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he says, “You never have before.”

The words sit heavy between you.

You blink, lips parting slightly. You don’t know why his voice sounds like that—soft, careful, like he’s treading over unfamiliar ground. You don’t know why it makes your heartbeat stutter, why it makes your chest feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion.

You swallow. “Did you… not like it?”

A beat of silence. Then, just as quiet: “No.”

Your breath catches.

He exhales, turning his face slightly into the pillow, but not before you catch the faintest hint of red blooming across the tops of his ears.

So you take a chance, leaning in again—this time pressing a softer kiss against his temple, then another against the bridge of his nose.

He lets you.

And when you settle back down beside him, his fingers find yours, hesitant but deliberate.

Neither of you say anything.

You don’t need to.

six.

Sakusa isn’t paying attention at first.

He’s in the ASU office, sorting through the last of the Spring Festival budget reports while the others talk idly around him. The voices blend into the usual hum of conversation—background noise, nothing worth listening to. At least, not until he hears your name.

That’s what makes his focus shift, what makes his fingers still slightly on the paper in his hands. His head doesn’t lift, his posture doesn’t change, but his ears tune in before he can stop himself.

“Are you guys dating?”

Kiyoko’s voice. Calm. Casual. A simple question, but one that makes his grip tighten around the page in his hands before he even knows why.

There’s a pause—just long enough for something to stir uneasily in his chest.

Then you laugh.

“Oh, no,” you say, amused. “It’s not like that.”

His stomach drops.

The feeling is sharp, unexpected. Foreign.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. It’s not like you’ve ever talked about this. It’s not like there’s anything to talk about. You both agreed—no feelings, no complications. Just stress relief.

Still, the way you say it—so easily, so effortlessly—it makes his throat tighten.

Not like that.

Not even close.

Sakusa forces himself to breathe, shifting slightly in his seat as he stares at the document in front of him. He clenches his jaw, willing himself to let it go, to shake off the strange weight settling over his chest. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. The festival is next week. His schedule is packed. He doesn’t have time to dwell on things that shouldn’t even be a problem in the first place.

But for the first time in weeks, his brain refuses to cooperate.

The conversation continues around him, but it’s as if everything has dulled—like the words are passing through a filter, muffled and distant. All he hears is your voice. The casual certainty in your tone. The way you’d dismissed the thought so easily, like it wasn’t even worth considering.

Like the idea of being with him was ridiculous.

He exhales slowly, his grip on the budget report tightening until the edges of the paper crumple under his fingers. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t ease his hold, just stares down at the page as if forcing himself to refocus will make the feeling go away.

It doesn’t.

It lingers.

All through the rest of the meeting, as he signs off on expenses and finalizes last-minute festival details. As you talk to him like nothing has changed—like he’s still the same Sakusa you’ve always known, the one you don’t have to think twice about, the one who isn’t even worth a second glance.

By the time the meeting ends, he feels restless.

Then, later, you invite him to a party.

It’s casual—one of your friends is hosting, nothing too fancy, just a small gathering with drinks and music. The kind of thing you don’t usually ask him to go to.

“Come with me,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow as you both leave the office. “You never go out.”

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t have time.”

You groan. “Oh my god, Sakusa, for once in your life, stop being responsible and just come have fun.”

But he shakes his head. “I’ll pass.”

You stop walking. Turn to face him.

“Why?”

The question is simple. Easy. You’re not even upset—not really. Just confused. Because he never used to turn you down before.

He hesitates.

He could lie. Say he’s busy, that he has too much work to do, that he’s too tired.

But that’s not the real reason.

The real reason is this: if he goes, he can’t pretend it’s not real anymore.

He can’t keep pretending this is just stress relief. That it doesn’t mean anything. That he doesn’t want more than what you’re willing to give.

Because if he goes, he’ll see you in a setting where you’re not just the ASU president, not just the person who collapses into his bed after long meetings, not just the person who understands him better than anyone else.

You’ll be you. Loud, laughing, electric.

And he’ll look at you, and he’ll want. And he can’t afford that, not when he already knows how this ends.

So instead, he meets your gaze and says, “I just don’t feel like it.”

Something flickers across your expression. It’s quick—so quick that if he wasn’t looking at you so closely, he might’ve missed it.

But he doesn’t.

He sees the brief drop of your shoulders, the slight shift in your posture. You don’t push. You don’t ask again.

You just nod once, tight and short, and say, “Okay. Whatever.”

And then you turn and walk away, sparing only a quick glance over your shoulder.

The moment you’re gone, Sakusa exhales, running a hand down his face. He tells himself it’s fine. That this is what he wanted. That this is better.

But he feels like shit. His head hurts. He feels like he can’t breathe.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, Sakusa wonders if he just made a mistake.

seven.

Sakusa starts pulling away first.

It’s subtle in the beginning. Little things.

You don’t notice it immediately—not with how chaotic the week leading up to the Spring Festival is, how much there is to do, how many fires there are to put out. The days are long, packed with meetings, last-minute approvals, and problem-solving. You’re too busy running from one crisis to another to really stop and think about it.

But then it starts becoming undeniable.

He stops lingering after meetings. Stops staying late in the office with you. Stops brushing his fingers against yours when he hands you documents, stops nudging your knee under the conference table, stops looking at you when he thinks no one else is watching.

And, most noticeably, he stops touching you.

That’s when it really sinks in.

Because you had started to grow used to it—the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, the way he’d reach for you without thinking, the way he used to pull you into his side when no one was around. It had become second nature, a quiet, unspoken thing between you.

You had never questioned it before, had never asked what it meant, because you didn’t think you had to.

But now? Now it’s like none of it ever happened. And you, despite all your reasoning, don’t understand why.

At first, you try to be patient. Try to tell yourself it’s just stress, that he’s just overwhelmed with work, that once the festival is over, things will go back to normal.

But then another day passes.

And another.

And suddenly, you can’t ignore it anymore.

The shift between you is undeniable. It’s in the way he moves around you now—distant, calculated, careful. In the way he answers you with clipped, impersonal responses. In the way he keeps space between you, never standing too close, never reaching for you like he used to.

You wait for him to snap out of it.

He doesn’t.

And when another day ends with nothing—no lingering glances, no easy, familiar touch, no warmth—you start to wonder if you imagined it all. If it had only ever been real for you.

So the night before the festival, you finally snap.

The office is empty, save for the two of you. The exec board has long since gone home, leaving behind stacks of paperwork, half-empty coffee cups, and the heavy silence between you.

Sakusa is seated across from you, scrolling through his tablet, looking as calm and composed as ever. You, on the other hand, are vibrating with frustration.

You don’t know how to bring it up. You don’t know how to phrase it, how to put into words the mounting tension, the frustration, the confusion—the gnawing ache in your chest that has been growing with every passing day.

So you wait. You tell yourself you’ll wait for him to say something, to acknowledge the change between you, to explain why things feel so different now.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he closes his tablet, grabs his bag, and stands up—just like that, like nothing is wrong, like he hasn’t been slowly pushing you away without a single explanation.

And that’s what finally breaks you.

“That’s it?” you blurt out.

Sakusa pauses, glancing at you with a frown. “What?”

“That’s it?” You stand, crossing your arms. “You’re just gonna leave?”

He exhales, clearly exhausted. “It’s late.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

Silence.

He looks at you, expression carefully blank, and for the first time, you realize how much that pisses you off. How much you hate that unreadable look, how much you hate that he’s acting like he doesn’t know exactly what you’re talking about.

Your stomach twists. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t… like I don’t exist.”

Sakusa exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” You take a step forward, your pulse racing. “You’ve been avoiding me all week. You don’t talk to me. You don’t even look at me anymore.” Your voice wavers slightly, but you push forward. “What the hell, Sakusa?”

He stays silent, staring at you.

You shake your head, frustration mounting. “You know what? Fine. If something’s wrong, just say it. If I did something, just tell me. But don’t—” Your throat tightens. “Don’t just shut me out.”

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it.

Then, he says, “You’re overthinking it.”

You blink.

And then, you laugh—sharp, bitter. “Oh, I’m overthinking it?”

“Yes.” His voice is calm, infuriatingly so. “It was never meant to mean anything, remember?”

The words hit harder than they should.

Something cold settles in your stomach. You stare at him, suddenly unable to breathe properly.

He doesn’t even flinch as he says it, doesn’t even hesitate. Just looks at you like this is nothing, like the past few weeks have been nothing, like the way he used to kiss you like he needed it, like the way he held you close at night, like none of it mattered.

Like you don’t matter.

You swallow, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Right,” you say quietly. “I forgot. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Pretending things don’t matter.”

Sakusa’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. You should really leave. You should walk away before you say something you can’t take back. But you can’t—not yet.

So instead, you inhale sharply and take one last shot, your voice softer now. “Did any of it mean anything to you?”

Sakusa’s fingers tighten around the strap of his bag. His posture is rigid, his face unreadable. But he doesn’t answer.

And that tells you everything you need to know.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking fast. “Okay, then. If it doesn’t mean anything, then let’s just stop.”

Something shifts in his expression—something small, something almost imperceptible. But you don’t wait to figure out what it is.

You turn before he can say anything else, before he can twist the knife even further, before you can say something you’ll regret.

You’re the one who walks away.

This time, you don’t look back.

eight.

You pretend everything is normal.

Meetings are professional. Efficient. Painfully, excruciatingly polite.

Sakusa hands you reports with a clipped, “Here.” His voice is devoid of warmth, of the quiet familiarity that used to live there. You take them without glancing up, without acknowledging the way his fingers twitch as if resisting the impulse to linger. When you slide budget breakdowns across the table, you’re careful—so careful—not to let your fingers brush his, even by accident.

Once, you might have laughed together at the absurdity of this project, whispering half-serious bets about which department head would crack under the stress first. Once, you might have stayed late in the ASU office, shoulders brushing as you worked through spreadsheets in the dim glow of your laptop screens, stealing moments of shared exhaustion, shared silence, shared something.

Now, there’s nothing.

Now, there’s only distance.

It kills him.

At first, he thought this would be easier. That shutting you out would make it hurt less when you eventually drifted away. That if he built a wall between you first, he wouldn’t have to watch you build one later. He thought he was protecting himself.

But this—this is so much worse.

Because you’re still here, but you’re not his anymore.

And it’s all his fault.

You distract yourself with the festival. There’s no time to dwell on things that don’t matter, you tell yourself. Vendors need coordinating. Performers need confirming. Alumni need charming. A hundred little details claw at your attention, demanding focus, pulling you away from thoughts that ache too much to touch.

You throw yourself into the work like it’s a lifeline, like drowning in logistics and schedules will somehow silence the restless thoughts that gnaw at the edges of your mind. If you keep moving, if you keep planning, if you keep pushing forward, then maybe—just maybe—you won’t feel the weight of what’s missing.

And yet, the stress is worse now.

Because Sakusa used to help carry it.

He used to take half the burden without being asked. Without expectation. Just because he could, because he wanted to. Because he used to look at you and see someone worth helping.

Now, the weight is suffocating.

You feel it in the silence of the ASU office late at night, the way the empty chair beside you seems colder than before. You feel it in the exhaustion that clings to your skin, sinking into your bones. You feel it in the dull ache that settles in your chest every morning, never quite fading, never quite leaving you alone.

But worst of all, you feel it every time you see him.

He looks fine. Composed, indifferent, the same as always.

It infuriates you.

Because really, how dare he? How dare he act like nothing happened, like nothing changed? Like you weren’t tangled up in his sheets just days ago, like he wasn’t tracing circles against your skin in the quiet hours before dawn, like he wasn’t the one who pulled away first?

How dare he pretend you never meant anything, when he was the one who made you feel like you did?

You hate him for it. You hate him for leaving, for walking away.

But more than anything, you hate that deep down, under your hurt, you don’t hate him. Not even a little bit. Not really at all.

Sakusa is miserable.

Volleyball used to be his escape. His sanctuary. The only thing that made sense.

But now, even that feels wrong.

Because before every match, before every practice, he used to look for you in the stands. It wasn’t even conscious—just instinct, muscle memory. A habit woven into his routine, as natural as breathing.

He knew you didn’t come to every game. But you did, a lot. Sometimes he’d glance up and catch you pretending not to watch him too closely, pretending not to care, even as your gaze lingered a little too long. Sometimes he’d meet your eyes, and you’d smirk, and he’d know—know that later, when the dust settled, you’d have some sharp-witted comment about his form, his plays, his post-game interviews.

But now, he looks, and you’re never there.

It fucking sucks. It ruins his whole routine.

It starts to show, too. His blocks are sloppy. His serves lack precision. His reactions are just a half-second too slow, and he knows it. He can feel it in the way the ball doesn’t quite connect the way it should, in the way the court doesn’t feel like home anymore.

And his teammates notice.

“You good, man?” Bokuto asks one afternoon, frowning after another off-target spike.

Sakusa exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, though,” Hinata says, watching him carefully. “You’ve been playing like shit.”

Sakusa glares. “I’m not—”

“Ya are,” Atsumu cuts in, arms crossed. “And it’s not just yer game. You’ve been miserable for weeks. If somethin’s wrong, deal with it.”

Sakusa clenches his jaw. Says nothing.

Because what is there to say? That he’s miserable because of you? That he’s the one who ruined everything? That he made this choice, and now he has to live with it? That he doesn’t even know if you’d forgive him, even if he tried to fix it? That the only person who could make him feel like himself again is the one person who won’t even look at him anymore?

No.

He can’t say any of that.

So instead, he just exhales, picks up the ball, and mutters, “Let’s run it again,” and pretends like everything isn’t falling apart.

nine.

The festival, despite everything, begins.

It should be thrilling. It should feel like a triumph, the culmination of months of relentless work, late nights spent hunched over planning documents, and a hundred tiny decisions that should have amounted to something seamless, something grand.

Instead, it feels like hell.

Everything that can go wrong does. Vendors arrive late, throwing the entire setup into disarray, their excuses flimsy and their apologies meaningless when the delay sends a ripple effect of chaos through the carefully arranged schedule. The sound system glitches in the middle of the first student performance, transforming the singer’s voice into a garbled mess of static before cutting out entirely, leaving behind a stunned silence. Booths sit empty, their intended attendants missing due to some logistical oversight—some failure of coordination that has faculty members exchanging exasperated looks, their whispers dripping with disapproval.

You are drowning.

By the second day, you are running on caffeine, frustration, and the sheer willpower not to completely unravel. Your feet ache from hours of pacing across campus, your temples throb from the unrelenting onslaught of problems, and your patience—already stretched thin—is now nonexistent. The pressure is suffocating, bearing down on you like a weight you were never meant to carry alone.

And Sakusa?

He is just as miserable.

You see it in the rigidity of his posture, in the way his fingers curl into fists whenever another problem arises, in the exhaustion darkening his gaze. He moves through the chaos with his usual efficiency—quiet, methodical, unreadable—but you know him. You know him better than anyone.

And you know he is barely holding it together.

Neither of you acknowledge it. Neither of you mention how your interactions have been reduced to clipped exchanges, words stripped of warmth, spoken with as much distance as possible. Neither of you admit that this week—this godforsaken week—has been unbearable without the other.

Unfortunately, your executive board notices.

“Okay,” Futakuchi announces, arms crossed as he surveys the two of you like a detective piecing together a crime scene. “Something is wrong.”

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, flipping through the latest stack of vendor complaints. The words blur slightly, but you refuse to let anyone see just how exhausted you are.

