she/her - 20 - i don't post nothing relevant but i fucking love omi and i hate zionists - shoyo is a top and tobio is a bottom and i will die on that hill
"until I'm swollen, until l'm crying, until I cant walk, until I'm numb, until my throat hurts, until my cheeks are red, until the neighbours know his name, until my leg is useless, until my eyes are rolled back and it stays there, until my whole body shakes, until my bones disconnect, until i pass out, until all my holes are filled, until i cant breathe, until it gets longer than before, until i remember the length of it, until the end of time, until it reaches my stomach, until hes grunting and growling, until the whole world hears, until he's out of juice, We aren't ever stopping, the bed could break, 2 the floor could cave in, and there could be a killer natural disaster outside but we aren't stopping, until we invent a new position, until l'm trembling underneath, until I see stars and fireworks in the back of my head, until I can't think anymore, until I forget how to talk, I'll ride him until I can't breathe, until the room stinks, until the blood in my body turns white like his juice, until my legs are shaking, until I can't feel my legs he can top me"
── ✦ kiyoomi knows better…but he just couldn’t help but fuck the snarky reporter in the team locker rooms…
he’s adored all over japan and internationally. jesus christ, he’s kiyoomi sakusa for gods sake. he’s played for the national team and msby…so why is he getting pissed over this?
surely one comment from an irrelevant blogger with a little less than a measly thousand followers on twitter wouldn’t get on his nerves, but alas. the moment he saw you after his game against schweiden and confronted you, he couldn’t help but want to fuck the utter ignorance out of you. the moment he knew the coaches and players were long gone from the locker rooms, he took you there.
“y’think my serves are weak as shit? is that right?” he remarked, gripping your waist and bouncing you up his cock in a tortuous pace. your skirt, panties, and shirt were abandoned, leaving you in your undershirt with no bra. your perky tits bounced with every harsh thrust and your face contorted to one of pleasure. “that ushijima…is better than me?”
the feeling of kiyoomi’s tip bullying your poor cervix, his lips on your neck, his hands on your flushed skin as his cock abused your pussy to the point you felt him in your stomach, drove tears to your eyes.
“yesyesyes!” you cried, wrapping your arms around his neck and feeling the way he grabbed at your skin to the point he would probably leave bruises the next day and leave you walking side to side.
“y-you think…my serves are shit, that my passes are too harsh, and that compared to division 3 players, i would belong in a lower rank? are you f-fucking serious? that i play like i’m blindfolded?”
it was lewd, the way your cunt gushed every time kiyoomi slammed you against his length resulting in your mouth agape and pussy clenching onto him, begging to milk him. what was especially lewd…was the way your cunt squeezed him every time he sneered at you—practically lecturing you—while all your cunt could do was flutter against his length.
you let out a dry laugh that quickly became a moan. “ye-yeah! take some fucking criticism— oh my-fuck!”
kiyoomi grabbed your face with one free hand and kissed you as his hips kept at their relentless pace against your poor pussy, having already came rounds before and resulting in the locker room echoing in the most filthy sounds.
you whined against his lips, feeling his cum shoot in your cunt and leaking every time he thrusted even after cumming. it was so lewd—so scandalous that kiyoomi sakusa would ever do such deplorable things…to his own girlfriend too.
kiyoomi held you against his own flushed body, your breathing matching where you then let out a dry laugh. “you know…i should really write those comments more. i love it s’much when you fuck me like that, omi.”
he panted against the crook of your neck and slammed you against his cock one final time. “please don’t.”
thinking about how sakusa notices you’ve changed. and he does not like it.
not. a. bit.
you being part of the msby team (corporately, of course) meant always being surrounded by people mostly, sakusa thinks, pretty unimportant to you. but important on a business level nonetheless. he even knew that on certain level, you didn’t like all the attention (as you’ve once confided him) and still you make great efforts for the team to succeed.
you were an overachiever after all, just like him.
then why the hell did your boss thought it was a good idea for you to be with him all the time?
the msby jackals gym starts to get louder, as the team is already warming up for the next game of the season against the ejp raijins. there he founds you, gorgeous as ever in the front row (he’d like to pretend you were there like all the other girlfriends of the team even if you both were nothing yet and your job literally demanded you to be sit there) with not your usual game day outfit. instead being replaced with a beautiful black long sleeved dress, flowy as your personality, and jewelry and an updo he could not just ignore.
he scoffs.
