when a gossipy tabloid called you a princess in a very condescending way, SAKUSA KIYOOMI, your devoted boyfriend was pissed to say the least.
you find him scowling and scoffing at his phone. you get naturally curious and sit next to him on the couch, immediately snuggling in his side and peeking at his phone. then you see it.
Volleyball star, Sakusa Kiyoomi, was caught out on a casual coffee date with his longtime girlfriend. However insiders say the lovey-dovey atmosphere shifted entirely the moment her drink hit the table. After a single sip, the so-called “low-maintenance” girlfriend reportedly pulled one grimace, sparking whispers of yet another princess moment.
According to those nearby, our poor Sakusa appeared visibly tensed while she gestured toward the cup. As if expecting something to be fixed. Her classic princess behavior, some say.
“so what? you can’t have fucking preferences now!? that milk they used literally gives you a stomachache” you frown too, ignoring the weird feeling growing in your chest and keep reading.
“He looked exhausted,” another source claimed. “Like this wasn’t the first time.” Is Sakusa Kiyoomi still enchanted? Or is our prince finally growing tired of his princess?
your boyfriend let’s out a sharp bitter laugh and locks his phone, tossing it aside. “omi, don’t… give that much importance” you say, trying to convince him as much as yourself “it’s nonsense”
“it’s bullshit” he adds, running a hand through his face, clearly done. after that, you try to be more careful about your reactions to any particularities you had about anything at all. not because you cared so much what they said about you. but mostly, to give kiyoomi a peace of mind, since you know he doesn’t particularly like attention.
the wince made when the msby arena was too loud? shut down. your coffee was too bitter? you barely react. you felt like freezing? nonchalance was the answer so sakusa wouldn’t give you his coat. and you were mostly getting the hold of it. but the last straw came when the restaurant added scallions to your rice.
you despise scallions.
your eye twitches before you take a deep breath, and brace yourself to start eating your food. but when your chopsticks grab the first bunch of food, sakusa literally stops you. you try to hide the slight panic in your eyes, as if saying 'we really don't need another tabloid now' to him.
but kiyoomi? unbothered. he doesn't call the waiter, he doesn't even suggest you simply switch plates at all.
he simply picks up his own chopsticks and begins removing each piece of scallion from your rice.
one by one.
a look of pure shock schools your features, frantically looking around the restaurant to see a couple of eyes already staring at your boyfriend.
"let them" he simply says, not stopping his task "maybe this time they'll now i’m your royal subject by choice"
you swear you see a tiny smirk forming on his face, and amusement is now all over your face. and of course, the next morning the moment hits the internet. and your social media floods with comments about how kiyoomi chose a princess, someone who doesn't even have to say a word to make him make things happen. the way you want them, whenever you want them.
it's safe to say, maybe you were a spoiled princess after all.
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sakusa doesn't like the beach. he hates how the sand gets into every crevice, how the wind messes up his hair, and how the humidity of the salty air sticks to him. for a place known to be a popular vacation destination possessing incredible views, it sure is uncomfortable. yet here he is at the beach with you.
once you guys get set up at a fairly vacant spot on the coast, he's content to lounge in the folding chair under the shade of the attached umbrella.
"don't you wanna dip your toes in?" you ask sakusa, holding up your sundress to prevent it from getting wet as the water laps at your feet.
"no, it's okay," he replies. "i'll stay here and look after our stuff."
you shrug as if to say suit yourself and wade further into the ocean.
sakusa watches as you stroll along the shore. though he isn't too keen on the idea of traipsing through the water, he has to admit that listening to the ocean is very calming. his eyelids begin to feel heavy as the hushing sound of the waves lull him to sleep.
a while later, he's awoken by a gentle hand shaking his shoulder.
"i found us matching shells," you report with a smile. sakusa's somewhat groggy eyes travel to your palm, which held two small conch shells. he then looks up at you.
the golden rays cast a glowing sheen on your face. whether your skin shimmers from sunscreen, sweat, or your secret ability to sparkle, he couldn't care less. you look stunning.