“I’m not,” he insists, undeterred. He gestures between you and Sakusa, who is seated across the room, fingers flying over his keyboard as he types with a level of aggression usually reserved for his worst enemies. “You guys are acting weird. Weirder than usual.”

“We’re fine,” you snap.

Kiyoko adjusts her glasses, her sharp gaze cutting through your defenses. “You haven’t smiled in days. You’re constantly on edge. And Sakusa—” she tilts her head towards him, “—hasn’t insulted Futakuchi even once today.”

“That’s actually a huge red flag,” Futakuchi adds helpfully.

Ushijima, ever serious, nods in agreement. “The dynamic of the team has shifted.”

Sakusa exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. “Can you all not? We have actual work to do.”

Aone, silent until now, observes the two of you with his usual quiet intensity. Then, after a painfully long beat, he gives a single, solemn nod. “Tension,” he murmurs.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face.

Futakuchi’s smirk is infuriating. “See? Even Aone notices.”

You don’t bother responding. You don’t even have the energy to argue. Instead, you gather your paperwork, shove your laptop into your bag, and storm out.

You don’t look back.

If you did, you’d see Sakusa watching you leave.

You hit your breaking point halfway through the week.

It happens during the alumni networking fair—the crown jewel of the festival, the event that was supposed to impress donors, alumni, and potential sponsors. The one you poured every ounce of your energy into perfecting, sculpting each detail with the precision of a master craftsman.

Instead, it crumbles.

A venue miscommunication leads to seating chaos, leaving guests aimlessly wandering, confused and increasingly irritated. The guest speaker’s flight is delayed, the catering company—despite weeks of prior confirmation—chooses now to re-verify their payment processing, and as if fate itself is conspiring against you, an administrator corners you minutes before the event, droning about “expectations for student leadership” and how “this level of disorganization reflects poorly.”

You can’t do this.

You feel it building—the pressure, the exhaustion, the sheer weight of everything going wrong all at once. Your chest tightens, your vision blurs at the edges, and for the first time all week, you recognize a terrifying truth:

You cannot do this alone.

Then, before you can completely shatter, Sakusa steps in.

One moment, you are teetering, barely keeping yourself upright. The next, he is there.

He moves swiftly, seamlessly, fixing problems before you can even register them. He handles the seating issue with a few clipped instructions. He calls the speaker’s team, negotiating a workaround before you can even reach for your phone. He takes charge of the caterers, shutting down their nonsense with two curt sentences and a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

He moves through the chaos with the same unshakable precision he always has—calm, efficient, controlled. He has always been good under pressure, but this is different. This is not just problem-solving. This is something else.

And it hits you all at once: you miss him.

Not just the arrangement. Not just the late nights, the convenience, the way his touch had always lingered longer than necessary.

Him.

The way he always knew—knew exactly when you were on the verge of unraveling. The way he kept things from falling apart, even when you felt like you were. The way he understood you—truly, deeply, in a way no one else ever had.

And it is terrifying, because it is not just missing him. It’s needing him.

Sakusa realizes it too.

Not just that he still wants you, not just that ignoring you has made this entire week unbearable. Those things were obvious. What he realizes now is that none of this—none of the work, none of the stress—was ever what exhausted him.

It was pretending. Pretending he didn’t care. Pretending it was just an arrangement. Pretending he didn’t—

Well.

Pretending he didn’t love you.

And now, watching you—watching the way your shoulders finally loosen as you let him help, watching the way your eyes flicker with something unreadable when you look at him—he knows it is too late.

He’s in too deep. He’s always been in too deep.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t even care anymore. He misses you too much to care.

ten.

It’s as if the universe has finally gotten its act together.

For once, everything aligns. As if things have finally conspired in your favor, the remainder of the festival unfolds with an almost unsettling ease. No vendor catastrophes, no logistical nightmares, no alumni with their impossible demands.

Thursday slips into Friday, Friday into Saturday morning, each day a seamless rhythm of events ticking by without incident. Your executive board exhales in collective relief, tension unspooling from their shoulders. Your own pulse, which has been a metronome of stress all week, finally settles into something resembling normalcy. You even manage to sleep—five full hours, a luxury that feels like an eternity compared to the restless snatches of rest you’ve been surviving on.

And now, the final night is here.

The Spring Gala. The grand finale. The last orchestration of the festival—a beast of an event that had consumed endless planning meetings, countless revisions, and more compromises than you’d care to admit. And yet, somehow, impossibly, everything is running smoothly.

The ballroom glows with golden light, strands of soft illumination draped elegantly across the ceiling, casting a warm haze over the room. Candlelight flickers along the tables, their delicate floral arrangements arranged with meticulous care, petals unfurling under the glow like they, too, are basking in the perfection of the night. The gentle hum of a live string quartet weaves through the space, their melody twining through laughter and the quiet clink of champagne glasses. Students and faculty glide through the room in their finest attire, the men crisp in tailored suits, the women draped in silks and satins, everyone engaged in the carefully curated illusion that deadlines and responsibilities don’t exist beyond these gilded walls.

Everything is perfect.

And yet, your focus narrows to one thing.

Him.

Sakusa looks good. Too good.

The sharp lines of his black suit mold effortlessly to his frame, the dark fabric absorbing the ambient light, making him appear even more striking. His curls are tousled, just slightly, as though he had run a hand through them absentmindedly before walking in. He stands with practiced ease, scanning the room with the same sharp, unreadable expression he always wears—one that betrays nothing, yet you’ve always found yourself trying to decipher. And it’s infuriating, because you’ve spent the entire week meticulously avoiding the gravitational pull he seems to exert, trying not to let your eyes linger too long, trying not to remember the weight of everything unsaid between you.

But right now? Right now, he’s making it impossible.

Especially when his gaze finally lands on you.

It’s just a flicker—a second’s pause, a shift in his expression so fleeting you might have missed it if you weren’t already attuned to him. But you see it. The way his dark eyes sweep over you, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. The way something unreadable flickers in his gaze before he schools his features into careful neutrality.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to move, bridging the space between you with a measured ease you don’t quite feel. Every step feels deliberate, a careful choreography masking the unease curling in your stomach.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you say, tilting your head slightly, voice lighter than the weight pressing against your ribs.

Sakusa’s brow lifts—just barely, the movement almost imperceptible—but you catch it. “I planned half of this.”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you cross your arms over your chest, trying to steady yourself in the face of his presence. “Yeah, but you hate these things.”

He exhales, his gaze sweeping over the grand spectacle around you as if only now acknowledging the elaborate display—the glittering chandeliers, the swirl of expensive fabric, the low hum of conversation filling the air like static. “Figured it would be suspicious if the EVP didn’t make an appearance.”

“Mhm.” You hesitate, just for a beat, before speaking again. “So… where’s your date?”

His eyes snap back to yours, something sharp and immediate in the way he looks at you, like the question caught him off guard. “What?”

“Your date,” you repeat, forcing nonchalance into your tone even as your pulse betrays you, drumming against your skin. “Someone as charming as you must have one, right?”

Sakusa’s expression flattens, unreadable yet telling in ways you don’t have the words for. “No.”

The single syllable lands heavier than it should. You had expected a different answer—assumed he would have someone by his side, someone who had effortlessly captured his attention in the time you had spent pushing him away. And yet, here he stands. Alone.

You don’t know why that realization makes your heart stutter.

“Well,” Sakusa says, his exhale quieter this time. “Neither did you.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

His gaze remains steady. “You didn’t bring a date either.”

“Yeah, because I was working.” You scoff, deflecting without hesitation.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way that makes you feel like he’s seeing more than you intend to show. “Still.”

It’s just a single word, but it lingers, curling around you like an unspoken challenge, seeping beneath your skin, sparking something warm and restless in your chest.

Before you can unpack it, before you can shield yourself from whatever this is, he speaks again.

“Dance with me.”

You freeze. “What?”

Sakusa sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, like he hates what he’s about to say. “Dance with me,” he repeats, softer this time. “Since neither of us brought dates.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, trying to decipher the layers of meaning beneath the words.

Sakusa Kiyoomi—who loathes social events, who avoids unnecessary physical contact, who has spent the entire night lingering at the edges of the room—is standing here, asking you to dance.

And for some reason, against all logic, you say, “Okay.”

The music shifts into something slow, something delicate, a melody spun from soft strings and quiet longing. It doesn’t demand anything extravagant, only movement, only presence.

You expect him to be tense, awkward, but when his hand finds your waist, his fingers curling against the fabric of your dress with a touch more certain than you anticipated, there is no hesitation. His other hand finds yours, warm and sure, his grip anchoring. His movements are smooth, practiced, betraying a familiarity with this kind of closeness that feels at odds with the person you thought you knew.

You, however, are acutely aware of everything.

The warmth of his palm burning through the layers between you. The faint press of his fingertips against your lower back, light yet possessive. The scent of his cologne—crisp, clean, laced with bergamot and something deeper, something uniquely him.

And then there’s his gaze, dark and unreadable, flickering down to meet yours, searching for something you’re not sure you’re ready to name.

It’s too much.

And suddenly, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, quiet, hesitant, but real.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly.

Sakusa blinks, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “For what?”

You inhale, fingers curling against his shoulder, grounding yourself in the press of fabric and muscle beneath your touch. “For how things have been. For the way I acted. For… shutting you out. I really did miss you, you know.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: “I missed you too.”

Something in your chest loosens, a tether unspooling, unraveling the knots that had been holding you in place. But before you can fully breathe it in, before you can settle into the tentative relief of it, he continues.

“I just… couldn’t pretend anymore.”

You frown, caught on the way his voice shifts, the way something raw bleeds into his words. “Pretend what?”

Sakusa hesitates. His fingers flex slightly against your waist, his grip shifting as if trying to hold onto something unseen. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher, like he’s forcing the words out before he loses the nerve to say them.

“That I didn’t care about you.” A beat of silence. Then, quieter, weightier—“That I didn’t… want more.”

The world tilts.

Your breath catches, your pulse tripping over itself, something dangerous and inevitable clawing its way up your throat.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. It’s like when you first kissed him in the office so many weeks ago: you, despite everything, just move—heedless, reckless, drawn forward by something deeper than reason.

Your lips find his in a collision of heat and longing, tentative at first—a question whispered in the language of touch, of all the words left unsaid, of all the moments spent waiting, wanting.

For a single, breathless heartbeat, the world hangs in stillness. A hesitation. A precipice. Then Sakusa exhales, a sharp, punched-out sound like he’s just had the wind knocked from his lungs, and something in him snaps like a wire pulled too taut for too long.

His grip tightens at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, pulling you against him with a desperation that makes your pulse stutter. His other hand finds the back of your neck, calloused fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head just so as he deepens the kiss—no longer a question, but an answer.

The world outside of this moment ceases to exist. The only thing real is the warmth of his mouth against yours, the steady, insistent press of his body, the scent of him—his detergent, his cologne. He tastes like something intoxicating, something you want to drown in.

Sakusa kisses you like he needs to remember this very feeling, like this time away from you has been centuries rather than days—like he’s tracing the shape of your lips into the fabric of his being, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he so much as loosens his hold. There’s something achingly restrained in the way he moves, like he’s been waiting for this—for you—for far longer than he’s willing to admit.

And the thing is, you don’t want to let go.

Not now.

Not ever again.

eleven.

The final night of the festival is winding down, and the fundraiser gala is drawing to a close. The speeches are about to begin. The crowd falls into a hush, the hum of conversation quieting as attention shifts to the podium.

You grip the podium, clear your throat, and begin your speech. It's the usual stuff—thank-yous to the faculty, acknowledgements of the hard work that went into the festival, and a few light jokes to keep the atmosphere warm.

And through it all, he's there.

You feel Sakusa before you see him, his presence quietly grounding you. His hand brushes against yours just as you step up to the stage, a small, subtle touch that sends a wave of calm through you. It’s enough to settle your nerves, even if just a little.

The speech goes on. You focus, but in the back of your mind, you’re aware of the quiet weight of him standing beside you, unmoving but unwavering, just like always. Then, under the podium, his fingers curl around yours. The touch is light, hidden from the crowd, but it’s there.

Your breath hitches for a moment, but you keep going, squeezing his hand once in quiet reassurance. You keep speaking, maintaining your composure.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Futakuchi freeze. His eyes flicker to your joined hands, and you catch the brief, silent exchange between him and Aone. Futakuchi’s soft exhale is followed by a rustling of bills, Aone accepting his twenty-dollar winnings without a word.

Across the room, Kiyoko watches with a knowing smile, her gaze flicking between you and Sakusa.

When the speech ends, the applause fills the room, warm and inviting. You turn slightly, feeling Sakusa’s hand slip away, but before it fully retreats, his pinky brushes against yours for just a moment longer than necessary. Your heart stumbles again.

“Finally,” Futakuchi groans the second you step offstage. He throws up his hands in exaggerated relief. “Do you have any idea how painful it’s been watching you two not be together?”

You blink in surprise. “Excuse me?”

Kiyoko hums, setting her drink down. “He’s right.”

Ushijima offers a solemn nod. “It was inevitable.”

“You guys knew?” Sakusa asks, furrowing his brow.

Futakuchi scoffs. “Obviously. Everyone knew.” He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “You two always fit together, even before you realized it yourselves.”

Aone gives a single, affirming nod.

Kiyoko just shrugs. “You just took your time getting there.”

You glance at Sakusa, and to your surprise, he doesn’t seem annoyed. He’s not irritated—just thoughtful. His fingers twitch slightly at his side before he exhales quietly. “Yeah. We did.”

You smile, feeling the weight of the moment.

The gala lights shimmer above you, casting a warm glow over the ballroom. The noise of the crowd rises around you—the low hum of laughter, clinking glasses, the soft notes of a song playing from the dance floor. The air smells of champagne and wax from the flickering candles, mingling with the floral arrangements around the room. But none of it feels overwhelming. Not with him beside you.

Sakusa stands next to you, solid and constant, just like he always has been. You glance at him again, noticing how the light hits his sharp features, how his dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. He exhales slowly, and then shifts just enough for his shoulder to brush against yours—a small, silent reassurance.

The conversations around you—Futakuchi’s exasperated muttering, Kiyoko’s quiet amusement, Aone’s rare nods of agreement—become distant, secondary. In this moment, it doesn’t matter. Because here, with him beside you, you realize one thing.

You don’t have to hide. There’s no more second-guessing, no more wondering.

No more pretending.

You are here, beside him. And he’s here, beside you.

Sakusa exhales again, barely audible over the music. His fingers brush against yours once more—nothing more than a whisper of a touch. But the warmth it brings lingers in your chest, steady and real.

He doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

The night goes on—the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the celebration. The festival is over, the gala winding down, the world moving forward as it always does.

But for now, in this moment, standing next to him, you know something for sure.

You don’t have to walk alone anymore.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

⨭ closing notes; special thanks to @megapteraurelia for beta reading!! veryyyy meh abt this one so far but who knows lol. ngl i'm not a sakusa girl so i hope i did him justice if u guys have any suggestions for improvement pls let me know!!! btw i am working on smth lowk crazy so i may not have a new fic for a hot sec but when im back it'll be w smth SPECIAL

342 notes · View notes

jadeoru · 7 months ago

Text

SMUDGED LIPSTICK!

13: so casual -> prev / mlist / next

now playing: in my head - the mysterines 🎶

“Hey, stranger."