“do you think one of these days he’d actually murder him?” atsumu asks hinata, stretching on the floor while he looked at a really irritated sakusa.
sakusa groans and sends both of them a scary glare.
“i didn’t even answer!” hinata claimed offended he somehow got glared at too “omi-san, i don’t think they both are doing… whatever your head is imagining. he’s only been here for a couple months” he finished trying to cheer him up, searching for bokuto with his eyes for moral support.
the thing is, that it was absolutely true, he had only been here for months. and ever since that little assistant of yours started working in msby, you’ve had completely changed. and what killed him was the fact that you changed for the better.
you quickly spot him and give a little wave, followed by a very gentle “good luck” and a quiet smile.
he’d noticed, of course he had. how you stopped repeating the same outfit you used to wear whenever you had to go to the office —those rare occasions sakusa and the team could spend a bit more time with you— how out of nowhere, you looked more elegant, more put together. he already thought you were stunning with minimal effort, but seeing you with more structured outfits and just a tad more of make up really left him speechless.
he’d also noticed how you talked more, how that shy self you once shared you were trying to overcome slowly disappeared even if it was just at work. the accesories, the shoes, your way of walking and even your coffee order changed ever since he arrived.
he tried to smile back at you as he walked to his starting position, seriously considering the new option atsumu had proposed.
“even if they did” he starts, voice way to deep and sighing “it’s none of my concern”
as the whistle blows and the gym roars, his teammates get way even more frustrated but still compassionate since they knew kiyoomi sakusa was not a man of many words, and that he was pretty stupid to confront his feelings.
sakusa had jealous moments before, he knows how to control himself specially when he was at a proper game. in fact, he has realized the anger worked as fuel for stamina. he’d look back at you every few minutes, not intentionally, his head getting more and more intense. his little spiral started to grow, putting him closer to a great performance.
“sakusa” he thinks he heard miya.
ace point.
“omi-kun” hinata tried while digging into a save.
your assistant, leaning closer.
“sakusa-san” was it his coach?
his lips really close to your ear.
still-
“OH MY GOD” your assistant immediately stood up as a volleyball landed just in front of him, making him quickly back off from you.
sakusa grinned mockingly.
“my bad”
still you definitely knew his aim had always been too precise. and he never fails. you give him a frowned look and he immediately stops smiling.
“now what was that?” you caught him off guard, leaning in the doorframe of the locker room with you arms crossed. he jumped out of surprise. you looked expressionless as you sometimes did, which always gave him headaches trying to figure out what was happening in your mind.
he grabbed his bag “none of your concern” he freezes midstep, was that too harsh? he knows maybe it was when he hears you sigh.
“why do i get the feeling you don’t particularly like kentaro-kun?” you ask, he feels a sting in his chest.
“already on first name basis, he must be special” he tries to make it sound like he’s laughing at you, just so you don’t get suspicious. “he is my assistant, i should be nice to him” you reply, laughing.
“well then” he says, holding back.
“i think you’d get along, really” were you blind?
“hard pass”
“and why?” you ponder “he’s your assistant, why should i coexist with him?”
“just… exposure”
“to what? his stupidity?”
“he’s actually really smart”
“really?”
“yeah, he figured out you were in love with me and all”
“he is just stup- huh?” his heart stops, you break into laughter.
“you are not denying it” you tease
suddenly a figure appears from the sides of the door, he who had being waiting outside next to you hidden well enough so kiyoomi couldn’t spot him. you raise your hand in a gentle motion and a 10,000 yen bill falls on it, specially drawn from his wallet.
he looks at sakusa, annoyed. “seriously man, i give her all this transformation for you to confess and it takes me to finally break in? pathetic.” he groans as he gazes to you, in desperation. and before sakusa can say anything else you just casually say, as if it were nothing:
“so, tonight or tomorrow for our first date?”
his eye twitches.
a/n: inspired by this song with a funny twist, i love jealous!sakusa
he lets you use him however you like when he's tired. (18+)
pt ii
you hear the door click behind him, footsteps dragging through the hallway heavily. when he steps inside, everything about him is taut, his jaw is clenched, his shoulders slump just a fraction, and his tired eyes are barely blinking as they land on you.
