mia

K. TSUKISHIMA

They were just hanging out. Chill. Normal. Quiet. Tsukishima had gone downstairs to get snacks or argue with Akiteru, and Y/N was left alone in his room. In the silence.

With the dinos.

The neat row of dinosaur figurines on his shelf stared at them. Judgmental. Plastic. Powerful.

Y/N narrowed their eyes.

“…You little prehistoric gatekeepers,” they muttered, standing up dramatically. “I know you know things.”

They picked up a tiny velociraptor and held it like a tiny, scaly therapist. “Tell me the truth. He acts like he doesn’t care, but last week he folded my laundry without being asked. Do you know how intimate that is? That’s practically marriage.”

Next, they picked up the T-Rex. “Don’t look at me like that, short king. Your owner has the emotional range of a rock but then he kissed my forehead after I sneezed. Do you even understand what that does to a person? I blushed for five hours.”

They turned to the triceratops. “I bet you’re his favorite. You seem grumpy. I like that. You’re real. You get me.”

They sighed, flopping onto Tsukki’s bed, cradling the dinosaur like a plushie. “…I love him, okay? Even if he pretends he’s allergic to affection and only softens when he thinks I’m not looking. He could call me an idiot and I’d thank him. That’s the level we’re at.”

Then. The door creaked.

They froze.

Standing in the doorway: Tsukishima Kei, holding a bag of chips and a can of soda. Expression unreadable. Eyes fixed on them. And the dinosaur in their hands.

Silence.

“…Were you just trauma-dumping to my T-Rex?” he asked, monotone but with a glint of dangerous amusement.

Y/N cleared their throat. “…He’s a very good listener.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. Walked over slowly. Placed the chips on the desk. Took the dinosaur gently. Stared at it.

Then—very softly—he smirked.

“…He says you’re not subtle.”

Y/N blinked. “He talks to you too?”

Tsukishima sat beside them, leaned in just slightly, and whispered:

“He says I love you too, dumbass.”

But it didn’t end there.

The next day, Tsukishima came back from the mall with a smug face and a small box.

“You got a new dinosaur?” Y/N asked suspiciously, eyeing the shiny new figurine.

“Limited edition,” Tsukki replied, carefully unboxing a sleek, green spinosaurus with unsettling charisma. “He’s cool.”

Y/N scowled. “He looks like a homewrecker.”

Tsukki choked on his juice. “What?”

Y/N pointed dramatically. “That guy looks like he listens to Arctic Monkeys and flirts with people in the geology section of bookstores. I don’t trust him.”

Tsukishima was full-on laughing now. “You’re jealous of a $9 figurine.”

“He’s giving 'third party in a drama' vibes,” Y/N muttered. “Plot twist energy. He’s here to ruin lives and I’m not letting him steal your affection.”

Tsukki leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching them bicker with a plastic spinosaurus. “…You need help.”

“You need to stop emotionally cheating on me with this edgy lizard.”

Tsukishima walked over, picked up the triceratops (aka Y/N’s ally), and placed it gently beside the new dinosaur.

Then he looked at Y/N and deadpanned: “They’re friends now. It’s called character development.”

Y/N gasped. “You’re turning my son against me.”

“I didn’t know we had kids.”

Y/N blinked. Then grinned. “So you admit we’re married?”

Tsukki paused. Realized what he walked into. “…I hate you.”

But he was smiling. And he didn’t pull away when Y/N wrapped their arms around his waist and whispered

“Don’t worry. I still love you more than the dinosaurs.”

“…Even Jeff?” “The triceratops is different. He’s family.”

Tsukishima kissed the top of their head and whispered, “Jealous of a plastic toy… You’re such a freak.”

(Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader | Hurt/Comfort | Soft Angst with Fluff Ending) 6 months into dating. Reader knows Sakusa’s boundaries—but lately, she’s starting to worry… maybe he doesn’t want heranymore.

You weren’t mad. Not even a little.

Sakusa had always been clear from the start—sanitizing before meals, disinfecting after coming home, no sharing drinks, a healthy stash of alcohol sprays in every bag. It was never cruel. Never mean. It was just… him.

And you loved him. Genuinely. You even made it a point to carry extra sanitizing wipes in case he forgot. He liked that. He once called you thoughtful for it.

So no. You weren’t mad.

But somewhere between month five and six… something shifted.

Maybe it was the way his brows furrowed—not at you, but just in general—when you touched your face then reached for his hand.

Or maybe it was the one time you hugged him after a long commute, and he didn’t hug back until after a quick “Did you sanitize already?”

You had, by the way. You always did. But you didn’t say anything that time. You just smiled. Said “Sorry, forgot” and backed off.