His head immediately turned to the source of your voice, the sound of each word that left your mouth sent chills down his spine. “Hey.” He almost whispered, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He missed the way your name tasted on his tongue. “You look nice.” He sunk into himself, seeming as shy as he was the day you met him for the first time. It was cute. A sweet smile found its way to your lips. “Thank you! You look nice too.” Your voice was sweet and soft, a stark contrast to how it was when you were onstage: loud and powerful. Your head had to tilt upwards to look at him properly. Has he always been this tall? You should’ve worn your boots after all. He muttered an awkward thank you, his hands stuffed in his pockets. They moved in a way that made his nervousness clear: a subtle fidgeting with the lining of fabric. You had to take control of the conversation. “You ready to become friends?” You asked, a playful smirk on your face, almost wide enough to show your teeth - Almost wide enough to expose how excitement was gnawing on your core, in the form of butterflies. “Yeah.” He nodded his head. He regretted each dry response that fled from his lips, but he didn’t know what else to say. He was terrified of somehow messing everything up - again. Your eyebrow creased with hope that he’d loosen up as the day went on; that he’d actually say more than one word at a time. Otherwise, this was gonna be one awkward afternoon. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

After finding an empty table next to a window, in the corner of the quiet café, sakusa sat down - waiting for you to return with the coffees you ordered. He glanced out the window, head in his palm. He silently hoped that you were thinking the same thing he was; you felt the same nostalgia that he was feeling. This was the exact same place you used to sit together every day after school. The same scratch marks littered the painted wooden table. The same table that witnessed pivotal moments of your friendship. After finding where he was sitting, you carefully placed your coffee down onto the aforementioned table, placing his in front of him immediately after.

After sitting down, you brought the straw to your lips, taking the first sip of your drink. You let out a gasp that quickly garnered his attention. “Oh my god, I forgot how good their iced coffees were!” Your voice boomed with excitement, quickly taking another sip. He stifled a laugh at your childish enthusiasm. If he squinted, he could probably see the heart-shaped pupils in your eyes. “Yeah? That’s the caramel one right? Is that still your favorite?” He asked, shuddering when you held eye contact. He regretted his words the second they left his mouth, quietly beating himself up for how obsessed he sounded. He was pathetic. Your voice quietened, a teasing expression taking over your face. He already knew he was fucked before any words left your mouth.

“You know, for someone who hasn’t talked to me in years, you seem to remember all of my favorite things.” An embarrassed flush spread across his face, heating his cheeks at the implications. He cleared his throat, sitting up straight. “Well, you always did have bad taste. It’s hard to forget that.” He excused, lying through his teeth. It would be impossible for him to forget your favorite things, considering the amount of times you used to beg him to get them for you back then. He knew you more than he knew himself. You gasped again, feigning offense. “How dare you! Iced coffee is delicious!” you raised your hands as you spoke, outraged. He let out a huff of air: an almost-laugh. “Coffee should not be cold!” He spoke incredulously. He matched your tone, although he looked way more calm than you did. You rolled your eyes at him, “Coffee is best when it’s cold!” he opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, “Clearly you haven’t tried this one!” You spoke matter-of-factly, waving the plastic cup in the air to structure your point, careful not to spill any. He scoffed, taking a sip of his own drink. “I don’t need to try every variation of iced coffee to know it sucks.” He stated, rolling his eyes at you. He gently placed his cup on the table, looking back up to you and noticing the outrage plastered across your face. He missed your dramatic banter. He was sure that if he really wanted to, he could close his eyes and pretend that nothing happened between the two of you. Because in this moment, it felt like you never stopped being friends. “Here- just try it!” you demanded, shoving your cup in his face, angling the straw in his direction. He stared for a moment, almost to make sure you were being serious, before taking the cup from your hands, and taking a sip of your coffee. His lips lingered on your straw for the longest second of your life.

He was silent for a while, putting you under the assumption that he was analysing the flavor. He didn’t give two shits about the coffee. With shaky hands, he placed your cup back down in front of you. His heart was racing. He stared at the table, not trusting what would happen if he made eye contact with you after what had just happened. He could feel his face twitching, trying to fight the blush that crept onto his ears. Your elbows rested on the table, barely inside his field of vision. You propped your head up, both hands under your chin as you waited for his feedback. Was he losing it, or were your hands trembling too? He cleared his throat again, his mind spiralling as he thought about the feeling of his lips on your straw. He was overreacting, he knew it. But he couldn’t help feeling this way when it came to you. You always found a way to make him feel like this. He hated it. How were you being so casual right now? Was it not as big of a deal as he thought it was? You laughed accusingly. “Look at your face! I knew you liked it!” You pointed at him, an evil grin filling out your cheeks. He didn't know much about how he was feeling in that moment, but one thing was for certain: it wasn't the coffee he liked.

"It's not terrible."

The rest of the afternoon went perfectly. Thankfully, despite the time that had passed, conversations between the two of you flowed as naturally as they used to. You stayed at the café until the second it closed. And if you had things your way, you would’ve stayed until the sunset. Every time silence passed over you, Sakusa rushed to fill it. Knowing that if he was left with his thoughts for even a second, he’d go back to replaying the indirect kiss you shared over and over again in his mind. Were you going as crazy as he was over it? He didn’t want to think of it. Before you went home, the two of you stood outside of the café doors, exchanging goodbyes. He didn’t have a chance to blink before you pulled him into a quick hug. It lasted maybe 3 seconds at most. It was one of those sweet embraces that caused you to squeeze him tightly right before pulling away. He would sooner die than admit to leaning into your touch.

“See ya next time, kiyoomi.” You spoke quietly, almost whispering.

He had his girl back.

a/n: SORRY FOR THE DELAY!!! i hope this chapter makes u guys as insane as i am because i was losing my mind while writing this LMAO

TAGLIST: @gojoed @anianurst @itsdragonius @sleepy-writer84 @yuminako @wolffmaiden @tenjikusstuff4 @juie13 @ilyless @arachnoia @choizzn @3lectraheart @sugarrhiccupp @bbybibi @diorzs @le000xxgrd @aboveasphodel @petrus1989 @aria-in-wonderland @walllflowerrrsss @wave2mia @loveelylacey @marimisses @alpha-mommy69 @thepurpleempath @theauthorunicorn @v1oletfury @iluvmang @slashkxe @theycallmenanamisgirl @dailyakira @lunarlunaire @iovetooru @ryukumi @soupofmushrooms @megmercury @renardiererin @violetesensou @wtfdudewhydidyoutakemyusername @ast4rg1rl @dazqa @yoshit-he-dinosaur

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causenessus · 8 months ago

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love notes

part 0.05. intros.

EXHIBIT ONE: COFFEE ENTHUSIASTS

l/n y/n °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

college student majoring in photography <3 also works at onigiri miya on the side but spends a lot of her time doing client portraits and taking photos in her free time to add to her portfolio and get experience. really enjoys taking photos of street art, including graffiti and interactive pieces because she thinks they have so much meaning and significance. wanders around with suna a lot as they look for more art. went to itachiyama and knows sakusa the best but they both became good friends with inarizaki because atsumu would always bring osamu and suna with him to visit them in high school. y/n would sneak glances at suna when she thought he wasn’t looking but was always too nervous to say anything. in college, they grew closer and things became more comfortable as their friend groups hanged out more. she's allowed suna on her private account because it's where she posts most of her thoughts since her main account has to be dedicate to photography.

akaashi keiji & sakusa kiyoomi °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

akaashi

double majoring in literature and photography <3 whenever their classes assign group projects, akaashi, y/n, and kenma usually all work together. even on individual assignments, they usually go out together to keep each other company while they find their focuses <3 but he’s really going thru it, spends a lot of his time and money in coffee shops (and takes advantage of getting free food at onigiri miya). doesn’t have a very big booking schedule for client photography because he’s so busy but he’s always booked because people are obsessed with how good his eyes and skills at editing photos are. met and got to know y/n at the high school games between fukurodani and itachiyama when she would come to take photos of the volleyball team for publicity.

omi

wing spiker for the msby college volleyball team and majoring in athletic training. frequents onigiri miya but will only eat what y/n or osamu makes. he definitely grew close to y/n and trusts her because she’s just as much of a clean freak as him. their first interaction went something along the lines of her watching someone on the vball team trip on her equipment bag and her coming up to sakusa saying “your teammate just touched my bag with his dirty sweaty shoe and now i have to sanitize it. please tell them to stay away from my stuff.” and he was immediately sold. sometimes feels like the caretaker of his group, making sure everyone’s taking care of themselves because akaashi and y/n often get in the habit of partnering together to make bad decisions or locking themselves in a room to cram for classes

miya osamu & kozume kenma °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

osamu

went on a whim and started onigiri miya while also going to school for a degree in hospitality. works most nights with yn allowing them to grow pretty close. in high school, she also felt the most comfortable with him out of all the inarizaki boys and he would tell her all kinds of stories about suna because he could see how she looked at him. they still usually gossip while they work together and he definitely enables her whenever she feels like doing something (as long as it’s not harmful to herself or detrimental to her future!!!). whenever msby travels to away games, he usually gets the chance to set up a stand outside the court and will leave yn in charge of the tokyo location. is also close besties with akaashi because they share an immense love for food and has given him a free pass to eat there whenever he wants (atsumu on the other hand pays and sometimes gets a discount, usually only if yn is the one taking his order bc she feels bad for him)

kenma

photography major and part time streamer. literally is the only reason yn and akaashi have good cameras because he’ll give them his old ones whenever he buys a new one or will buy them equipment they need as a present. (in return) yn and akaashi definitely help him in general classes. feeds and has basically adopted a cat that somehow climbs their window sill everyday. he’s like the keeper of his dorm because he’s always home so whenever someone is out and has forgotten something, they’ll always spam kenma asking him to “pretty please” bring it to them. posts a lot of the photos he takes on his main twitter account. definitely takes a lot of street photography and spends more time editing photos that people send in but sometimes does portraits if requested.

extras <3

yn, akaashi, sakusa, and kenma all live together

osamu doesn’t pay rent but he’s often over bc he doesn’t want to be amidst the chaos of his actual roomates

kenma’s been forced to keep his depression clutter limited to his room because sakusa and y/n are both clean freaks

(sometimes if he lets her, y/n will come in to help him organize and clean his room)

sakusa often ends up cooking for everyone to eat because he knows no one will eat if they have to make something themselves

his one rule is you cannot be in the kitchen as the same time as him or he will stare you down

y/n usually just makes something for herself at onigiri miya but she’ll always take sakusa’s cooking over it

do not come at me abt how the real world works with businesses please 😭 let me be

taglist: @wyrcan @oyasumeii @froyaoya @gyuijns @nbcvs (form to be added to taglist! <3)

m.list | next

#suna rintarou #rintarou suna #suna #sunarin #suna x reader #suna smau #suna x reader smau #haiykuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader #ness' planet ⋆⭒˚.⋆

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nectardaddy · 8 months ago

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full throttle | sakusa kiyoomi

chapter thirteen | parking garage | 🏎️

masterlist

The air was silent, a void of sound, the engine turned off from parking only twenty minutes ago - one could hear a pin drop if they wanted. Parking his car in the open space of a garage lot, one he frequently went to just to get away; and one he absentmindedly took her to now because he simply couldn't clear his mind.

Picking her up only to be found breathless, and lost yet again - so he took her here. The, almost to a T, script he made in his mind vanishing within a second as she looked at him. He was absolutely doomed - he couldn't speak, couldn't think, and most certainly, didn't know how to act.

"I really like you." He didn't realize his own words, not noticing they slipped past his lips until they were already in the air. Hanging by a dangerously thin thread, floating, until she finally took them with caution. Her lips parted to speak at the sudden words but closed abruptly as she let the phrase simmer in her subconscious.

"You do?" A gentle, but prodding question asked by her; one that made him feel silly all over again. A question to which he couldn't find words anymore and simply nodded, ridiculing himself within his mind. But thoughts drew a complete blank when a smile peaked at the corners of her lips, a ghost of one, one that made him swallow hard at what was yet to come. "I really like you too, Kiyoomi."

"Damn," he breathed out hopelessly. To which she couldn't help but chuckle, the outburst causing her small smile to grow as she laughed.

"You say it like it's a bad thing," she mused. Wrapping her mind around the singular word forgivingly, tenderly holding as she wanted him to say more. To say what he meant; to not skirt around the thought with sand paper words.

"No," he corrected quickly. "No, not at all. Actually far from it." Finally finding the confidence within himself to look at her, he found himself with lack of oxygen once more. The dim light of the parking garage hid her features well, but he was hopeless all the same. "I'm an idiot for not talking to you, I'm sorry."

"You'd only be an idiot if you stopped talking to me all together." She was teasing him, prodding at the situation with a silly smile on her lips. A phrase he couldn't help but allow a breathy laugh to leave his lips from; one that finally made the tension in the air subside and his shoulders drop.

"I'm not that much of an idiot." A small smile pulling at the corners of his lips, looking to her like he finally managed to reach for something glorious. Fuck, she's beautiful, I am an idiot. "I won't fuck it up like a did in high school."

"What?" You asked in a chuckle, "you liked me in high school?"

"Oh, I was obsessed with you in high school," spoken in an exasperated breath, smile still pulling at his cheeks.

"You're not obsessed now?"

"You're the whole reason I won last week. If that's what obsessed then I don't know what to call it."

a cutesy chapter is coming after this one!

she was actively still in the car with him while sending those texts lmao

he was driving though so it's ok

he can flirt - just a little

kicking my feet at this chapter, it's happening FINALLY

the boy's gc is going to lose their minds over this when omi tells them

taglist under cut (I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT ILY)

@wyrcan @hilichurl-lover @neuviloved @mayariviolet @wqnsho

@chosugarplum @dontmindtheevie @ilyless @phoenix-eclipses @kitnootkat

@azuremyst99 @wolffmaiden @localgaytrainwreck @eggyrocks @plutosalwayslost

@yuminako @aliensstolemyheart @msameikanevaeh @chizunata @cherrypieyourface

@gra-eae @punkhazardlaw @iheartamora @whoislesiless @whosmarjj

@chemiru @whosmarjj

#haiykuu #haikyuu!!#sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #series: full throttle #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!! smau #hq x reader #sakusa smau #hq smau #formula drift

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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Hiii!! I’m absolutely in love with the way you write kiyoomi :) he’s literally perfect. If you have time, I would love a scenario where his partner meets the black jackals for the first time!! Whether it’s accidental or on purpose is up to you :)

but he was so much fun (and he had such weird friends!)

cw/tags: gn!reader, swearing, mentions of cooking and eating, domestic omi crumbs, established relationship and pet names (love, baby), pure jackals crack

note: hi love!!! this prompt is so funny omg i'm obsessed. hope you like it!!! i got extremely carried away

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :)

"i'm-" he starts, huffing out an irritated breath and setting his knife on the cutting board, gripping the edges of the countertop. you turn to look at him from your spot at the stove, tapping the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot and placing it in the spoon rest. you check the vegetable prep over his shoulder and find neat piles of cut carrots, cauliflower, and potatoes. it didn't seem like anything was wrong with his knife skills, so it perplexed you why he was suddenly having trouble expressing his thoughts. "i'm having..."

"you're having?" you wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and gently turn him to face you, snaking your arms around his neck while his hands find their natural place on your hips. your thumb absentmindedly brushes over his moles, right above his furrowed eyebrows of annoyance.