you can tell he's been holding himself back all day. when he finally looks at you, the exhaustion is laced with desperation. "baby..." he exhales softly. "im home."
he drops his bag by the door, immediately making his way towards you as his gaze flicks down and then back up, slow and admiring. he slumps down against the bedframe beside you, sighing. "fuck..." he breathes, looking at the tiny slip gown you're in. you'd been waiting for him to come fuck you but he'd been late and left you wanting for god knows how long. "this for me?" he asks, tugging lazily at one of the straps of your slip.
you nod, gnawing on your lower lip. "mmm..." he groans, tugging you up and into his lap effortlessly, curling one arm behind your back and making you straddle him so your pussy is right on his clothed cock. he audibly makes a noise of pleasure when he realizes you haven't got on any panties.
his cock strains against the fabric of his pants, swollen after days of being left untouched and aching. you catch the faintest tremor of need there and your pussy clenches with need to be filled. "i'm yours," he breathes, voice rough but steady. "do whatever you want to me."
his hands come up to trace the curve of your hips, gripping lightly. you lean down, brushing your lips over his jaw, brushing lightly against your skin as you whisper, "tell me what you need."
he swallows hard, "i need... fuck, to be inside you," he mumbles into your hair, tugging you close to him. the heat of his body pressed beneath you is thick and urgent, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths as you slowly shift, grinding down onto him. you let the slick slide of your wetness coat his slacks before you even start to move, molding yourself around him inch by inch. he lifts you up just enough to undo his trousers to free his cock, then eases you back down, slowly.
his cock stretches your plush walls and fills you up the further you slide your pussy down his thick shaft. he grips your waist with both hands to anchor your body down onto him, groaning low when you finally bottom out.
"oh fuck," he gasps, head falling back against the wall, it takes everything in him not to cum right there. his eyes crack open again, finding yours even in the dimness. "you feel… so fucking good. i've been dreaming about this for days."
your cunt flutters around him as his hands roam without direction. up your back, down your ass, curling around your thighs like he can't decide where to keep you because every part of you is needed. he's breathing hard into your hair, murmuring "mm, i missed my girl s'much."
you roll your hips against him so his cock drags deep inside you. his entire body shudders, his hands pushing you down harder to grind you until your clit brushes against his pelvis. his hands slip under your slip at last, palms dragging against your bare skin. you finally lift, dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back down in a messy, wet thrust. his whole body bucks up to meet you, fucking up into you. "it's mmh, e-even bigger than usual... you..." you pant. "you're huge."
your wetness gushes around him noisily, dripping down his length and soaking him. your pussy clamps down so tight that the drag of your walls milking him with every single movement.
his moans cut off in a strangled groan as bounce on him. his hands grip your ass desperately but you don't give him a minute to control you. you roll your hips, shift back up, slam down again, using him to your heart's content.
"so full," you moan into his ear, nails dragging down his shoulders as you ride him rougher, sloppier. his balls are so full, so swollen, that even before he can cum properly, his pre is already weeping out in fat, sticky drips that slick your insides, mixing with your own wetness until it gushes out of where you're connected. he groans and squeezes your flesh "it's leaking out, shit, you're makin' a mess."
you grind down hard, making sure his cockhead presses deep against your cervix, and his hips jack up helplessly under you, balls tightening with the weight of days' worth of need. cum is already seeping out around the base of his cock, spilling in slow, hot trickles that smear over your thighs as you ride him.
you tug his hair back so he has to look at you, your slick thighs slapping against his as you bounce. "look at the mess you're making," you pant, lips brushing his. he bites down on your shoulder so he doesn't whimper like a loser, continuing to rut his hips up uncontrollably, his cock throbbing deep inside you while cum keeps dripping out, pearly streaks painting both of you.