"thank you," he expresses, picking up one of the shells and carefully wrapping his fingers around it to keep it safe. sakusa takes your other hand and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles, to which your smile widens. he swears it's brighter than the setting sun.
it was only a matter of time before i drew them shirtless and i hate myself for doing so bc male anatomy is evil and idk why i made myself suffer like that
and actually while i’m on this topic, i am greatly confused by nipple placement on pecs
(i put a mature label on it at first bc idk shirtless damp men but i’ve been seeing more suggestive art that don’t have that label so i removed it (?) let me know if i should put it back)
immediately, his body shoots up, eyes wide with fear as his head whips around to find you. his gaze lands on yours, and upon realizing the lack of urgency, he flops back onto the bed. “it’s one in the morning.”
“i have a question,” you begin, nudging his chest.
“can it wait six more hours?”
“no.”
he groans. he folds the pillow over his ears and rolls onto his side, “what.”
you spoon yourself behind him, snickering at the groan he lets out, “do you think i’d be good like. in musical theater?”
he lets out a soft laugh- either out of amusement or disbelief, you’re not quite sure.
“no. go back to sleep.”
“why!”
he huffs before rolling onto his back, arm extending to wrap around you, “you break glass when you sing and you need me to order for you at restaurants- you want to go on stage and sing?”
“hey,” you pout.
he sighs through his nose, pressing his fingers into his eyes as you burrow into his side, “okay- is doing musical theater something you’re interested in?”
you shrug, “like no, but it would be nice to have your support.”
“and if you ever genuinely want to do musical theater, i will give it to you. until then, don’t ask me silly questions at one in the morning.” his arm curls around you, fingers gently rubbing up and down your shoulder. “never ends well for either of us.”
“i bet atsumu would be supportive,” you whine.
he offers you a hum, “there’s a reason why atsumu is still single- his inability to say no to ridiculousness gets him in trouble.”
“so now i’m being ridiculous?” you hiss.
kiyoomi’s eyes fly open. his head slowly turns to face you, smiling nervously when you blink unamused at him. "i love you?"
Sakusa never spoke much about his private life while at work. The team knew he had a partner, only because he mentioned it once, and they assumed whoever it was must be similar to him.
So they were shocked when he arrived at the New Year’s party holding hands with you. Your face was adorned with a bright smile and you waved eagerly the second you faced the rest of the attendees.
“This is my fiancé,” Sakusa said, using his free hand to gesture to you as if it wasn’t obvious who he was talking about.
“Hi!” you greeted cheerily.
“If anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself,” he added for no apparent reason other than seeing Atsumu, Bokuto and Hinata’s jaws drop at his unusual display of affection.
You chuckled as if this was completely normal. “It’s so nice to be here, I’ve heard a lot about you!”
“Now get back to the party, thank you.” After finishing his introduction, Sakusa swiped you away so you could both wash your hands in the bathroom.
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— kiyoomi thinks “just friends” means “let me write you forty love confessions and never send them.”
sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader | fluff | request
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
there’s a folder in sakusa’s notes app titled drafts.
it looks boring at first glance—just another folder among the other plain, lowercase ones:
practice schedule
laundry list
groceries (motoya stop eating my yogurt)
but click it open and there’s a different kind of disaster.
forty. forty unsent messages to you.
one says,
“i’d die if you smiled at someone else like that.”
another just says,
“you looked nice today.”
and the last one—just your name, like he typed it out just to see what it looked like next to his cursor.
he rereads them every night. deleting nothing. not even the typos.
it’s kind of tragic, if you think about it—how this six-foot wall of volleyball perfection spends his evenings whispering digital love letters to the void (the void being the ‘you’ who keeps replying “ok 👍” to his texts about the practice schedules).
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
komori finds out first, of course. he has eyes everywhere, especially at the mcdonalds discount for chicken nuggets.
“bro, what’s this?” he snorts, leaning over sakusa’s shoulder mid-bus ride home, snatching his phone faster than sakusa can scowl.
“don’t—”
too late. komori’s already giggling like he just found out santa’s real. “oh my god, kiyoomi. forty?”
“give it back.”
“forty drafts? bro. these are—holy crap, these are POEMS. why are you writing like you’re about to drop a heartbreak album?”
sakusa’s ears turn red. “they’re not poems.”