"doubts," he says uncertainly, glancing at the dining table set for four more than its usual two occupants. the corner of his mouth juts to the side in obvious discontent, even though he was trying not to dampen your excitement for formally meeting his friends. not that he would ever call them that, at least not in this lifetime.

"how so, baby?"

"they can be a little...hard to handle," he mutters. "you know them. you've seen it," he says, voice strained and it makes you chuckle at the memory of the first time you actually met his friends.

kiyoomi wishes that it didn't happen that way at least twice a day. it was partially your fault, overestimating your ability to find him in the back halls of the msby gym facilities after only a few months of dating. after turning yourself around about four different times and unable to retrace your steps, you settled for walking in the direction of a nearby conversation. you ended up, however, steering a wrong turn into the men's locker room, yelping in surprise when you were met with three bare chests, none of which belonged to your boyfriend. apologizing profusely and briskly walking away, you were fleeing too quickly to hear the three players equally as alarmed.

it was like a scene from a cartoon; you could vaguely make out the sound of things being thrown like shirts, water bottles, and flailing limbs. there were hushed whispers of holy shit, someone just walked in here and they're so pretty and put some fucking clothes on, shoyo, that's indecency. you make the executive decision to just wait for him outside, but before you leave, your boyfriend's voice rings loud and clear from around the corner.

"what the hell are you guys freaking out about?"

"omi, dude. you just missed them."

"missed who?"

"there was this really pretty person that walked in! they were wearing the same zip-up that you were wearing yesterday, isn't that neat?" your attention darts down to the jacket that was very much kiyoomi's and definitely not yours, your face warming from pure embarrassment. "maybe you could ask them if they shop there frequently; i think they'd be your type."

"since when did sakusa have a type?"

"hey, wait! where are you going?" is the last question you hear before your boyfriend comes barreling around the corner in nothing but shower shoes and sweatpants and looking just as bewildered as you and the three guys in the locker room. after a palpable moment of shocked silence, you both word-vomit at the same time.

"you're wearing my jacket."

"why are you shirtless?!"

"you're wearing my jacket." his voice drops in volume to a yelled whisper, his hand pulling you further down the hallway and away from the locker room despite his lack of clothes. a few of the gym staff eye you in confusion and you give them a weak smile, fighting the urge to stare at the muscle rippling across kiyoomi's body. "you're wearing my jacket," he repeats for the third time, as if it was taking several tries for his brain to compute the information in front of him.

"that's your main concern?!"

"no, shit, no," he shakes his head, regaining his composure after his mind short-circuited. "my main concern is you running into the three stupidest members of my team without me there-"

"and while they were shirtless," you add and his nose scrunches in pure distaste. "wait, why don't you want me to meet them without you there?"

"because they're stupid and-and i love you and they're-and they're stupid," he stammers, visibly flustered in a way that you'd never seen him before. it sets your face on fire, hearing how easily he said he loved you when you'd never said it to each other up until that point. the same realization must hit him at the same time and he pinches the bridge of his nose in defeat, sighing through his nose. "i just said i love you."

"you just said you love me," you echo, a delirious smile widening on your mouth as you peel his fingers away from his face and lace them into yours. "you just said you love me."

"he just said he loves them!" a very eavesdropping-sounding whisper comes from behind the wall and you both flinch. like a straw breaking a camel's back, kiyoomi's face contorted into a vengeful scowl. he composed himself for a moment, promising you he'd be right back, and then stomping around the corner where you heard receding screams of terror.

that was five months ago, and you finally convinced kiyoomi to let you meet his friends formally, along with atsumu's brother who was bringing more food to help you feed four pro athletes.

"i've seen a lot more than just them being stupid," you remind him, giggling when his face turns a light shade of pink. "and, i think it's endearing how much they care for you. i know you won't admit it, but i know you care about them, too." he gazes at you so softly that it makes you melt a little. i'm gonna marry you, one day, he thinks. "now, i promise i won't be deterred by their idiocy, so let me get back to cooking, okay?"

"okay," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "i love you. a lot."

"i love you even more, omi."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #haikyu x you #haikyu x reader #haikyu fluff #hq x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #ask iris!

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halowishes · 4 months ago

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october favs!

what i recommend this month.

(my reviews are getting longer… i will not apologize T-T)

burden of blame

e. 91.2k. violence. yakuza au.

i’ve finally read the iconic fic. the writing for this and atsumu’s character deserves more praise than i can do. his fears, motivations, dreams, and hopes are so gripping and emotional. i just love long fics so much. you learn so much about the characters and there’s so much DEPTH. i always feel so lucky to read them.

the MSBY black jackals guide to self care

t. 4.5k. canon compliant.

it’s sakusa with a religious self care routine versus 6 in 1 shower wash. such a sweet fic of sakusa learning a new routine, befriending the jackals, and getting praise (as he should!). and i love a sakusa pov <3

insert coin to play

e. 178k. cyberpunk/ bounty hunters au. violence.

finally was brave enough to read this and it did not disappoint :’). this dynamic of loudmouth but extremely competent atsumu x observant and stealthy but full of sass kiyoomi is SO fun. not to mention them being absolutely obsessed with each other (and not realizing it). this fic is so creative, beautifully written, and embodies every possibility in fanfic. they mean so much to me and i could write essays on how good this fic is. fairycake has never let me down.

fan behavior (series)

t/ e. 41.3k total. 4 works. canon compliant.

there’s something cosmically right about teenage kiyo being a fanboy and an atsumu apologist. the premise of the jackals trying to differentiate the miya twins fit sooo well😭 this series had me giggling into my pillow.

strawberry

t. 8.5k. american college au.

i was expecting a silly college fic but it ended up being so much more. i have complex feelings about the asian american experience and college (im graduating soon), so this fic spoke to a few different parts of me. highly recommend if you have a weird relationship with your culture, ethnicity, your parents, or have a crush on your friend :P

crash course

e. 6.0k. all-japan youth camp.

ah yes, horny high schoolers at a sleep away camp. teen kiyoomi wants to lose his virginity and sets motoya on a mission to find the best choice. enter miya atsumu: five star reputation, good at volleyball, hot, and willing. perfect candidate for kiyo’s big moment!

it drives you crazy getting old

m. 45.9k. 13 going on 30 skts!

atsumu being an asshole to kiyoomi at the all-japan youth camp only for them to wake up at 32 years old, MARRIED, in their osaka home! both are horrified as they realize they’re stuck together in a future they don’t know! this fic made me look forward to getting older, facing changes, and finding people who love my quirks <3

your best american boy

t. 23.3k. asian american high school au.

this fic left me speechless. it’s filled to the brim with emotion, experience, raw and open wounds, and such beautiful prose. learning your culture, appreciating your family, talking to your parents, forgiving your parents, being seventeen, feeling wrong in your skin. it’s a love letter to coming-of-age and asian american-ness (however you choose to define that). it changed how i think about family & identity.

constellations we call home

e. 53.5k. end of the world au.

i LOVE apocalypse aus and this one did not disappoint: the dread, the hope, the wonder, the magic of having no future!! pro volleyball player atsumu finds his cog in the corporate machine neighbor at the end of the world. what does it mean if your life begins with three weeks left to live?

do i dare disturb the universe?

t. 14.9k. parallel universe au.

corporate machine kiyoomi (again!) wakes up in a parallel universe next to the man he dumped 10 years ago— so why does he seem so happy in this life? this fic is gentle and emotional and introspective. i love these kinds of fics bc life is sooo fast and confusing. we never know if we’re making the right decisions and sometimes it’s hard to listen to your heart, but your life is still in your hands. let yourself feel!

nowhere man

e. 40.5k. college band au.

nonlinear storyline of famous atsumu and restaurant owner kiyoomi and their 3 meetings. i’m a sucker for “right person, maybe next time” because if they’re the right person you WILL find a next time. internetpistol’s fics are always emotionally charged and liberating. although sad at points, it’s also very genuine.

again, like this

e. 55.7k. mid-time skip fwb.

(ao3 exclusive)

none of you understand how in love with this fic i am. fwb whose feelings become too much to ignore. it was one of the first skts fics i read, i go back to it probably every week, and the characterization fits SO perfectly. i could read this again and again (heh get it?) and i’d fall in love every single time. my ultimate emotional support fic.

miya atsumu, adored by all (loved by some)

t. 41.1k. canon compliant.

atsumu just wants to be liked, so everyone lets him know they like him (and some love him). my heart really ached for this one. we’ve all had moments of self doubt where we don’t feel like good people, so this fic feels like a warm hug on days like that. find the person you share stardust with <3 you’re all very lovable.

brain fish - bokuaka

(surprise! i read other ships sometimes!)

t. 12k. pre canon(??)/ high school.

this was the SILLIEST and CUTEST little fic ever. bokuto texts the wrong number about the fish he desperately wants. akaashi just keeps texting back. this fic was so reminiscent of all the awkwardness that comes with high school crushes. texting way too late, sounding a little different than real life, and that meeting after all the texts. so adorable.

#haikyuu #sakuatsu #miya atsumu #sakusa kiyoomi #[halo reads]!#[halo reviews!]#fanfic rec #haikyuu fanfiction

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kiwanopie · 2 years ago

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I’m on my knees begging for more kiyoomi 🧎🏽‍♀️it doesn’t even have to crime kiyoomi. I’ll accept anything. Also I love your writing, keep up the good work!

Honeymoon

lovesick crime lord!Kiyoomi x reader

cw: smut smut smut. oral (f!receiving), slight dub-con, choking, spit, dumbifaction, praise, obsessive lovesick thoughts, talks of breeding, creampie, PnV sex, multiple orgasms. Pure filth

wc: 3.7k

“Kiyoomi-” You shudder as he presses himself against you. “Is… consummating the first night really necessary…?”

Kiyoomi lifts his back to look at you more directly. Eyes a little glazed over and way too far gone to have only just slipped you out of your reception dress.

“If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to.” He breathes. “Just… let me have a little more of you, or else I might actually die.”

And he might just mean it. He’s been wound up tight since the two of you kissed at the altar. Passing lingering touches during talks with your families, holding you closer than ever during the couple’s dance, hell, you were surprised he didn’t leave a handprint on your dress, with how heavily his hand had been latched to your thigh all evening. It’s not like this is the first time the two of you have had sex. - Hell, with how often you were getting the seats wet in his car these past few days leading up to this, you were almost afraid he’d be a little over it.

But now you’re his wife. Now you’re a Sakusa. All his and he now all yours and that pretty rock on your finger matching the wedding band on his. - Your name’s engraved into the inner finish of his ring unlike the little love note he left on yours. Protruding letters somewhat so it scrapes a bit whenever he inches it up, and you’re not ashamed to say it’s a little butterfly-inducing to see your name all but carved into his left finger.

He wants you more than he thinks he can take. He feels like a teenager about to lay his crush on prom night. You’re so pretty in the flickering candlelight that he thinks he might actually throw up.

So in lieu of ruining the mood by anointing you in wedding cake chunks, Kiyoomi instead dips his head to pour a few slow kisses down your throat line. “Let me make you feel good if nothing else. That's all I want.”

“Just to make me feel good?“

“Whatever you want,” He suckles in a bruise, and you reward him with a sound that makes his face hot. “Just let me make you cum. I wanna hear you cum for me, angel.”

You shiver under his molten kisses. Goosebumps climbing up your arms as his loving hands caress anything worth caressing and honestly starting to feel just as amped up as he is. This guy’s frenzied. Hair standing up on his arms when you reach up to toy with the little curls on the low of his nape and wrap your legs around him like you want him to melt into you.

The bulge in his suit pants is so prominent that he’s one good touch from just ripping through the vacuna. You’re gracious enough to grant him permission with a soft ‘please’ that almost sends him over the edge, and without a moment to stutter, he dives in gratefully.

Kiyoomi’s lips are sensuous and tender as he presses them against yours. Firm grip keeping your jaw fixed in his direction as he peppers loving kisses between lecherous ones and sucking your bottom lip in his mouth until they’re over-kissed and swollen - every taste of your lips sends him further off the deep end.

You whimper in his mouth. His callous hand grabs a hefty handful of one of your breasts and teases over your covered nipple with his thumb until they’re erect and pointed proudly through your négligée. His breaths feel almost winded. Just being able to touch you like this after all day is sending him into a frenzy. To be completely honest, he’s spent most of the day counting the seconds till he could finally whisk you away into your lover’s suite. And even still, with you so close his mouth waters in anticipation.

He pulls the strap of your slip until the entirety of those pretty tits are exposed to the conditioned hotel air; he barely wastes a second sucking one of your nipples into his mouth while he toys with the other one.

You croon. You hate how good Kiyoomi is at making you feel so wanted without even trying. Arching your back until you're feeding your breasts into his greedy mouth, you dig thin crescents into the bicep of his arm without even thinking.

Or recognizing all those pretty sounds you’re making. Kiyoomi fondles you down the path of your slip, squeezing and groping anything he can get his hands on as he slides your nipple out of his mouth with a lewd pop! And wraps his lips over the other as he finally finds the little hem of your gown.

He wants to make you feel good. It’s easy to forget who you’ve got on top of you right now. A man responsible for the suffering of too many people to count and too many problems in this nation that only he can benefit from. Immoral, corrupt, inimical things. So bad it could make you sick. - Kissing down your stomach and leaving hot trails in his wake as he goosebumps from how overwhelmed he is at being this close. This personal - He’s this loving.

And you’d be stupid to expect he meant anything less than that from him. - It’s hard enough to comprehend the fact that he means it when he says he loves you this much. Means it when he says he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Means it when he says he’d rather die than be with anyone else. Being propositioned straight into a marriage with a man known for being notoriously cruel and callous kind of negates those typical feelings of sureness. A man who’s only recognized by his cold stare, inability to find satisfaction in the most faultless of things, and so wrought with endless power that the entirety of Asia can do no more but bow to him. A boogeyman - for as long as you’ve known about him. Even in living with him, you see his callous nature and pray to never find yourself on the receiving end of it. But when he looks at you, he’s different. When he looks at you, speaks to you, speaks of you, he’s -

He groans at the way your wetness soaks up your pretty panties. Lovesick.

You more or less instinctively hump into his hand as he starts to rub in lovesome circles. Lewdly adjusting the movements of his hand in various circling and up and down motions that saturate your panties till they’re drenched in your slick. Honestly, if he keeps at it you might just cum from that alone.

Kiyoomi must hear it in the way your airy breaths have started to pitch because right as he just about brings you to the edge - he stops.

He’s positioning himself at the apex of your legs before you can even protest.

His lips are molten as he kisses up your supple thighs, fingers blistering as he caresses your plush skin staunchly. Every tender press of his lips is more gluttonous than the last, humming in between the smack of your cosseted skin the closer he gets to your hot center.

Your tits rise and fall as you pant at the anticipation; even in your apprehension does the way he fondles you give you goosebumps.

Kiyoomi presses a slow kiss to your covered slit. He all but buries his face in it as he groans at the mere sampling of your cassonade juices. Making out with your pussy through your ruined panties and riling himself up even more than he originally meant to. Whatever he anticipated you tasting like was an insult to how phenomenal the reality is as he sucks through the cotton. He swears he might just finish in his pants the moment he gets the real thing on his tongue.

His breaths shudder as he reaches over your hips to gingerly pull your panties down your legs, raising up to press chaste kisses on the “V” of your pelvis as they slide wetly down your legs, and he can barely brace himself when he spreads your thighs and bares your flower to his hungry eyes.

Kiyoomi sucks in a tight breath.

