#sakusa reader

A flicker of red on his phone screen. Battery low. His headphones—his lifeline—had lost charge.

That never happened.

A small frustration flickered in his chest, but he remained composed, creasing his lips. Suddenly he was hyper-aware of everything, every sound around him, specially the ones coming from the bickering idiots in front of him. He rolls his eyes and decides to bear with it when a gust of wind brushes past him ruffling his jacket, making his breath hitch as he follows behind his teammates.

A sound cut through it all. A soft piano, humming through teh air. It was delicate, almost weightless. A tune that didn’t belong in the chaos of this multi-sports facility. 

Unlike the classic rock that usually filled his ears, this was… ethereal. A whisper of music that didn’t ask for attention but demanded it.

His gaze remained forward, uninterested. But as he passed by the room which was the source of this music, he glanced inside from the corner of his eye.

Four steps ahead—and he stops.

Unknowingly, unconsciously, he feet move back.

Time slowed.

The mirrored walls reflected a dream—her.

A girl in a flowing white dress, like a swan in mid-flight, moved effortlessly, her limbs carving through the air with impossible grace. She spun, her arms arching above her head, fingertips barely kissing the ceiling of her world before she descended again, landing as softly as a falling petal.

Her foot stretched behind her, barely grazing the floor before she lifted onto her toes, arms sweeping like delicate wings. A pirouette—slow, controlled, hypnotic.

She was weightless. She was art.

Sakusa barely breathed.

The world blurred around him, the only thing in focus was her.

And yet, despite watching, he still hadn’t seen her face.

His head tilts slightly, gaze drawn into the room like a force beyond his control. The music continues, the dream unfolding before him in slow motion.

His heart beats once. Twice. And paused as she was about to turn her face.

“Omi-san!!” Hinata’s voice shattered the moment.

Sakusa blinked, like waking from a trance. His body stiffened as reality snapped back into place.

He averted his gaze. Without another glance, he turned his head, walking towards his team—away from whatever had just happened.

Unedited! Let me know if you want a teeny-tiny series out of this?

He watches you step onto that stage. And for the first time, everything else fades away.

The crowd falls into silence. The air shifts, and suddenly, it’s just you. You’re a vision—graceful, effortless, commanding the room with each step you take. Sakusa stands frozen, watching, captivated, his chest tightening with every fluid movement. He’s seen you perform in videos, in clips, but this? This is magic. This is everything he’s ever imagined and more.

Time slows, a haze clouding his vision as he watches you—every leap, every pirouette, each perfect arc of your body—it all seems to happen in slow motion, like he’s watching a dream unfold before him. His mind blanks out, a trance taking over him, as he realizes something he hadn’t expected: Everyone is watching her.

And for the first time, he understands what it means to be truly lost in someone’s presence. It’s not just him—it’s the entire room. He’s only one of many, but it feels like you’re pulling him deeper, unraveling him.

When the final note of music fades and the applause erupts, Sakusa doesn’t move. He’s rooted to the spot, the world still spinning around him, but in a haze. Up until he came here, he didn’t know what the “plan” was - but after looking at you? He just knows what he needs to do.

Atsumu’s voice pulls him back into reality, nudging him with an elbow. “Let’s go backstage.”

Sakusa’s legs are unsteady, his body still moving on autopilot. He’s not sure if he’s even breathing. As they reach the entrance to the backstage area, security stops them cold. “Sorry, Sir. You don’t have the proper ID.”

Sakusa’s eyes scan the room, his gaze catching on you, at the far end. Only the two of you- you and Shinjiro. His heart stutters, the tension thickening in his chest as Shinjiro approaches you, his hands finding your face. Sakusa feels a sudden rush of anger flood his veins.

“That was really amazing,” Shinjiro says, his voice dripping with feigned admiration as he kisses your forehead. You stand there, your expression distant, cold, and it makes him twitch. His smile starts to falter, his eyes flickering with something dark.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. You remember what you’d promised Kiyoomi, and now it’s time to do this—no more hiding, no more waiting. You told him you would fix this, and so you will. You know this won't be easy, but it has to happen.