“‘i wish i was the hoodie she’s wearing—
to feel her warmth without asking,
to hold her close without speaking,
to catch her sighs and call it breathing.’”
komori reads out loud. “if this isn’t a poem, i don’t know what is.”
he glares. “motoya.”
but komori just grins, shaking his head in pure disbelief. “no no, you’re in love. like, terminally. i’m calling iizuna.”
and because komori has no sense of self-preservation, ten minutes later iizuna’s reading the same draft with an amused, too-knowing smile.
“you wrote ‘if she ever gets cold i’ll kill the wind.’” iizuna looks up. “kill the wind, kiyoomi?”
“i was tired.”
“you’re dramatic.”
“shut up.”
“you’re in love.”
and sakusa, despite himself, glances out the window. watches the sky blur past like it’s trying to outrun him.
quietly, barely audible, he mumbles, “yeah. i guess i am.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
he didn’t mean to fall for you.
you’re… soft, somehow. in the kind of way that makes him feel like his chest is a too-small box and you’re the light spilling out of it.
you laugh too loud at komori’s jokes. you tuck stray hairs behind your ear without noticing him staring. you smell like something clean and nostalgic—like powdered sugar and early mornings.
you don’t notice him much, not like that.
you text him for notes sometimes.
you thank him after practice when he helps you carry boxes for the team.
you once said “you’re nice when you want to be,” and it made him forget how to breathe for three whole seconds.
and that’s it. that’s all it took.
now he’s the kind of person who types things like,
“you smiled at me today. i pretended not to notice because i think if i did i’d forget how to walk.”
and never sends them.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it happens by accident—how you find out, almost.
it’s late. gym’s empty except for you two. you stayed behind to help tidy up, and he stayed because “i don’t trust motoya with the mop.” (in which, fair.)
he sets his phone on the bench. you’re sweeping when it buzzes, screen lighting up with a notification:
drafts — last edited 1 min ago.
you glance, teasing, “you journaling or something?”
he freezes. visibly.
“no.”
“oh?” you grin. “sounds like a yes.”
“it’s not.”
“so if i look—”
he steps forward so fast you nearly drop the broom.
“don’t.”
his voice isn’t angry—it’s desperate, raw, like you’ve threatened to read his heartbeat aloud.
and that’s when you realize it’s something real. not a joke, not a to-do list. something that could crumble him if you saw too much.
but you soften, smiling a little. “alright, i won’t.”
you don’t.
you go back to sweeping, humming quietly, pretending like the silence isn’t dripping with everything unspoken.
he stares at you like he’s trying to memorize the outline of your shadow.
and later, when you leave, he writes another one:
“she promised not to look. i think that’s the first time someone’s ever protected something of mine without knowing what it was.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next day, komori is still trying to convince him to just say something.
“dude. you’re dying over there.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re not fine. you looked at her for five minutes straight and almost walked into a vending machine.”
“that’s because you distracted me.”
“kiyoomi. please. she’s literally the only person you let talk to you before 9 a.m. that means something.”
“it means i tolerate her.”
“you tolerate her so hard you write essays about her smile.”
sakusa sighs. “motoya, i will—”
“—kill the wind? yeah, i read that one.”
he throws a towel at him. komori dodges, laughing so hard he almost trips over the bench.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you’re walking out of practice together, both holding water bottles, talking about nothing—your favorite way to talk.
you tell him about how your phone storage is full because you keep forgetting to delete old notes.
“me too,” he says, without thinking.
you smile. “really? what kind of notes do you even have?”
and he should lie. he should. but something about the way your eyes meet his—bright, curious, open—makes the truth spill out before he can stop it.
“you.”
you blink. “me?”
“yeah.”
there’s silence. then a small, surprised laugh slips from you. “i—what does that mean?”
“it means…” he exhales, runs a hand through his hair, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “i write about you. things i can’t say out loud.”
you don’t tease. you don’t laugh again. you just tilt your head, smile soft. “that’s actually really sweet, kiyoomi.”
he looks at you like you just told him gravity doesn’t apply to him anymore. “sweet?”