“S-Shit,” He licks his lips. “Look how fucking perfect you are.”

He shivers at the way you visibly tighten up at the praise. A bead of your glittery slick wets the carnelian in the hotel divan. Rightfully, he grieves it. - Something so delectable shouldn’t be wasted on some crummy furniture. It should be pouring over his tongue and lining the walls of his lungs like it lawfully deserves.

You shiver as his heated breaths blow feverishly over your exposed cunt. Jumping a bit when you feel his fingers spread your lips apart to bare you to him fully.

And then his tongue is lapping up your clit.

The conjoined sounds of your surprise and his mind-numbing bliss bump into one another and flutter into the open air. He’s so devotedly slurping up your pretty pussy that you almost consider this is more for him than you. I mean, he’s tonging up your cunt so messily that it almost feels hoggish. The wet sounds of his sloshing tongue turn your ears hot as you start to mindlessly hump into his face, already so overwhelmed by the pleasure that your head’s gone all fuzzy.

Kiyoomi moans into your sloppy pussy as you start to card your fingers through his hair, drunkenly humping into the seat of the divan as he dips his tongue into your sweet little hole.

You trill at that intoxicating feeling of irresistible bliss. “F-…Fuck! Ah…H-Holy shit…”

He sloppily drags his tongue up your open cunt to suck your clit into his mouth, suckling on it tenderly till he’s sliding it from between his lips, and lapping it up all over again.

God, if he keeps going at you like this you’re gonna fucking cum. It’s like his tongue is heating up the more he goes at it - so sloppy with his cunt flavored spit that it makes a puddle that pools along your backside. He’s eating you out like it’s all he’s meant to do.

You outright whine when he pulls away for a pensive second, cooing to you as he sucks your slick from his lips and rubs his fingers in quick circles over your swollen clit.

Kiyoomi asserts breathlessly. “Let me see that pretty face, baby.”

You raise on your elbows a little dazedly. Spaghetti straps pulled up to maintain your dignity from his earlier ministrations falling again over your shoulders in a way he could only describe as mouthwatering. The differing color of your areola peeks from the disarrayed fabric of your little slip, and the hazy look in your eyes makes you look more beautiful than he can rationally take.

He wants to pour himself over you and let you wear him like a second skin. He salivates at the way your clit throbs under his fingers. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Kiyoomi swivels his hand until his middle finger is lined up with your hole. “I don’t want you to miss this.”

Your face cinches lewdly when he eases his finger in and pumps it a few times, and you whimper when he pulls back to add another finger. But the way you gape as he bends his neck to flatten his tongue against your clit, and shiver under the extended eye contact, it's enough to make him feel like near cumming untouched. You’re starting to drive him too crazy.

But he doesn’t know the half of it until you reach for his scalp again. Carding your fingers through and then tugging, his stomach butterflies as you wantonly throw your head back, and he groans as one of your legs lifts just over his shoulder.

But then you’re moaning out into the air. “Fuck. Fuck! Fuck me, Kiyoomi! Fuck me! Fuck me!”

That’s what pushes him over the edge.

Kiyoomi’s grunting into your cunt like a love-drunk whore as his eyes roll and he falls into that beatific bliss. He’s pistoning his fingers into your squelching cunt like his life depends on it, lapping you up like it’s the only thing keeping him living. Raunchily he makes out with your pussy until you're falling on your back and holding onto his hair for dear life, suffocating him, but he couldn’t be any more thrilled about it. Giving his breath to the woman delivering him into such mind-breaking pleasure is the least he can do. Especially when your thighs tighten over his ears, and you’re fucking into his mouth like it’s all he’s good for.

He’s hard as a rock before he even finishes his initial orgasm, moaning into your cunt as he brings his free hand up to belt you even more firmly against his face. And he almost falls over the edge again when he realizes you’re cumming.

“Yes! Yes! Ffffuck! Oh my god! Fuck, Omi! Fuck. So good! It’s so good, baby!”

If his balls get any tighter, they might explode.

Kiyoomi fucks his tongue and fingers into you ruthlessly as you ride out your orgasm on his face. No doubt singing loud enough that anybody walking parallel to the suite would hear it clear as day, but he relishes in it. Unabashed as he moans into your spasming cunt and indulges himself until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation. He just barely comes up for air when his lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen.

You pant into the room as your body finally goes limp. You’re shaking. Legs quivering at his sides and struggling to catch your breath. The amount of pleasure you’re still coming down from makes the underlying haze all the more sweeter. - But you don’t even get the chance to revel in it when he’s already hovering over your fucked out form.

Kiyoomi’s lips are so tinged with you that it’s almost all you can taste. He kisses you with such frenzied fervor that you have to holster your hands on his shoulders to keep him at bay.

He breathes into your lips. “You did so good for me, angel. So fucking good,” You can hear his belt clinking between you both. “I love you so much. Fuck. I love you so much.”

You pant into the air as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. He’s so solid and all-encompassing that he’s all you can focus on right now. “Kiyoomi, you’re- Fuck, you gotta-“

You squeal when the tip pops in.

Even after all this time it still stretches you out to an almost painful degree. Pulsing as Kiyoomi pushes in, so hot and heavy that it feels like he’s tearing you apart from the inside. He groans so drunkenly in your ear that it nearly makes you tremble. But you can do no more than stay locked in place as he breaches your insides, and presses himself in until he’s filled you to the hilt.

Kiyoomi peppers you in wet kisses as he coos at you to relax, so far gone from the amount of pleasure he’s experiencing all at once that his words almost slur. “ 's okay. You’re okay, baby. Jus’ relax for me. It’ll feel good in just a second.”

You grind your teeth as your nails dig into his shoulders. He hisses as you start to break the skin, but it only makes his cock twitch in your velvety insides.

He’s in your fucking stomach. And it feels… bigger somehow. Like now that he’s your husband he’s giving it all to you finally and you can barely take it. So thick and heavy. Fuck, he’s so deep inside.

You must’ve muttered that last part out loud because his hips flinch at the sound of it. Still shushing you as he sucks bruises into your pulse point and rubs up your thighs like he means to console you.

When you start to squirm he palms your lower thigh and lifts your leg up just under the knee. Gearing his hip back till half of his wet shaft is exposed to the air and lifting his head for a good look at you.

The way your eyes roll back as he finally starts his brutal pace is enough to all but turn his pupils into hearts.

Kiyoomi swallows your clipped whines as he shoves his tongue in your mouth. Stopping every other thrust to press himself into you until his balls are squishing up against your ass and grinding himself in so deep that you swear he’s coming up through your throat.

You’re tearing fabric beads out of his dress shirt you’ve been clawing into him so hard. The thought of you marking him up makes his heart start to flutter.

“Shit. You feel that?” He grunts against your lips. “Feels so fucking amazing. All ‘ve been thinking about all day.”

You try to respond with something along the lines of “You’re too deep!” Or “Slow down!” But it only comes out as blissed out mumbling.

Kiyoomi slams in a few cutthroat thrusts that turn your guts into soup. You unlatch one of your hands to dig your nails into the cushions of the loveseat as your toes curl. “I’m almost pissed. - Keeping this perfect pussy away from me. ~ My perfect pussy away from me. Almost went insane knowing just how - oh fuck - fucking… phenomenal you’d feel. Think I just might put a baby in you.”

You wail through the pleasure to slur out disjointedly. “N-…No baby! Don’t wan’ a baby, Omi! Don’t…ah! Don’ want it!”

“No?” He lifts your other leg till he’s holding you in a mating press, watching those pretty tits bounce as your drool runs down your cheek. “You don’t want my baby? This pussy’s begging for it.”

You sob so prettily when he starts to dig you out like he hates you. “No! Nononono…! Don’t want a baby! Wan’ you, Omi! O-Only - fuck - Only want you, Omi!”

And even through all this, hearing something like that come from your mouth makes his face hot. It makes him hold onto your thighs with the kind of tightness that’ll bruise tomorrow. Heart squeezing as you cry out for him through teary eyes. “Yeah? You want me? You want Omi?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Only want Omi! F-fffuck! O-Only want my Omi!”

He wants to marry you all over again. He’s really not gonna last if you keep talking like this.

Kiyoomi hoists one of your legs on his shoulder to free his hand for a grip on your jaw. The difference in angle as he leans in for a sloppy kiss makes you both groan.

Your eyes are glazed over when he pulls away, mouth still gaped open to moan drunkenly in the air, but just the sight of your kiss-swollen lips is just too tempting to pass up.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth lewdly, deepening the kiss as he grinds himself into the hilt and starts again on those vicious thrusts that has you hiccuping underneath him. His voice is heavy with lust as he asserts. “Open your mouth a little wider for me, baby.”

And like the perfect little wife you are, you broaden your lips apart till your pretty pink tongue is bared for him. “That’s right. Good girl, angel.”

The mirth in his smile makes your tears well up from the pride.

And then he spits in your mouth.

Your eyes roll as he licks the leftover gossamer trail from his lips, swallowing it as the knot in your lower stomach tightens. His firm grip on your jaw slackens till he’s skimming it down to your throat - and he reapplies his hold with a loving fervor. At this point, he’s fucking you so thoroughly that you’re sure you’d be ruined for anyone else, regardless. Cock swelling in your tightening insides, and looking down at you with the kind of adoration that says he’s far gone and he’s not coming back. So in love with you that it’s almost frightening.

His fingers press against the side of your throat till your head starts to feel light. “Tell me you love me.”

You’re starting to see stars. “Say it. Tell me you love me. Tell me you can’t live without me.”

Honestly, with how cockdrunk and wound up you are, it’s really starting to feel like it. “I love you!” You cry.

“I love you! I love you! I can’t - ah! oh god… C-Can’t live without you!” Oh fuck, you’re cumming again. “Love you so much, Omi! I love you! Fuck! I love you! I love you, Omi! Iloveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou - please… oh my god… don’t stop don’t stop… fffuckkk oh my god, Omi…so fucking good…”

He outright chokes on his breaths, little tears welling in his eyes, half from the pleasure, half from the bliss of hearing you cry out for him so earnestly. He chirps out a mix of a grunt and a whine, dipping his head into the crook of your neck as he loses his mind and fucks into you even as you clench around his hot cum.

The sound of his lovesick voice - babbling into your ear as he continues to fuck your brains out, sends you hurling into a whole nother orgasm. “S-Shit! Oh my god. Oh my fucking - Oh Christ, angel. F-Fuck! I love you too, baby. I love you so much it - Ugh… oh god… Love you so much it hurts. Jus’ wanna make you happy, baby. Wanna-… oh fuck… I’m cumming again… I’m cumming, m’ cumming…”

Kiyoomi presses his forehead against yours as he continues to empty his balls into your gooey insides, still digging in your guts as you pant mindlessly into the air. “Fuck - Take it. Take it, baby. Mhf… Fuck yeah, keep milking me like that.”

He swivels his hips a few more drunken times before finally going limp.

Kiyoomi sighs as he dumps his head on the inside of your shoulder to catch his breath for a few empty seconds. Relishing in your mirrored worn out breaths and the way your heart races in tandem with his. He presses ginger kisses up your heavily bruised neck and jaw, holding you tight even as the residual bliss starts to fade. Still just as lovesick, amative, if not a half step from straight up worshiping you as he sluggishly lifts his head, and grazes his nose tenderly against your own. Gentle breaths kiss over your lips as he hovers - and lingers there a savory moment. He finally lets himself press his lips against yours with an ardent sigh blown into the room. Gentle kisses that start slow and end open-mouthed, Kiyoomi knows this is the happiest he’s ever been in his life.

And you encourage him as he indulges himself. As he kisses you like you’re the air he breathes and holds you like it’s the only thing his arms were made for. Loving you so tenderly, so intimately, like he’s craved for every second since he’s met you, and even as he whispers words of ardor and amour between your entwined lips, you do nothing to stop him.

You might love him a little more than you anticipated.

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touchlikethesun · 1 year ago

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okay so i will say, i do think the hinata harem is kinda cringe and it is definitely not something that should be brought back or encouraged bc people take it way too far and they make it weird

however...

it is endlessly amusing to me just how much chemistry he has with like. every setter. like yeah he gets along with just about everybody but the tension between him and setters is on a whole nother level, like obvs kags is the first one that comes to mind, but it's not just kags, kenma oikawa even atsumu (*gags*) are just like . obsessed with him- and he freaking matches their energy!! like kenma and hinata don't even get me started but oikawa and hinata meeting up in brazil post time skip and immediately becoming bfs/partners?? no one but hinata could charm oikawa like that... (i'm not talking about astumu and hinata because i hate atsumu but even with my deep hatred for him i can recognise how well they work together)

that being said, i think it would be absolutely hilarious if post-canon it becomes like an inside joke on MSBY that hinata will - somehow - manage to charm/befriend or otherwise click with the setter on every team they play against. like sakusa and bokuto will be watching as hinata lands a particularly impressive spike and the other team's setter will blush or get that look in their eye and bokuto will either cheer or groan depending on if he won the bet on how long it would take this time xx

#akaashi is safe bc he doesn't play any more #i think i would have been a very bad person to be around if i had been in the hq fandom during the 2020 resurgence #don't ask me about that bitch atsumu i have nothing more to say on the matter #hinata shouyou #msby black jackal #kagehina #kenhina #oihina #hinata x all setters lmao #haikyuu

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fluorescentadolescent1 · 1 year ago

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can you write a red one-shot with sakusa from haikyuu? Love you<33

I love you so much more for asking sakusa, I hope you enjoy it!

❝ 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦❞

: The miya's younger sister comes to the msby party with one purpose, Sakusa Kiyoomi.

warning!: kinda mean!kiyoomi, unprotected sex, spanking a little bit, possessive omi <3 , choking.

you can see my masterlist too.

Your relationship with your brother's teammates was always friendly, but there was one person you wished wouldn't treat you like a friend. Sakusa Kiyoomi was your biggest crush, until the innocent looks grew to be a sexual tension that had you touching yourself at night and fantasizing that they were his. You wanted him to see you for the woman you are, not just the little sister of his obnoxious and loud friend.

So you decided that if Sakusa didn't take the initiative, you would.

It all started at a msby party, where Atsumu decided to bring his little sister as plus one, and you were not going to say no since you were dressed with a purpose.

So you decided to pamper yourself and buy a new outfit for the occasion, put on makeup and fix your hair in a sensual way.Upon entering, you were holding onto Atsumu's arm, while greeting people you already knew and those you didn't, but your gaze was looking for someone in specific.

At one point Atsumu went to the bar dragged by bokuto leaving you alone in the middle of the lounge.

" I didn't think I'd see you here today, I thought you'd be stuck next to your brother as usual"

You could feel the sarcasm in Sakusa's voice behind you, even without seeing it you felt your skin crawl. You usually spent your spare time helping Osamu with his restaurant.

You turned around and you could feel the heat emanating from Sakusa's body, he was dressed in black dress pants, a dark blue shirt rolled up on his arms and loose buttons almost reaching his neck. He looked incredibly hot.

" Sometimes a girl needs to be distracted a bit, besides Atsumu said that Kageyama could attend today" You couldn't help but tease him, something you knew very well about Sakusa was his short temper and the dislike for the younger setter.

Sakusa rolled his eyes and moved closer to you, his expensive scent filling your nostrils making you tingle, "Do you really think someone like Kageyama could distract you? I thought you were the smartest Miya, what a disgrace"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, "How many times do I have to tell you not to compare me to my idiot brothers?" Also, I didn't know that you already had such an opinion of me, be careful omi-kun~, you seem obsessed with me" you smiled mischievously, what you didn't expect is for Sakusa to get close to your ear and whisper, "And what will you do if I am?" and unleashed everything.