You watch Shinjiro turn, but before he can walk away, your voice slices through the silence. “Shinjiro.”

You hold your ground, your voice unwavering. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Shinjiro jerks around to face you, his expression twisting into something ugly, something almost unrecognizable. “What?” His voice cracks slightly, but his eyes—the madness begins to show in them. His lips tremble as he stares at you, but he refuses to look away.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you repeat, this time firmer, letting the weight of the decision settle between you.

The words seem to push Shinjiro over the edge. His eyes widen, not in shock, but in something darker—something primal. A chuckle, shaky at first, slips from his mouth, but it’s not a laugh. It’s desperate, jagged. “You think you can just walk away? You think you can end this like it means nothing?” His hands ball into fists, his body vibrating with rage.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s right in front of you, his breath shallow and rapid. “You’re nothing without me. Do you hear me? NOTHING! You—” His voice shakes with the kind of anger that’s no longer grounded in reality. His eyes dart around, unfocused, like he’s losing touch with everything. “You can't do this. You won’t do this.”

His words become a torrent, a broken stream of threats. “I’ll make sure you regret this. I’ll ruin everything you have. I’ll—” His hands tremble violently as he points at you, like he’s trying to control something much larger than himself.

Before you can even process the words, Shinjiro’s face turns a shade darker—eyes wide, pupils dilated. In a flash, his hands are around your throat, gripping too tightly, too fast, like the last threads of his sanity are unraveling with each breath he takes.

“I will end you!” His voice cracks as he spits the words, a manic edge creeping in. His grip tightens, and the look in his eyes—wild, unfocused—tells you that he's no longer fully present, that he's lost himself completely.

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic seizing you as you struggle to pry his hands from your throat, but his insane grip only tightens, pushing you further into the wall. “You can’t escape,” he mutters, his voice now barely a rasp, as if he's talking to himself more than you. “I won’t let you.”

Your eyes widen in panic, and you hurriedly try to pry his hands away from your throat- albeit failing at this.

Rage explodes in Sakusa’s chest, his body moving before his mind can catch up. He pushes past Atsumu and Osamu, his eyes locked on you.

But the guard gets in the way again. No.

Atsumu and Osamu look in the direction where Sakusa was looking, they immediately exchange a quick, tense look and suddenly, Atsumu tackles the security guard, shouting, “Go, go, go!” They rush forward, fury driving them.

And then, everything shifts. As you desperately try to get some air in your lungs, you scratch at shinjiro’s hand. “Leav-ngh me-uh”, you try to voice, constrained. A voice cuts through the air, “Get your hands off my sister.” Shinjiro turns his head towards Osamu, Shinjiro’s hand loosening its grip on your throat.

You’ve never seen Osamu like this. Growing up, you always thought Atsumu was the one with the short fuse. But now? You’ve never seen him so calm in the face of violence. It almost seems deadly. Osamu peels Shinjiro off of you with a strength you didn’t know he had. His expression is pure rage, and it takes you a moment to realize—this is his fury, his protection.

Sakusa is immediately standing in front of you, shielding you with his body, his hand gripping yours, pulling you behind him. His chest rises and falls with each breath, the storm in his eyes visible for anyone to see.

Osamu holds Shinjiro by the collar, his face deadly calm, and he punches him—hard. The crack of Shinjiro’s nose breaking is sickening. “If you ever” he lands another punch, “touch my sister again,” another punch, “I will fucking kill you.”

And then another punch lands.

Atsumu rushes in at this point and steps in, his voice laced with concern, “Hey, you’ll kill him.”

Osamu pauses, his fist hovering in the air, but he doesn’t look at Atsumu. He lands the final punch, and Shinjiro stumbles back, falling to the ground- his phone falling out of his other hand. Atsumu immediately stomps on it, the screen cracking beneath his boot.

Sakusa turns around to look at you.

You’re shaking, breathless. He towers over you, his expression full of concern. “Are you... okay?” His voice is low, almost hesitant.

He puts his hand gently on your shoulders, “Did he hurt you?” 

You try to calm your breathing, but it’s not helping. You look up at him, his face, his presence, it’s everything you need right now, and it’s all you see. Your eyes are on his, everything else is a blur. You gently shake your head.