"i'm gonna cum" he gasps into your skin, hands shaking on your waist as you keep using him, keep dragging that fat cock in and out of your soaked pussy. your eyes flutter shut, and every nerve in your body hums, pulsing, shaking with the sheer, overwhelming fullness. your sighs turn into little moans, long, languid, dreamy, as you savor him deep inside. his hips jerk violently, pounding up into you, and you feel the first hot spurts of his release flood inside you. he fills you until it spills out in heavy, sticky drips, mixing with your slick, coating both of you.
you shiver, moaning around his neck, and arch your back, pressing into him, letting him bury himself deeper while you cream down onto him, pussy tightening, squeezing every drop out of him.
"darling, you see that place on the corner?" he asks, one hand on the steering wheel as he nods to a restaurant across the street.
"mmm, yeah?" you ask, breathless.
"they're supposed to have incredible steak. it could be a contender for where we have our anniversary dinner, don't you think?"
you nod, doing your best to stay focused on the conversation, "sure, it could. sounds good."
"on the other hand, you said you've been craving sushi…" he continues, and you really can't focus anymore.
after all, how can you when his free hand has been tracing up and down your clothed pussy for almost the entire car ride?
it started innocently enough. you got in the car after your date, and he rested one hand on your thigh like he always does. the two of you talk about whatever comes to mind — workplace drama, the new show everyone seems to be watching, plans for the weekend — and soon his hand starts moving. it's slow, you barely noticed it until his hand slipped under the hem of your dress.
he looked at you from the corner of his eye, gauging your reactions while continuing the conversation as normal. you couldn't help it — you parted your thighs slowly. you were already soaking wet.
and now you're here. he's still talking, you're still trying to respond, and his hand is still between your thighs.
it's frustrating, aggravatingly so. his touch is so gentle, so precise — it's enough to make you feel something, but not enough to get you anywhere.
"love, can you open my phone and pull up maps, please? i think there's some traffic coming up," he says.
you pick up his phone from the cup holder, but it nearly slips from your grasp when you feel him pull your panties to the side.
"everything alright?" he asks, eyes still on the road.
"mmhm," you say, holding back a moan of anticipation.
you unlock his phone and try to type in your shared address, when his fingers start rubbing small circles on your clit. you let out a sharp gasp, the phone falling into your lap.
"sensitive," he observes, finally acknowledging what he's been doing.
"baby, please," you beg, ending whatever game this is. you're gripping his wrist now, guiding his fingers to your entrance.
"you wore this dress, practically teasing me the whole dinner," he counters.
you let out a frustrated sound, unable to deny it. you bought this dress for his birthday dinner last year, and you basically couldn't walk the next day. you knew what you were doing by putting it on tonight.
"ask nicely and i'll give you what you want," he says, his fingers moving down to trace your entrance, "just want to hear you say it, sweetheart."
you let go of his wrist, nails raking gently up his forearm. you don't miss the way goosebumps form on his skin.
"please make me cum," you beg and he smiles, two fingers pushing into your entrance.
18+ sakusa gives the meanest back shots when he’s jealous . . . ❤︎ ⋮ requested.
you weren’t aware that sakusa kiyoomi had this side to him until tonight. it was as if all the walls he built came crashing down completely, always losing his cool when it comes to you. he didn’t quite understand it either—how you got him so worked up every single time without fail. and this time wasn’t any different.
well, except for the fact that you finally noticed.
all it took was one of his teammates fawning over you before his body moved without thinking, walking over to the stands and pulling you into a passionate kiss right after his team won the game. it didn’t end at the sudden relationship reveal, only beginning at the hotel room after.
you didn’t quite get it at first—why his kisses felt needier or why the room was boiling with fury and tension. but as his hand ran up and down your sides possessively, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps behind, you started to understand the gist of the situation.
every shove of his cock had you lurching forward from the force, sakusa pulling you back by your hips to keep you pressed against his pelvis. “trying to run?” he asked, cockiness dripping from his tone, hands gripping tightly on your skin. “i’m not done yet. you can handle it, yeah?” you felt fingers tightening in your hair, tugging hard enough to tilt your head for him to watch your expression contort in pleasure.
“omi—haah—can’t take it anymore! oh fuck—too much—!” you clawed the sheets, desperately clinging onto your senses that he was trying to fuck out of you. his pace was brutal, hard to keep up with when every single thrust knocked the air out of you. static clouded your vision, tears streamed down your cheeks. bruises and bites painted the your neck and shoulders, your back arching with every smack of his pelvis against your ass.