One thing led to another and now you were in the parking lot of the party, locked in his luxury car. You were mounted on top of him and you felt his hands greedily go all over your body while his lips left wet kisses all over your neck.

" Omi, not here, please, someone can come out and see us like this" you murmured clinging to the last thread of consciousness you had left, the tickling between your legs clouded your mind.

"Do you really think I care? You don't know how long I waited to do this" Kiyoomi said turning his face away from your neck and holding your face in his hands, his pupils were dilated and you could swear you could die looking at him.

" I didn't know you were so in love with me omi-omi" you said smiling, you tried to get closer to kiss him on the lips but he stopped you seriously on his pretty face.

"You know that i do, why did you think I was going to Osamu's restaurant after team practices and you were there, why i stayed with you a while longer when you waited for Atsumu to come out of the gym showers?" this time it was sakusa approached your face, "Why do you think that the day I found out that Kageyama was going to ask for your number I threw a service ace in his face?"

You laughed remembering that match, everyone was amazed that the Sakusa Kiyoomi lost track of the ball so much. You always thought that spending so much time with Atsumu began to affect him.

" I knew you were attracted to me, but I never thought you'd give me a chance to get closer. I thought you tease me just for being your teammate's sister"

Your laugh spreads a smile on Kiyoomi's face, who once again brought your face closer to his, your breath mixing, "You're a fool if you think that to me you were just that, I always saw you beyond your brother"

This time Kiyoomi let you kiss him, compared to the touches on your body, the kiss was sweet and delicate, in silence he wanted to show you how much he longed for this moment.

The kiss began to intensify, your hands caressing Kiyoomi's curly hair, and he caressed the skin on your hips.

"So show me omi, show me that you want me"

Your words were like a lighter that lit the fire in him, his hands became greedy again,his hands began to move up your dress little by little, you instead unbuttoned his shirt and allowed yourself to touch his chest.

" Don't be a brat, don't forget who you're talking to" Kiyoomi patted the side of your thigh, you whimpered and moved a little against his throbbing erection.

" Don't be mean omi~" you started to leave kisses on his face while your hands tried to unbutton his pants but again, Kiyoomi stopped you making you moan in frustration, "Please Omi, I just want to make you feel good"

Kiyoomi smiled and you know it's the same smile he has when he manages to get Atsumu mad , "I want you to cum like this first, rub against me and get what you want, then I'll fuck you enough that my name is the only thing on your mind."

God you could feel that you already left a stain on his pants. Kiyoomi saw your doubt and grabbed your waist with his big hands and began to rub you against his dick making you whimper.

"Please, please" you really didn't know what you were asking for, but the force with which you moved against him was enough to drive you crazy, the mere idea of doing something so dirty in such a clean person made your mind blow.

Kiyoomi spanked your ass making you jump, one hand closing around your neck, applying enough pressure to make your head spin, and the other rocking your hips, "So greedy, so spoiled, you can't do one thing right"

Your body was getting hotter, your clit was pulsing with the need for attention, and Kiyoomi was going to give it to you. Under the hand that was on your hips, he moved your underwear to the side and began to massage it at the same time that you moved causing your moans to be louder and louder. "That's it, good girl, make a mess for me"

His words were like an order to your brain, you tried to suppress yourself but you exploded in incomparable euphoria and pleasure, your cum soaked all over Kiyoomi's pants, "What a pity that all this is going to be wasted without first being able to try it" He said caressing your entrance with his two fingers, collected your slick and brought his fingers to your mouth.

Your cheeks were red, the sweat from your body stuck your baby hair to your forehead and your eyes reflected the hunger you felt, "Please omi, I was good" you begged again but Kiyoomi silenced your prayers forcing his fingers into your mouth, you quickly sucked them as if they were his dick and this time ,Kiyoomi had to control himself not to cum.

"Such a silly baby, you're right, you've been good" Kiyoomi kissed the valley of your breasts while helping you to get his dick out of its confinement, seeing him in all his vigor you felt your mouth salivate, Kiyoomi saw your expression and chuckled leaving a kiss on your mouth, "There will be time for that another time, now I need to be inside you"

Another time, the promise that this will happen again made you smile with happiness.

Kiyoomi wasting no time, pushed aside your underwear and gently entered you, you were quite wet from your orgasm but he didn't want to hurt you.

The stretch felt delicious, it wasn't that wide but it was quite long, little by little you felt it enter completely, blocking your breath.

" Omi feels so so good, please omi, please make me yours" the words came out of your mouth before your brain could process them, he moaned and decided to silence them with a hot kiss, carefully he began a slow sway until he began to increase speed and strength, hitting more and more the small point inside you that brought you closer to orgasm.

Wrapping his arms around your hips and planting his feet on the floor of the car, Kiyoomi started a movement that made your vision blur, "Who's making you feel like this? Uh? We just started and you can't even talk anymore, you think that useless setter could make you feel as good as I do?"

The windows of the car fogged up and the atmosphere smelled of sex, anyone who peeked in could guess what was happening inside.

" You! fuck, holy fuck, you Kyoomi, only you " you moaned feeling your orgasm closer than before, he moaned as he felt your walls close more and more on his cock.

He began to massage your clitoris this time carelessly, increasing the volume of your moans, your mind increasingly less understood the situation and you could only understand the pleasure that your body felt.

"Come on brat, scream for me, cum with me" Kiyoomi's thrusts increased until your scream made them stop, cumming inside you, filling you with his thick and hot cum.

The only thing that could be heard was your heavy breathing, both hugged each other's body while Kiyoomi was still inside you, you closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder while he caressed your hair.

"Let me take you on a date, you can choose anywhere but your brother's restaurant" Kiyoomi said giving you a kiss on the forehead, you smiled and looked at him with amusement.

" Could you not talk about any of my brothers while you're inside me?" you joked and omi's cheeks turned red.

You laughed when you heard him complain that you were vulgar, this man was definitely going to be the death of you.

The vibration of your cell phone in your wallet that was in the passenger seat took them out of their bubble, you turned on and the first message that appeared was from Atsumu. Shit.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #msby sakusa #hq sakusa #sakusa smut #miya atsumu #atsumu smut #miya osamu #osamu smut #bokuto koutarou #hinata shouyou

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kira-fluff · 2 years ago

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haikyuu!! neurodivergent headcanons 💕

tw: several listed mental illnesses, some of these are solely off of vibes but most of them I have reasons lol note! I do not believe autism is a mental illness or something that is "wrong" with an individual, hence why the title is "neurodivergent" rather than "mental illness". just had to put that out there! to all my neurodivergent babies I love you! a/n: hello! as a neurodivergent like myself (depression, anxiety, ptsd, bulimia, etc etc) i thought it would be really cool to do an analysis on one of my biggest hobbies (psychological illnesses) and relate them to haikyuu characters! some of them have a deeper explanation because I feel so strongly about it.

attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADD/ADHD) BOKUTO, hinata, NISHINOYA, atsumu, lev

generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) sugawara, OIKAWA, asahi, yamaguchi, yachi, aone, akaashi, tendo

social anxiety disorder (SAD) asahi, KENMA

post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) oikawa

depression (MDD) oikawa, KENMA, kuroo, suna, matsukawa, tendo

autism sakusa, USHIJIMA, kageyama, kyotani, kenma

eating disorder(s) (AND, BND, BED) OIKAWA, KENMA

obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) oikawa

borderline personality disorder (BPD) daishou

insomnia kuroo, kenma, osamu

hypersomnia suna

analysis under the cut

it's pretty obvious that bokuto struggles the most to self-regulate, even to others, but I personally believe that oikawa struggles the most with his mental health.

like almost everyone in haikyuu, oikawa is obsessed with volleyball, but he takes it to a point of overexertion and taking his anger and frustration at his own inadequacies out on others.

I really think oikawa's relationship between he and kageyama and he and ushijima are the ones that show how bad his anxiety is

ushijima and kageyama both don't understand the emotions oikawa is feeling which could be written off as them not understanding their talents, but I think it's something more

to me, I feel it is blatantly obvious that ushijima is autistic. he just so frequently seems to be unable to read the emotions of others or takes things literally when it's something else intended. I'm not autistic, though, so autistic community, let me know your thoughts!

bokuto and hinata both have an insane amount of energy, but struggle to be successful in school. sports works for both of them because their focus is constantly needed to be diverted or "all over the place" that it helps them be great players

kuroo is one of those other characters that I feel like I'm reaching to say he has mental health struggles but to me it just comes off in vibes. first of all, any kid with divorced parents should be in therapy so I feel there's definitely some struggles there.

I think kuroo is the type that hides his struggles and pretends they aren't happening. he puts a lot of pressure on himself to be the best at everything he does, and so he feels he doesn't have time to deal with the emotions that leave him feeling empty

kenma was someone I immediately felt was autistic. he has so many key factors like an obsession/hyperfocus on his hobbies and trouble socializing (social anxiety).

kenma has some of the strongest evidence toward my beliefs, specifically in this quote: "I'm not good with people, and I don't want to interact with them. and yet, I'm very concerned about what others think of me." like, tell me that doesn't radiate autistic/SAD vibes!!!!

idk what it is, like inadequacies or what but I genuinely believe oikawa has some kind of trauma. like he's definitely carrying something that so heavily effected him that it controls the choices he makes in life

I don't have much evidence that suna has depression, it's just a vibe because of his mannerisms and what he says. I think it's the kind where it's well-managed, but it shows up in physical symptoms like apathy more than anything.

atsumu gives ADHD vibes solely because of like how all over the place he is and how he can't always seem to properly get out what he's trying to say lol

sakusa is one that to me could be seen as "done with your bullshit" but I think he also hates crowds (like me, I mean who doesn't) and struggles socially probably because of anxiety or autism. not sure!

basing daishou off of vibes, too, because if I'm being honest all I've seen in the show is him having hostile relationships or being on-off with them, though its certain I could be reading too much into it, but that's the fun of headcanons.

do you agree with what I wrote? I would love to hear your thoughts!

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ambrosialdesire · 2 years ago

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Who are your fav writers on here? Any fic recs?

okay buckle up because i have a lot of fic recs LMAO there's some that i'm not technically in the fandom as of now but i still thoroughly enjoyed the read.

most of my fav writers on tumblr are the ones i follow but i'll still list them cause im pretty sure my following is hidden lol (please go and support them as well!! they're all amazing i stg)

none of these are ordered on favoritism, i'm just listing them as i find them. plus i included brief descriptions in each fic i recommend lol, lmk if none of the links are working or if they are accidentally labeled wrong. THIS SHIT TOOK FOREVER TO FORMAT LMAO

i'll probably constantly update this whenever i read something good or when i find another great writer as well that i want to mention <3

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DNI

LAST UPDATED: 12-08-2024

favorite writers

yandere-daydreams - love their fic imagines, multifandom and has original fics jackrrabbit - amazing multifandom writer, ik she hasn't updated in a hot min but her fics are so good seijorhi - multifandom, mainly haikyuu, jjk & tokyo revengers (though i'm personally not a fan of tokrev, i still want to acknowledge that she also writes for this fandom!) throwaway-yandere - their alhaitham fics are 🤌🤌, one of my favorite genshin writers and their art is so good! bunnykawa - she doesn't have much fics posted but she's another great haikyuu writer!! rocorambles - multifandom writer but i mostly indulge in their haikyuu fics remember-to-be-gentle - multifandom & original fic writer rotworld - original fic writer, love the amount of details and lore that they put into their writing

recommended fics

fanatic by jackrrabbit - oikawa x reader; oikawa using a devoted fan to relieve his stress (yandere/dark content)

clean by jackrrabbit - sakusa x reader; little shower session thinking about you (not dark content)

unprofessional by jackrrabbit - tendou x reader; training the new hire is more difficult than you thought, hm he's kinda familiar (yandere/dark content)

bloodlust by jackrrabbit - sanemi x reader; demon reader getting some action from the wind hashira (yandere/dark content)

canine by jackrrabbit - sesshomaru x reader; sesshomaru using the only alive geisha to forget about his issues (yandere/dark content)

a helping hand (or two) by hoe-imaginess - dabi x reader; dabi gets hit with an aphrodisiac quirk and has you take care of it (not dark content)

intertwined by yanlovex3 - hawks x reader; bully hawks being obsessed with you (yandere/dark content)

interchangeable by yanlovex3 - hawks x reader; a softer what if version to intertwined, had me falling to my knees fr (not dark content)

invidia by seijorhi - kuroo x reader; dilf kuroo being a little too interested in his son's gf (yandere/dark content)

outrunning fate by seijorhi - tendou x reader x ushijima; having two soulmates is controversial but they don't care (yandere/dark content)

rabid by seijorhi - kyoutani x reader; assumingly mafia au, kyoutani wants all of you (yandere/dark content)

hungry by bunnykawa - osamu x reader; you're the one obsessed with osamu but he's not taking it kindly or is he? (yandere/dark content)

i'm better than you! by bunnykawa - oikawa x reader; ex oikawa proving a point that he's better than your current bf (yandere/dark content)

delusional fool by solarisensun - bokuto x reader; bokuto has a big ol crush that you don't reciprocate but that's okay, he'll change your mind (yandere/dark content)

good boy by solarisensun - kageyama x reader; though you're his owner, kageyama more or less owns you (yandere/dark content)

house of cards by ddarker-dreams - albedo x reader; being a researcher yourself means you seek out others for their guidance, shame that this exchange only results in you being bred (yandere/dark content)

sweet dreams by ddarker-dreams - xiao x reader; a little sleepy indulgence doesn't hurt, right? (yandere/dark content)

crystalline heart by ddarker-dreams - scaramouche x reader; respect should be given to the harbingers but why should you respect him? (yandere/dark content)

consequence series by archonanqi - zhongli x reader; you wanted to leave teyvat as you had finally found your brother but a little contract said otherwise, ONE OF MY TOP FAVS ITS SO DAMN GOOD (yandere/dark content)

hatefully yours by merakiui - saramouche x reader; a little hate-f*cking session (yandere/dark content)

what is love? by rocorambles - gojo x reader; you're the apple of his eye, doesn't matter if you're taken (yandere/dark content)

selkie by rotworld - oc x reader; this particular selkie wants you to take his pelt so he can belong to you forever (yandere/dark content)

see you again soon by remember-to-be-gentle - toji x reader; finding a werewolf fighting ring is the juiciest story you got but meeting with the ring's top fighter for insight is better (yandere/dark content)

twice bitten by remember-to-be-gentle - miguel o'hara x reader; being bitten by a radioactive spider wasn't in your plans, neither was getting chased by the scariest spiderperson you've met (yandere/dark content)

why? by toxicbiimbo - kaeya x reader; murders are happening around the city and you put it on yourself as a knight to investigate the crimes, not knowing that the very killer was closer than you expected (yandere/dark content)

loving you keeps me alive by j0succ - dainsleif x reader; the home you bought has a permanent guest but he doesn't mind you at all (yandere/dark content)

customer satisfaction by wttcsms - oikawa x reader; giving beverages to golfers pays strangely well (yandere/dark content)

his new wife series by prelovednikaidou - toji x reader; being toji's new wife and megumi's step-mom is a tiring cycle, I LITERALLY WAS BAWLING OVER THIS LIKE FULL ON SOBBING IVE NEVER BEEN SO DEVASTATED OVER A SHORT SERIES (not dark content)

don't say it's unholy by dollwritearchives - reiner x reader; he'd do anything for you despite how much you hate his eldian blood (yandere/dark content)

the tiniest notion by titan-fodder - reiner x reader; reiner's new step-mom turned into his biggest comfort (not yandere/dark content)

marine blue by iwaasfairy - iwaizumi x reader; a strange creature comes up to you from the ocean (yandere/dark content)

subject raptor by tainted-wine - hawks x reader; becoming close to one of the first hero-turned-nomus was something you never thought was possible in your line of work (yandere/dark content)

bon appetite by theblanketofugly - sukuna x reader; sukuna figures out what he feels towards you, even if he's your biggest bully (yandere/dark content)

not your baby by itoshifc - oliver x reader; omega x omega, oliver intentionally fucking with the reader to make her his, i've never seen or anything abt blue lock but i ATE this up (yandere/dark content)

just friends series by kneelingshadowsalome - könig wants you and you don't know if you could reciprocate his feelings back like that... or can you? (yandere/dark content)

all that glitters by blindmagdalena - homelander x reader; being the sacrificial lamb for the draconic god is not easy, but how else were you going to bring an end to the bloodshed? (yandere/dark content)

my babysitter turned into a dog?! by gojo-mochi - kenjaku x reader; you were supposed to watch little yuuji, but ended up meeting his father instead (yandere/dark content)

#wanna play psycho killer? by screampied - toji x reader; ghostface notices that you like the get-up a little too much (not yandere/dark content)

#the party and the afterparty by screampied - geto x reader; your stripper for the night is kinda hot (not yandere/dark content)

#rent-a-dilf! by screampied - toji x reader; playing a silly little game until the character actually comes to life (not yandere/dark content)

the tiger and his milk! by sukunasweetheart - sukuna x reader; your tiger hybrid neighbor wants a little taste of your milk (not yandere/dark content)

#love-message #tw: yandere #fic recs #fic recommendations #fav writers #🎀 anon

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kings-highway · 7 months ago

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How do you feel about SakuAtsu? Personally is my current obsession.

mmm....mmmmmmmmmm.........