Sakusa studies your expression, giving you a moment. He waits for sometime, and then finally says, “I’m here.” He holds your face gently between his hands, afraid he will break you, “I'm here for you.”

You look at him, your breath shallow. “You’re... here for me?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He nods, his fingers gentle against your skin. “For you,” he breathes, his voice full of desperate longing.

You nod, closing your eyes for a brief moment, calming yourself. The world doesn’t seem so chaotic anymore.

You whisper, just barely audible, “Kiss me, Kiyoomi.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He kisses you soft and slow - gentler than the breeze. A promise that everything is going to be okay.

As the kiss ends, Atsumu coughs loudly from behind them, “We’ll... leave the two of you to talk things out.”

Shinjiro gets up, holding his nose, “You are all insane! You will be hearing from my lawyers!!”

Osamu and Atsumu ignore him and turn to leave, and you walk with Sakusa toward the back exit, the door closing softly behind you.

And finally after all this madness, you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The door creaks open.Sakusa immediately sits up as the doctor gestures for him to come inside. He steps into the room, expecting a quick update, maybe a standard ‘she’s fine, she can go home’ report. Instead—the doctor barely glances at him before speaking.

“Your girlfriend has a serious ankle strain. We call it Achilles tendinitis—it’s very common among ballet dancers.”

Sakusa stares.

“I—uh—she’s not—” he tries, but the doctor doesn’t stop.

“She’s going to need a cast for at least four weeks. After that, we’ll reassess her injuries. Complete rest until then, minimal walking.” Sakusa doesn’t even get a chance to correct him before the doctor nods curtly and walks out. 

There’s silence.

You let out a loud huff, crossing your arms. “Well, what does he know about my body?”

Sakusa turns his head toward you. He blinks. “He’s a doctor.”

“Yeah, and I’m me,” you argue, clearly unimpressed. “Doctors just love telling me what I can’t do.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Like walk?”

You roll your eyes. “Obviously.”

Sakusa just shakes his head and pulls a chair up next to your bed, sitting down with his usual unimpressed expression.

You smirk. “So, boyfriend, you didn’t leave yet?” You wiggle your eyebrows.

Sakusa exhales sharply—probably a sigh. But then his gaze flickers to the red-purple spot on your wrist, and he frowns. He reaches out, carefully taking your hand to inspect it. “Does this hurt?” he asks, pressing his thumb gently over the joint.

Before you can answer—

BAM!

The door slams open.

“OH, HELL NO.” Atsumu Miya’s voice rips through the room like a war cry.

Sakusa barely has time to process before two identical men storm in.

Atsumu, looking like a feral fox ready to brawl. Osamu, calmer but somehow even more terrifying, arms crossed and eyes sharp.

Sakusa? He physically malfunctions.

He lets go of your hand immediately and gets up from his seat, his gaze shifting between you and the two idiots now standing in the doorway.

Cold. Hard. Paralyzing realization hits him.

The beautiful dancer—the angel in white—the girl he just carried through a hallway and sat beside in a hospital room—

Is a Miya.

Atsumu screeches. “THE HELL ARE YA DOIN’ WITH OUR BABY SISTER?!” Osamu, quieter but no less dangerous, tilts his head. “Ya wanna explain why ya were holdin’ her hand?”

Sakusa just stares.His brain refuses to process.

You? A Miya?

How.

How did this happen?

How did he—the man who actively avoids trouble, chaos, and unnecessary emotions—end up in a hospital, taking care of the Miya brothers’ little sister?

How did he end up holding your hand on your bedside? Which, according to Miya Law, might as well be a marriage proposal.

Sakusa takes a slow, deep breath.

Then, looking between you and your overprotective brothers, he comes to one very important conclusion - he is screwed.

I anyone even reading these? Lol. The response has been fairly muted and Im considering putting this on hold. Maybe my writing isn't as good as it is sounding in my head. :(

Atsumu hums. Then, suddenly, he whips his head toward Sakusa. His previous disbelief vanishes, replaced by a dramatic gasp as he practically lunges at him. “OMI-OMI, MY MAN! YA’ SAVED OUR BABY SISTER!”