That’s when it started.

You began sanitizing more.

Like, way more.

After you touched your phone. After you handed him something. After brushing your bangs away. After literally touching a pillow. The scent of alcohol clung to your fingertips like second skin. You kept a mini bottle in your pocket and a backup in your purse. Your hands started to sting sometimes—dry and a little red—but it was worth it.

Because you weren’t dirty. You weren’t gross. And maybe if you kept proving that, he wouldn’t get tired of you.

Right?

Sakusa noticed the shift on a Thursday.

He came over after practice, sweaty and tired, expecting to crash on your couch like usual. But instead, you were standing by the door with a cloth, wiping down the doorknob after he touched it—twice.

He blinked.

“Didn’t I already sanitize before coming in?”

You flinched a little. “I just thought—I mean, better safe than sorry, right?”

He hummed, walked past, and figured maybe it was nothing. You liked cleaning sometimes.

Until dinner.

You had already sanitized your hands once. Then twice. Then again after touching your water glass. Your wrist twitched every time you reached for something, as if some invisible voice whispered “He’s watching. Don’t mess up.”

By the time he reached across the table to touch your hand, you instinctively pulled back, grabbing your alcohol spray and rubbing your palms like your life depended on it.

“Y/N.”

You froze.

Slowly, you looked up. He wasn’t frowning. He wasn’t upset. But he was concerned.

“…Are you okay?”

Your chest squeezed tight.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” you replied, too quickly.

He didn’t push. But he kept looking at you like he wanted to. Like he already knew something was unraveling.

Later, after you changed into your pajamas and curled up on the couch beside him—just close enough to be near, but not enough to touch—he spoke.

Softly.

“You’ve been acting different lately.”

You blinked.

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

Silence.

His hand hovered above your knee, hesitant. “Talk to me.”

Your throat tightened. You looked away, staring at your hands.

“They’re dry,” you said quietly. “From the alcohol.”

He waited.

And you hated that you were tearing up already. Because it felt so silly. Because you didn’t even know when the thought started—but now it was all-consuming.

“I just…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t want to be gross to you.”

Sakusa stilled.

“I know you have your reasons,” you rushed to say. “I’m not judging that—I respect it, I really do. But sometimes when you pause before touching me, or when you double check if I’ve sanitized, I can’t help but think maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not clean enough. And if I’m not clean enough, you’ll… get tired of me. Or disgusted. Or—”

“Y/N.”

His voice cut through the spiral.

You looked up, teary-eyed. Like a small, cornered animal. Heart thudding.

Then his hand gently cupped your cheek, and for the first time in days, you didn’t flinch. You leaned in, barely breathing.

“You are not dirty. You are not gross. And I would never leave you over something like that.”

“But—”

“I pause because I’m anxious, not because of you. I double check because it’s a habit—not because I doubt you.” His voice was calm, firm, but gentle. “I know you take care. I know you try. And I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You blinked hard, a tear slipping down.

“I just don’t want to be someone you’re tolerating,” you whispered. “I want to be someone you want.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. Then he pulled your alcohol bottle from the table and gently set it aside.

“I don’t want you bathing in sanitizer to earn my love. You already have it.”

You buried your face in his chest.

And for the first time all week, you didn’t reach for the alcohol first. You reached for him.

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.

not that sakusa cared, anyway.

atsumu who nearly misses his serves whenever you come in his line of view, his focus moving from the blue and yellow ball to you, your captivating smile and swooping hair completely enamoring him as you talk to his captain.

atsumu who loses all his cockiness when you’re around, all the arrogance and pride will be replaced with pure nervousness. he’ll stutter over all the syllables coming out of his mouth, even a small “hi” won’t come out properly.

atsumu who gets endlessly teased by his team about his crush on you, imitating how he short circuits when you’re in his vicinity. eliciting laughter from everyone but atsumu. although his comebacks lack the usual arrogance and fire.

atsumu who nearly exploded into a million tiny little pieces when you looked his way, giving him the most soft, angelic smile ever. even if only for a second, then moving your attention back to your english homework.

atsumu who actually exploded when you talked to him, turning around on your chair to ask him if he had the notes for science, which much to his demise he didn’t. but that doesn’t matter, you actually talked to him. you asked him a question that you could’ve asked anyone else, but you asked him.

atsumu who felt like he was on cloud nine when you called him by his first name, not just ‘miya-kun’ but his first name, not the one he shares with another person. but actually ‘atsumu’ in that sweet honey voice of yours.

atsumu who’ll probably never be normal around you, he’ll stay the nervous wreck he is, he won’t be able to function properly if you smile or talk to him, unless he ever confesses ofcourse.