I knew this would come down the line. I knew it. Now here'a the deal, you gotta read my whole post before revolting against me.

I... I don't like them.

Now now, before you get up in arms, let me explain-

I actually dont dislike the *ship.* I actually think it's one of Atsumu's better ships.

But I have a HUGE problem with fanon-Atsumu. I cannot stand him in 80% of what I read. I think he is an incredibly interesting and complex character but I've never seen a SakuAtsu post that felt in-character. So I've never really been able to... care... (not that Im about to be very in character, i have little experience with either...)

BUTTTTT as is the trend with these asks, I am here to appreciate all ships, so lets see what I can find for them... 🤔

I can see them sort of standing a meter apart, at the tokyo youth camp, and Atsumu makes some sort of snarky quip and Sakusa cant helo but chuff a sort of laugh and Atsumu absolutely lights up because oh my god does he think Im funny???? and then he tells 1048 terrible jokes but Sakusa doesnt laugh for a single one and Atsumu makes it his goal to make him laugh again but Sakusa doesnt actually think he's funny, his mean one-liner was. So in the evening when they're eating, and Atsumu manages another cleverly scathing comment, this time directed at Komori, and Sakusa LAUGHS - actually in this scene Komori is the most shocked (and horrified)

They exchange numbers but they dont use them for like two months, until Sakusa asks if he's made it to nationals out of the blue and Atsumu says yes. Asks if they want to meet up- Atsumu asks if Komori is forcing him to reach out and try to make friends. Sakusa will neither confirm or deny.

I feel like Atsumu doesnt have a ton of jealousy over Osamu, but Sakusa definitely has some kind of like line about not even knowing they were twins, or not really caring. Atsumu almost tried to convince him Osamu is more interesting that him - he's more social, he's friendlier, he's funnier, he can cook, he can do everything - and Sakusa is all amused like "yeah but YOU'RE my friend so??? what about it??? also half those things are a nightmare, I dont want the friendly, energetic twin that wants me to socialize. I like that we just go off alone."

It takes like 8 months for Atsumu to introduce him to anyone. For those 8 months, Komori is the only person who even really gets to see them as a couple.

Sakusa has an anxiety attack and Atsumu expects it to be cute and panicked and instead he comes in and Sakusa has destroyed his room, because he saw a spider go under his bed, but couldnt find it and couldnt kill it and it somewhere in the room, and Atsumu crouches down and holds his hands and helps him through breathing and tells him they'll find it. And Atsumu has never given a shit about anyone like this, but he crawls around on his hands and knees by the flipped over bed and helps look to kill the thing until they find it (or Sakusa calms down and agrees it left the room).

It was not cute and Atsumu does not think he was the hero he wanted to be for him with all the answers, but Sakusa kisses him on the cheek anyway and Atsumu realizes how far gone he is.

Overall Ratings:

For me, Personal Interest: 0/10

Concept/Potential: 8/10

#i knew one day i'd have to admit to my anti sakuatsu ways #i do like the ship I swear!!!#I may even write them some day (in ensemble) but #otherwise...

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noritoshiikamo · 2 years ago

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double the trouble [osamu miya x y/n x atsumu miya ft sakusa kiyoomi]

cw threesome (+1 not directly receiving), two c/ock one hole, female receiving, male receiving, penetrative intercourse, breeding kink, spitting, dubious breeding

back from hiatus to say that i take back whatever the fuck i said about miya twin bcs i have a full blown shelf of their merch im a whore idk man its porn with minor plot i just want to take both miya twin together, never in fight tho

osamu has been obsessed with the idea of breeding you since graduation. it grew more and more obsessive the moment he found out, not from you, but his own twin brother that you have been on birth control.

“yer didn’t know?”

the words out of the blonde was like a laugh to his own face. osamu eyed him, hands working fast on the onigiri pretending not a single word said he said is being taken at heart. he was insulted. huffing, silently cursing as the inside of the onigiri leaked from his own carelessness–he sat it aside, putting his own attention to the flapping mouth in front of him.

atsumu was like a schoolgirl giggling, “oh yer really didn’t know.”

his eyes squinted, “should i be concern ‘bout this?”

the twin shook his head, picking apart the mess he made on the table, “t’was that one time, long time ago even, i think it was before we grad or was it her first time. she said that yer came in her, she was blabbering mess, whaddaya think i was gonna do? let her cry?” osamu’s breath hitched. he knew about it. didn’t think it was a big deal– he would marry you in a heartbeat and you said it was sorted. when you said sorted, he thought it was between you and your friends, not you and his stupid brother. “it was one time thing, i got her the pill yer take after you bang and it did the thingy that makes you not pregnant, i don’t know. after than all i know is she went on her pills. and yer mad, knew it. and now she’s gonna get the brunt of it.”

there’s this saying in the miya household; when someone’s mad, you don’t think—you dodged.

“don’t be stupid. whaddaya think i am? dad?” osamu scoffed as his other half whimpered at the poor smushed onigiri on the floor. “i could never hurt her.”

“you better be,” atsumu warned, “or i’m telling mum on ya.”

and that was the end of the discussion—with atsumu at least. the conversation lingered in osamu’s head like a bad migraine. in the dark, glancing at your body breathing gently with your shut eyes, he rolled over burying his face against your neck. am i a bad husband, he whispered his thoughts against your skin, tightening his arms around you as his eyes lidded close.

“why would you be?”

he froze. his question was not meant to be answered. you were supposed to be sleeping, nuzzling in his arm not awake. “sorry,” he murmured, hushing you back to sleep hoping you would let it go. “samu, why would you be a bad husband?” your voice were soft, laced with hoarseness of sleep.

“was just thinking about what tsumu said. but it’s tsumu, it’s stupid, go to sleep.” your body stiffened, rolling off his arms until you were propped face to face with him. you could barely make the outline of his face from the darkness of the room but you could feel that you were taking on a different side now. “atsumu said what?” you asked again. he let off a soft scoff, “should i be concerned of how many secrets are yer hiding from me with my own brother?” he didn’t mean to take such an accusatory tone but it came out so off. it was a fight before he knew it. he should’ve keep his mouth shut. but it ended with you both sleeping away from each other and now, every morning, like a salt in the wound, osamu would see you popped the pills from the pack, eyes on him not even budging as you swallowed it down.

so it is your only secret with tsumu.

it’s not fair.

it was between you and him but it felt more like you and his brother.

“can we at least talk about it?”

you held the glass to your lips. you both had never talk about it. babies weren’t something you foreseen in your future for at least—10 years. there shouldn’t be any talks, he would just need to pump you up for at least 5 minutes and you will need to deal with it for 9 months.

“what’s there to talk about, osa? i’m not ready.”

he inched closer, pulling the cup away from your lips. you could feel the bitterness of the pills lingering in your mouth threatening a puke fest. “yer be a great mum, what part are you not ready? financially— i’ve made enough for you to retire from work. physically? i could wake up any time of the day-”

you scoffed, “that’s because of your insomnia which-” you held your fingers up to stop him from opening his mouth, “i told you to take care of it. and you didn’t. you couldn’t take care of yourself and you think a baby is easy?”

“make a deal with me,” osamu blurted out, hands on your hips as he pushed you against the counter, prisoning you, “i promise and if it didn’t work out, yer have my full support in this. you can decide any time or not at all.” you rolled your eyes, arms crossed against your chest. “give me a month. if the swimmers didn’t stuck and you’re not pregnant, i’ll leave it alone. i’ll let ya decide after that. no babies even.”

you never seen osamu so serious, almost too serious. but you ended up saying yes anyway. just to get him off your back. it couldn’t be that bad right? it had been close to two weeks of you being off the pills.

yet you almost threw your purse to his face.

“we didn’t agree on that.”

“baby li—”

“no!” you screeched, throwing one of the pillows off the chair to his face, before slumming your ass on it. your eyes fell on him before to the other two figures sitting across you. “i know you’re insane like your brother, i’m not surprise,” you said pointing to atsumu, but the fingers moved to his left, “but you, you are supposed to be the sane one.” kiyoomi’s lips pressed flat. the tension in the room were so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

“y/n-kun, you don’t understand.”

“no, you don’t understand. what kind of russian roulette are you guys trying to play with me?” you laughed, falling backward against the chair, “oh you’re driving me insane. is this why you were trying to convince me to have a baby? i know you both are competitive but not like this. i’m not an animal you can breed and i’ll push out an entire litter!” kiyoomi didn’t blame you. spring on you, ambushing with a sudden family meeting only to drop that they want you to carry their child. specifically wanting atsumu to fuck you raw isn’t what you expected for a family dinner. he stood up, walking toward you before sitting on the floor. the desperation in his face almost made you fold. you sighed.

“did the last egg transplant fail too?” you asked, watching as his bouncy curls to cover his face as he nodded. “we are running out of ideas, we are running out money. the tests were fine. we got tested, we were both fine and the sperms were healthy. the donor is okay too. we are running out of wits. if we are going the other way, i would rather tsumu fuck around with you than some other girls out there.” he plead, clutching on to your hands, “you don’t have to decide now but just please think about it, okay?” kiyoomi muttered wholeheartedly, it almost heartbreaking to see how excited his eyes glowed when you mouthed a silent okay. you looked up, your husband moved hesitantly, fear of another pillow thrown to his face. but you didn’t flinched as he took a seat on the floor beside him, resting his chin against your thighs. his arms around your bare legs, eyes fluttering as your fingers brushed his cheeks.

“how would this work anyway? i don’t exactly have how to guide on how to fuck my fruity brother in law in front of my own husband—god, this is not what i have in this year’s bingo card,” feeling the words vomiting out of your mouth felt surreal. you felt osamu’s hand caressing the inside of your leg, gently squeezing it. “i’ll be there. i’ll join you if you want too. we can take turn, whatever’s the most comfortable.”

you watched at the black haired ace shook his head. your brow shot up questioning his disagreement. “if you both take turns, chances are the previous sperms will get pushed out the next cock. it’s the defense mechanism. if samu fucks you first, his baby has little to none chances and i’m sure you wouldn’t want to go with tsumu first.” your head spun as the two dumbasses scrambled their thoughts. since when even samu ever focused in his classes. words were going in one ear and another, they didn’t even notice you had moved. your legs taken control moving softly against the carpet and before you knew, you were on atsumu’s lap, lips pressed first pushing him down on the sofa. the two em startled.

“well, i guess it’s her way?”

someone said but you couldn’t registered who. he kissed differently. maybe because it wasn’t his lips to kiss but he did it with least possessiveness. it was almost gentle, with his hand slowly around your waist. osamu flushed, he could feel blood rushing all over him, out of lust or shame who could know? if he would’ve gone back in time to when he was a teen, telling him that he was about to go down on a threesome, the younger would’ve laughed at him. osamu let you know his presence with his fingers around the waistband pulling your lower half bare.

you were startled, like being hit by a bucket of cold water but his lips never left you and soon you were losing article of clothes after another. your bare tits are suddenly in atsumu’s fist and you were fighting to close your legs when osamu’s fingers danced along your slit. you gasped when his lips moved to latch around your tits while the other’s spitting against your cunt. it was overwhelming. the first lick almost threw you off balance, arms shaking you felt down against the older brother. hold her down, someone said and you felt tsumu’s hand around your wrist pressing it down against your back. you whined, it hurts yet you could feel your husband’s tongue swirling around your slit, overwhelming it with pleasure.

atsumu moved from underneath you, belt clanking before the position changed again. your hand moved to grab his wrist, roughly yanking your head by hair until you were face to face his own growing cock. there’s a major difference between osamu and atsumu. tsumu’s little cleaner, well trimmed, surprisingly matching skin tone. his cock erected with a slight bank to the right, yet the print was just the same; thick and veiny. he asked you spit on it and you obliged, watching as the thick fluid spread down along his precum down the pink mushroom tip.

it was hard to focus on his order when the other was pushing you so close to edge. “f-fuck, samu slow i-” you cried, hand reaching backward hard against his head, but osamu wasn’t budging. he looked up, face flushed with his tongue inside your hole and his brother’s cock against his wife’s face. tsumu’s swollen pink tip brushed your lips, planting little kisses before a soft nudge pushed it deeper inside. the twin couldn’t hold the deep moan from the back of his throat, the rough pad of his palm running gently through your hair pushing you deeper. your tongue swirled around the length, feeling its prodding veins with the tip slowly inching deeper until your nose pressed against his base.