“yeah. i mean—i write about you too. just not in my notes app.”
he freezes. “you… what?”
you grin, walking backward as you talk. “i draw. sometimes. i doodle people i like.”
his brain promptly forgets how to function. “people… you like.”
“yep.” you give him a look so gentle he thinks he might combust. “you’re my favorite one to draw.”
he stands there, completely still, like a computer blue-screening.
and later that night, there’s another draft.
“she said i’m her favorite. i think my heart’s trying to jailbreak out of my chest.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
after that, things change.
not dramatically—no fireworks, no big confessions. just… quiet shifts.
he lets you tie his mask strings when they get tangled.
you save him the last lemon drink from the vending machine.
he starts walking you home without saying he is.
komori catches him once, texting under the table, smirking. “writing her another note?”
“no.”
“then why are you smiling?”
“because she just said goodnight.”
“bro, that’s… wow. you’re gone.”
he doesn’t even deny it. just shrugs, cheeks pink.
and the next morning, a new note appears in drafts:
“if loving her this quietly is all i get,
i’ll let my pulse speak for me—
it already says her name.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you finally see the folder one day—not by accident this time, but because he lets you.
he hands you his phone, careful, shy. “here. you can read them.”
you blink, startled. “are you sure?”
he nods.
and so you do.
one by one.
forty little pieces of him—some silly, some tender, some heartbreakingly sincere.
“her laugh could make a funeral feel like a sunrise—
grief would forget its name,
and even the dead would turn
just to see who made the light sound like that.”
“she borrowed my hoodie today—
it hangs on her like sunlight on silk,
the moon wearing my favorite cloud.”
“i’m trying not to love her too loud—
even echoes feel dangerous,
when her name sounds like home.”
when you’re done, you look up at him. he’s tense, fingers fidgeting.
“kiyoomi,” you say softly, smiling like you can’t help it. “you’re unbelievable.”
his eyes flick to yours. “in a bad way?”
“in the kind of way that makes me want to kiss you.”
the look on his face could make angels jealous.
you laugh, reaching up to cup his cheek. “can i?”
he doesn’t answer—just leans in.
and when your lips meet, soft and warm and unbearably real, he swears the air tastes like the word finally.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
that night, he opens his notes app again.
he doesn’t start a new draft.
instead, he edits the last one.
“you read them all, then kissed me—
every word i never said
found its way to your lips.”
and for the first time ever—
he hits send.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: my shitty relationship is taking a big toll on me 🤞🏻
timeskip!sakusa x f!reader, fluff, slightly suggestive (morning after) but nothing specific/explicit at all
sakusa kiyoomi, msby's #15 and now olympian, cannot believe his fall from grace. the olympics ended just a few days ago, they threw a huge celebration last night (which he honestly really enjoyed), and by some twist of fate—he's here.
he paces around the living room of his hotel suite for half an hour before finally deciding what he needs to do. he never thought he would resort to this, but he figures that desperate times call for desperate measures.
to his surprise, miya atsumu answers the facetime call after just a few rings.
"omiomi!" atsumu greets, "you seemed to have a lot of fun last—"
"i'm about to ask for your advice and if you speak a word of this to anyone, i will end you." kiyoomi says sternly.
"woah, woah, relax man," atsumu says, putting his free hand up in surrender, "what's up?"
no backing out now, kiyoomi thinks.
"so... the party last night..."
"the party, indeed," atsumu smirks, "is this about a certain someone i saw you leave with last night?"
"yes, we slept together." kiyoomi says as calmly as possible, hoping to manage his friend's reaction (even though kiyoomi himself is freaking out internally).
"let's go!" atsumu fist pumps, "hell yeah, man, congratulations! it's about time! you've been crushing on her for forever; i was so close to just locking you two in a room myself—"
"that's not the point," kiyoomi groans.
don't get him wrong, it was definitely the best night of his life, but how does he explain to atsumu that he didn't want things to go like this? he had a whole timeline in his head—take you out on a few dates, kiss you in front of your apartment door, get you flowers and treats from your favorite bakery, go on a couple more dates, and then get into bed together (maybe on the same day that he properly asks you to be his girlfriend). he didn't want things to start with a drunken hookup.