Sakusa jerks back at the unwanted contact, his disgusted expression borderline offended. “Don’t touch me.” But Atsumu is already holding both of Sakusa’s hands, shaking them wildly as if they’re old war comrades.

“We owe ya, man! Anything ya need—food, drinks, a free meal at the shop—hell, even Osamu can cook ya somethin’—”

“I’m not doin’ that,” Osamu interjects lazily.

Sakusa looks seconds away from kicking Atsumu across the room. “ 'S no big deal.”

But as Atsumu continues dramatically thanking him, his voice blaring through the room, your eyes find Sakusa’s. And there it is again.

That pull.

It lingers in the way your gazes hold each other just a second too long. The way neither of you looks away first. The way something unspoken lingers in the air between you. And you know—he feels it, too. For a second, it feels like the world shrinks, like everything outside of this moment fades into the background.

“Ah, crap—Mom’s calling,” Osamu mutters, standing up. “C’mon, Tsumu.” Atsumu groans but follows him out. “No funny business, alright?” He points at Sakusa.

You roll your eyes, watching them leave. But the second the door shuts, the air shifts. Sakusa exhales quietly, shaking his head. “So… you’re a Miya.”

You smirk. “That a problem?”

Sakusa pretends to think about it. “Explains a lot.”

You gasp dramatically. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes flickering over you. “Loud. Chaotic. Questionable life choices.”

“Oh, and you’re just the picture of stability?”

“Yes.”

You give him a look. “You wear all black like you’re in a constant state of mourning.”

Sakusa shrugs. “It’s efficient.” You squint. “Efficient?”

He nods. “No need to worry about color coordination. Always matches.”

You shake your head, laughing. “You’re a weirdo.”

Sakusa doesn’t deny it. There’s a pause, you breathe in and softly say, “Thanks for staying.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. “It’s nothing.”

You smile. “It doesn’t feel like nothing.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but before you can ask for his number, before you can say anything else—

The door bursts open. Atsumu and Osamu return, their faces grim.

“The devil and his minions are here,” Osamu mutters. And before you can even react, the room is suddenly flooded with people. A tall, hunky man enters first, effortlessly charismatic, his sharp features camera-ready. He steps towards you with confidence, his entourage and a swarm of paparazzi trailing behind him. Sakusa feels the shift in energy immediately.

The man reaches your bed, leans down, and kisses your forehead for the flashing cameras.

You smile—awkward, forced.

He cups your face, his expression tender for the audience. “Are you okay?” he murmurs before touching his forehead to yours.

You nod slowly.

Sakusa? Sakusa is pushed to the corner of the room. Along with Atsumu and Osamu. The three of them stand there, awkwardly trying to process what just happened.

“What the hell–” Atsumu starts.

“Shut up,” Sakusa mutters, his eyes locked on you and the man.

The senior doctor enters next, practically beaming as he shakes hands with the man.

“Ah! Shinjiro Arakawa! What an honor!”

Sakusa hears the name, but it barely registers.

Shinjiro reads through your charts, nodding thoughtfully. The doctor gushes about the excellent care they’ve provided.

Outside, nurses giggle, their voices dripping admiration for the man in front of you - which doesn't go unnoticed by Sakusa.

“Will she be able to perform at the Varna in the spring?” Shinjiro asks, his voice warm but commanding.

The doctor smiles reassuringly. “Of course! Your girlfriend should have no problem performing by then.”

Sakusa’s breath stills.

Girlfriend.

Your boyfriend. Your ballet partner.

It clicks.

And suddenly, it’s too much. The attention, the cameras, the way everyone isn’t questioning this, the way the man in front of you so easily puts his hands on you, holding you like you belong to him—

Sakusa clenches his jaw. And then—he sees it.

Your eyes find his. And they’re filled with something that makes his stomach twist. Regret. Apology. A silent plea. You want to talk to him. You want to explain. You want to tell him, it’s not what it looks like!

But he doesn’t want to hear it. Sakusa isn’t sure what this feeling is. But he knows one thing. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. So before you can say anything, he turns and walks out.

And he doesn’t look back.

Yup, my heart is breaking too! :'(