“christ, that’s fuckin’ deep.”

osamu shot down the smirk off his twin, flipping his finger off. his palm grabbed a handful of your ass, landing a playful smack. you let out a chortled moan, hands against the thigh as you struggled to catch a breath. tsumu took pity, pulling away with a soft pop. strings of saliva connected to your lips as you coughed, tears streaming down your cheek. your body shuddered, gripping the edge of the sofa. samu wasn’t stopping. not even to breath that it sent you into a mess. atsumu couldn’t explain the joy of seeing you looking up, in so much pleasure yet pleading for him for mercy. he didn’t know what possessed him, fingers grabbing your cheeks pushing it together until your mouth were apart and spitted in.

you barely had time to respond, not even osamu ever spitted in you. yet you couldn’t find any strength to bark back, forced to swallow as your knot snapped. your first orgasm was a blessing. your husband’s name came out your throat all choked up, eyes rolled back all atsumu could see was white. not a drop was wasted, osamu’s loud slurps echoed the room, lapping your slit through the orgasm. your muscle tensed, soothed by his palm running gently against the side of your thighs and he let go. his lips planted a sloppy wet kiss against your flesh before leaving a hand mark. "well, shit i didn't expect this to be that intense," you pant, slumping forward forehead buried in the soft cushion of the sofa. but the twins had better idea, you are not getting any rest.

you were trained for samu.

your cunt were made for him, he knows that; he made that happen. you knew him all back from school. high school sweetheart they said, not that you ever pride on your first time. you had been resident of inarizaki's dorm for years now, commuting was simply not an option and with your parents in the middle of divorce, you volunteered. daddy gave a lot of apologies in form of useless monetary value, including your own personal ground floor dorm. no roommates, two single beds pushed together and two wardrobes, you could almost taste what freedom meant without your parents. what school doesn't enjoy donations. teenagers are fully of hormones, enough that you were willing to sneak your boyfriend of one year in. it was good, enough for a second round before he had to excuse himself, but awkward as no one every tell you that sex wasn't like what porn had presented itself. that was also your first pregnancy scare that had you running for atsumu's help. after that it improved.

improved to the point that your fingers meant nothing but a slight squint in his eyes as he leaned over the kitchen counter enough to make you wet. you are meant for him. your body craved him.

your head spun, drowsy from your high as you let your husband lifted you up. you knew what rest between the valley of your ass was him growing, greedy cock. you felt conscious suddenly as your eyes met the blonde, skin tinting as you felt osamu's lips littered around the column of your neck. "she's different," you heard him speak, his beefy arms moved you again that you could see the angry leaking tip between your thigh, brushing against your cunt dangerously, "she likes her thighs caressed more than her side, her tits are more sensitive after her second orgasm, the sloppier, the better." you whined as his kisses turned into a full nipping fest, almost like he was marking her. you knew what he was doing. he was setting an expectation, a boundary, a reminder that he was about to share something he had never thought of sharing before. atsumu and osamu had been sharing almost everything in their lives, but you– you were strictly osamu's.

"samu, yer not jealous are you?" tsumu grinned, hand stroking along his spit covered cock

"m'not. you just have a habit of fucking up my stuff that i was willing to pretend i'm okay with,"you gasped as he suddenly yanked your head backward, your eyes locked. you almost couldn't hide the grin you had on your face as osamu leaned down to kiss you, "not this one. this one is mine. and yer not fucking this shit up."

the other half's grin couldn't be more annoying but you pushed it to the back of your head. that was easy to do especially when osamu was guiding your body, grinding your soaking cunt against his length. "yer okay baby?" he hummed his question against your bare skin. you nodded, breath hitching every time his tip hit your clit. "i think we are getting slightly impatient but i don't think you are ready, do you trust me?"

"yes, samu."

you could almost see the shit eating grin on his face, "that's my good girl."

soon the grinding was getting on your nerve, you wished you hid your whining better. but marriage life has trained osamu to catch these little things. when you wife is unhappy, you would do anything and everything to make it better. and what could be better more that to finally push himself in into your throbbing hole. just the tip in and you couldn't hide the satisfying chortles out of your throat. every inch in loosening the tense in your muscle until you were slumping against his chest, head against his shoulder. every time your trembling thighs itched to close from the overwhelming pleasure, osamu clicked his tongue. "don't be rude, y/n-san, we have a guest." you almost forgot the existence of the two people in the room.

everyone knows atsumu has always been into the best of both world. it wasn’t something he had explicitly hidden growing up. he enjoyed attention of any genders. to say that he was inexperienced was just plainly wrong. your body jolted as atsumu spread your thighs further. his body kept your legs apart, you could feel his cock brushing against your mount. osamu kept himself occupied, tainting your neck as atsumu kissed you. it was wet, full of tongue. he swallowed your moans, praised you with every stroke of the tongue. “god, i would fuck you dumb right now if osamu isn’t selfish,” he grinned, brushing your nose against his own playfully before moving away. he kissed your jaw, occupying the other side of your neck.

if you ever told a 16 years old you that one day, you’ll have the famous miya twin lapping, bruising and kissing your neck all at once, your younger self would call you a joke, in your dream maybe.

atsumu moved lower, licking your collarbone before finding solace by your aching tits. you never know how gentle he could be, cupping your flesh before his tongue enveloped your hardened bud. the way he looked up to you, tongue swirling along before pulling away with soft pop.

“c’mon samu, how fucking long are you going to blue ball me here,” the older twin whined.

“she’s not stretched enough,” osamu muttered, half moaning as his hips rutted deeper. the other twin shrugged as he spitted down against your aching cunt. “she will, i’ll make sure of that,” tsumu held his cock, tip catching the spit as he gently rub his cock along your clit. you looked up to your husband, sharing a nervous look. you watched as curses escaped his lips, forehead wrinkling in pleasure. his other hand moved against your jaw, his kiss was furious and full of lust. “focus on me,” he whispered against your lips, “yer gonna take that like a fucking champ.” he watched you intently. you know why, you could feel it. tsumu was pushing against your opening. your eyes widened, watered, fingers clawing against osamu’s arm as he was quick to cover your mouth. osamu did a great job loosening you up that tsumu’s tip slipped in so easily. you trashed weakly in his arm. your husband’s praises went in and out of your ears like a breeze. your brain were a fuzz, all you could think off is there were two cock in you.

it felt kind odd, to samu mostly, to be squeezed in a tight space with his twin’s cock pressing against his own. he didn’t dare to move. it was all on atsumu. there was a lot of spitting, gentle push and a whole lot of his thumb along your clit. the circles helped as he pushed half of himself in. “fuck,” you heard osamu groaned into your ear, face buried in the side of your head. you loved how red tainted his skin. even without moving, atsumu’s rocking hips were giving both of you enough friction of pleasure. the sofa creaked as atsumu rutted in, slick sound of your folds against the two cocks and his thumbs echoed the room. “m’cummin’-please,” your moans muffled. it was too much, the tight feeing of your cunt around it meant atsumu was actively fucking straight into your g-spot. another one of the twin’s hand pressed down on your belly pushing you down at angle, soft curse escaped his lips as he could feel himself against the skin.

“you’re soaking wet, y/n, fuck,” atsumu giggled, but his giggles grew when he realised. “fuck, samu, your wife is squirting,” every thrust, more liquid sprayed against pelvic. you weren’t just squirting, atsumu just send you through your second orgasm by sheathing his entire girth deep. you were hazy, head resting against osamu’s shoulder. you were still gripping against samu’s arm, head trying to figure out the words flying around the room.

“fuck, you’re all in? i almost fucking cum.”

“don’t blame me, she wasn’t fully stretch,” one of them said annoyingly, “it’s not helping that she was fucking cumming. it was hot tho, she fucking drenched me, what a cunt,” the praise came with a light tapping against your sensitive clit. the tapping turned into a full on rubbing, “what a good fucking cunt tho.”

“samu,” your call startled the twin.

he kissed your cheek, bringing your trembling palm against his cheeks, planting kisses on the soft pad, “yes baby, look at you. fuck, baby you look so good, i wish you could see it.”

“s’full,” you sniffled, “so s’full, move.”

the twin agreed, showering your skin with kisses and praises. the overwhelming feeling of your cunt stretching must felt uncomfortable. they let you set the pace. leaning against tsumu’s chest for support, samu held you by the hips as you slowly moved it upward. their cocks glistening in the mix of fluid and the strings of messes. you stopped just by the tip, the brothers held their breaths as your hips moved in. the room echoed with your combined moans. your tongue wrestled atsumu’s briefly before he pulled away, leaning back as he watched your hips rocked. his eyes darted between your tits and your cunt slapping against his pelvic.

impatience brewed between the two brothers.

“baby, if yer teasing us, it’s working but truth be told i can’t stand it,” osamu whined, gripping your ass, a small pout grew on your husbands’ face. “shut your face it’s full,” you snapped, clenching your walls as you fought the tensing knots in your belly. you heard a faint whistle and someone was talking about how you were about to cum again. you breath out, half hearted laugh echoed the room as you turned your head back, his grin annoyed you, “oh, f-fuck off, sakusa.” the way his name escaped your lips, the way your tongue enunciated every syllables send shivers down his spine. kiyoomi wanted to bark back, but he saw the shared glance between the twin.

your shocking scream were a payback he craved.

the twins took over, patience thinner than the knot that snapped the moment they jackhammered into you. they held you down, osamu’s hands around your waist while atsumu’s rough palm gripped your thighs down as they fucked you through your high. they took turn, atsumu in and osamu’s out. your nectar spurted everywhere, against their peck, down your thighs and pooling on the sofa underneath. you cried out, their names out like a prayer, begging for them to slow down. your cunt can take both of them in, its the pleasure was ridiculously unbearable. they were coaxing an orgasm after another from you.

your cries were louder, in kiyoomi’s head he couldn’t differentiate whether it was pain or pleasure. but you were a champ, taking two cocks straight into the same stretching holes he could see outline along your belly every time one pushed deep then the other. “s’much,” he heard but none of the brothers were slowing down, completely drunk out of their mind. kiyoomi closed in, brushing stray from your cheek, the sudden gentleness against your skin startled you. your eyes fluttered open, salty tears dripped down your flushed cheeks. your eyes were blown up, full of lust and pleasure. “omi,” you whined, “slower,” but he hushed you, brushing your lips lightly as your palms gripped his shirt in support. he felt an arm roaming along his body, clinking of belt soon followed and his pants loosened. “you’re doing good,” his word started, boxer down pooling around his legs as someone spitted on his half hard cock, “d’ya wanna feel good, i feel good,” he whined, fang grasped against your own swollen lips as a pair plump lips wrapped itself around his cock. he cupped your face rougher, teeth clashed as he kissed you hard.

kiyoomi was overwhelmed. strings of moans from his own husband and out of your mouth were drowsy. “fuck, y/n, i feel good,” he chuckled, running his hand through the soft blonde hair of atsumu, looking up obediently with cock in his mouth.

osamu was ninety percent horny, deep in focus in breeding his wife’s pussy faster than his twin. the other ten percent were completely laced in jealousy. how dare you moaned someone’s else name. his hand left your side trailing upward until it wrapped perfectly around the column of your neck, with enough space for his thumb to invade your plump lips. kiyoomi shot you a grin and wink, before looking down happily to his own husband’s bobbing head. his warm breath tickled your lobe, sending waves of spineless shivers along your arching back. “omi?” he whispered only enough for you to catch, shoving his cock greedily into your cunt, ignoring the dissatisfied whine of his twin. “i would’ve taken that polite little miyas whine out of your lips but omi?”

your glossy eyes met his droopy sharp gaze as you tilted back. with whatever space left, you tried to shake your head, tongue weighted down as you struggled to apologize. osamu’s grin grew, all he was looking down was his sorry wife, cunt and head drunk in cock, slurring words but was came out was just drool on the corner of your lips. you promised it was just thought–something that was just a flash of thoughts. you whined, teeth clenching down on his thumb as someone shifted. the speed changed again, rougher than he could feel your own thighs trembling against his own.

“samu, quit bullying her,” tsumu chuckled, taking a break from his own aching jaw, hands moving around his husband’s cock.

“i’m not bullying,” he stole a glance, kissing your cheeks, tasting the salty remnant against it as he nipped your skin light, “am i bullying you baby?” his spit covered palm gently tapped against your cheek. you gasped a no, shaking your head firmly. satisfied with your answer, his grip tightened around the neck to continue his little assault. “that’s my wife. my slutty little wife. it’s not ‘nough you have mine in but my twin also and you want a taste of omi’s cock too?” he clicked his tongue in disagreement, “my wife thinks she can take 3 cocks deep, you are already this numb and dumb with two, you think your pretty tight cunt can take another?” he loved it, the apology, the refusal, the begging look in your eyes.

two cocks in and your loyalty still stand with him.

that was like a stroke on his ego. especially when your cunt were spasming, tightening up around his cock as he milked you out of your umpteenth orgasm. your nails dug deep into his skin, sobbing out of your chest as you struggled to keep your conscious. he cut off the bullying, lavishing your neck with licks and kisses. his words were now gentler, full of praises. “baby,” he nuzzled against the crook, pressing against where your heartbeat were an erratic mess, “baby, m’gonna cum.” it wasn’t a request, but a promise.

atsumu’s moan echoed the same sentiment. his grip to your thighs tightened. omi was long gone, what was left was spurts of thick white fluid, painting his face a mess, some dribbling down his lips. their palms were roaming, grabbing your tits, your thighs with bruises bound to make its appearance when morning comes. samu was fully supporting your body. you were slurring their names, eyes half close aas you rested your forehead against your husband’s.

“s’good,” you chortled weakly, “cuminme please.”

osamu laughed, his own spine trembled in excitement, “okay baby, we’ll cum in you. get yer full with babies okay?” his cock twitched as you nodded excitedly, a small cute pout on your lips grew as you whine your exhaustion. his wife had just begged him to cum in her, that was everything he could ever wanted for the past few months. he just wanted to fuck all his cum deep in you.

“cummies, samu,” you whined, “tsumu!”

“close, i’m fucking close, fuck, if you keep clenching your cunt like that i’m gonna fucking burst, y/n.” tsumu spitted, grabbing a handful of your bouncing tits.

osamu was deep in dazed, focused in his thrusts. like hell atsumu was gonna let it happened. he deserved a baby of his own. omi deserved a baby. you could feel the competitiveness against your sore cervix. the loud fuck echoed the space as the older twin came first, his thighs trembled as he continued to cum, painting your walls white. his nail left a long mark against your thighs. osamu came after, just as the other slipped out half hard. his teeth dug deep against your shoulder as his hips jerked forward. you felt fuller than before.

you listened weakly as the twin bickered again. of how samu was wasting so much and the older forcing him to ensure to fuck every single drop in you. your body ached as your husband settled you on the sofa. pillow above your hips, you lowkey felt empty inside. the brothers looked confuse as you laughed, osamu called for you but you hushed him in haze.

“yer so nosy, shut up, i’m sleepy.”

osamu laughed, leaving you alone as he dragged his other half by his hair away.

it was a long year after.

your labour was a hefty 12 hours journey. to osamu, it was a wait worth his time. your baby is healthy seven pound, full term and naturally birthed baby.

atsumu and kiyoomi shared a defeated look, but a small smile grew on their face. “next time okay?” kiyoomi tightened the grip of his fingers against the blonde. he nodded weakly. the baby was a spitting image of you and osamu. your pretty cheeks and nose yet the baby’s eyes glowed in osamu’s greyish glint, small mouth and his natural dark hair. “she’s probably high on the drug, i hold samu and you snatched the baby, we’ll meet at the airport, deal?” atsumu whispered jokingly his plans to his partner. kiyoomi’s brows shot up. osamu could only shake his head, the smile on his face were permanent as he hugged your shoulder, watching as the baby snored softly against your arms. funny how half of kiyoomi’s heart almost agreed until he heard your soft voice calling for your husband.

you shared a look, you muttered a question, his heart skipped a beat as he nodded. osamu never held a baby before, not if you count his annoying twin brother. his palm trembled lightly as you placed the baby in his arms. a soft coos escaped the baby’s lips as they moved before easing against osamu’s chest, falling straight back to sleep. between the chaos, osamu didn’t realised that the baby had gripped onto his finger. his heart fluttered as the grip tightened.

“hello, it’s me, your papa.”

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