"kiyoomi, hey, you still there?" atsumu says a lot gentler this time, seeing the worry on his friend's usually stoic face.
"i don't want a one-night stand, but i have no idea what she wants. and i'm... scared that that's what she wants."
atsumu has never heard kiyoomi admit his worries like this, not even when they were first recruited for the olympics and the excitement started transforming into nervousness. he knew that you mattered a lot to kiyoomi, and this just solidifies that.
"i mean, it doesn't have to be a one-night stand. you can just talk when she wakes up."
"that's true, but i—" kiyoomi hesitates. going to atsumu for advice was embarrassing enough, but admitting this next part is even worse. he's finally got the blonde to a more serious spot, and he knows his next admission will just bring back the teasing.
"hey, you're kind of starting to scare me," atsumu sighs, "please just spit it out."
kiyoomi says nothing. instead, he braces himself for what's to come.
kiyoomi turns the phone camera and atsumu sees to the hotel's dining room table overflowing with every single breakfast item on the room service menu. in addition to all that, there are even desserts and several cups of juice and coffee.
there's a beat of silence.
and then suddenly, atsumu is practically dying of laughter, "what the fuck, omiomi? what did you do?"
kiyoomi faces the phone back to him, his face a lot redder than a few minutes ago, "i panicked, okay? i figured—you don't have breakfast with your hookups, right?"
"this is breakfast for at least 10 people!"
"i wanted to make sure i got something she liked!"
"don't you already know what she likes?"
"well, i was worried she might be in the mood for something else!" he groans, rubbing his hand across his face. he moves the phone a bit so atsumu can't see how much he's stressing about this.
"she's going to think it's stupid. i just like her so much and i panicked and i just hope she had a good time last night and i feel like she won't take me seriously with this fucking spread but it's not like i can get rid of it and i have no idea if she'll even want to go out with me now and i—"
"just ask her," atsumu says.
"miya, she's asleep and—"
"did you have a good time last night?" atsumu practically shouts, somehow looking past kiyoomi through the phone screen.
"what—"
"a great time, actually," you say.
kiyoomi turns, seeing you leaning against the bedroom door behind him.
"but, i don't kiss and tell, so you should go back to bed," you make your way to kiyoomi, gently placing a hand on his arm, "'cause it looks like this guy and i have a lot to talk about."
atsumu gives a quick goodbye, winking at kiyoomi before hanging up. kiyoomi sets his phone down and turns to completely face you. your hair's still a little messy, you're wearing his shirt—oh wow, you look good in his shirt—and kiyoomi nearly forgets the situation he's in. before he can begin explaining himself, you speak up.
"yes, i've been up for a while. yes, i heard most of that conversation—i think atsumu forgets how loud he is—and," you move closer, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands find your waist, "yes, i would love to go out with you."
when your words finally register, he feels a stupid grin spread across his face.
"yeah?"
"yeah," you smile up at him, "it's not every day that i get to wake up to a breakfast buffet."
you laugh at the way his cheeks turn pink before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, "did i at least get something you like?"
"well, i like you."
"not what i meant... but i like you, too." he says softly.
"so i've heard," you gently nudge him back so you can look at his face properly, "i believe you like me so much?" you grin.
he groans, "you're never going to let me forget this, huh?"
your boyfriend and his stupidly big height. he loves to make fun of you because of how short you are next to him. once, you were so tired of his smirk and teasing comments, that you decided to have the great idea of throwing a snarky answer to him. "I know something that is quite short as well"
you made a big mistake, and even if you're taking it back, he needs to show you how completely wrong you are. his cock is deep inside you and he keeps thrusting into your hypersensitive pussy again and again with the same harshness as when he started fucking you. your legs are sore and you feel your mind so dizzy as your vision blurs because of the tears in your eyes. "I-I can't, is too much!" you moan while your nails dig further into his broad back. his huge body hovering over yours, hazel eyes locked on your face as you squirm right beneath him. "this is what you deserve. calling your man a short dick? are you fucking serious, babe?" he says, thrusting even harder and deeper, his tip kissing your cervix, filling you just right and his lips catching yours in a wild, sloppy kiss. you cum again and again, having lost count and all you can do is look at him with your lovely bambi eyes.