“look at you, so perfect like this.. all ruined by who?” he asked, slowing down just so you could respond—only to plunge in deeper when you couldn’t choke an answer out in time. he only leaned in closer when you whined, muttering filth beside your ear. “don’t wanna answer? that’s fine. we’ll just have to make sure they can hear you then.”
the headboard rattled against the wall, bed frame creaking under both of your weights just as loud. the obscene noises of sex filled the room—squelching, skin slapping, moans bouncing off the bedroom walls—sakusa kiyoomi didn’t really need your answer. he just needed to make one thing unmistakably clear to his teammate next door, and he trusted that the walls were thin enough to carry the message.
if only you could see the smirk plastered on his face with how loud he was making you cry out his name. he hoped that the whole world would take this as a sign that you were his, and his only.
I just love the thought of Sakusa being the clean freak that he is still being sooo clingy as a boyfriend. I'm just so sure that he would be touched starved 24/7 when he's alone with his s/o and literally js touching everything he can possibly reach.
i'm always thinking about hinata kissing kageyama. kissing kissing kissing kissing because he loves him so much he can't help but plant his lips on whichever reachable spot he's closer. neck, lips, cheeks, temples, crown, nape, navel, thighs, hands, wrists, fingertips. everywhere he can touch and map to memorize every single centimeter, down to the millimeter, because that's the one he fell in love with. all of him. and he will spend all his life making sure he worships every single bit of skin until kageyama knows it too
You’ve tried the pillows. The pregnancy belt. The heat pad. You’ve leaned forward, leaned back, sat on the edge of the couch with your feet planted just right like the blogs say. You’ve even tried that ridiculous looking yoga ball that Kuroo swore helped his sister. Nothing works. Not really.
Your lower back has become a constant, pulsing drumbeat of dull pain, like your spine itself is growing resentful. The weight of your belly pulls forward like an anchor strapped to your hips, and every time you shift, you swear you can hear your vertebrae protesting. There’s no sweet spot anymore, just a rotation of tolerable positions. You grit your teeth through them, muttering curses under your breath.
You’re laid sideways on the couch now, a pillow stuffed between your knees, one arm tucked under your bump, the other flopped over your eyes like you’re shielding yourself from the end of the world. It’s not even late. The sun’s still up, golden light filtering through the blinds. You just couldn’t take being vertical anymore.
This is the part no one talks about. Not the cute baby kicks, not the weird cravings or the glow everyone swears you have. It’s this—sore, swollen, and tired in a way that sleep can’t fix. Even breathing feels like it takes effort.
And through it all, Sakusa is there.
He’s been steady. Quietly doting. Not the type to coo over baby socks or rub your feet with oil while humming lullabies, but the kind of man who starts carrying hand sanitizer in your favorite scent just in case you need it. The kind who keeps snacks in the car, reminds you to hydrate without making it sound like a chore, who started going to prenatal appointments not because you asked, but because he wanted to understand everything. Who reads parenting books with sticky tabs and highlights and pretends he didn’t.
He’s not loud about it. He doesn’t post bump photos or narrate your journey in grand poetic terms. But he’s shown up every day in ways that matter. Never once flinching when you sobbed over dropped pickles or had a breakdown in the baby aisle because you couldn’t decide between two swaddle patterns. He holds the pieces when you feel like you’re falling apart. He never makes you feel like you’re too much.
You hear the front door click open, then the quiet hush of it swinging closed. You don’t move. Just listen to the familiar sound of Sakusa’s footsteps coming in—soft, always measured, always deliberate. No keys clatter. He always puts them in the bowl on the shelf. No shoes squeaking either; he wipes them, every time. You know it’s him without having to look.
He pauses in the entryway, no doubt clocking the mess of your position. Then, his voice—calm and even, with that velvety weight that always makes your heart twitch even when you're annoyed.
“Back again?”
“Mmh,” you hum noncommittally, eyes still covered. “Felt like someone took a crowbar to my spine. So I gave up.”
There’s a beat of silence. You imagine him there, eyes scanning you—your hunched shoulders, the tension in your jaw, the deep set crease between your brows. He’s not the type to hover. Not the type to fuss, at least not where you can see it. But you know him well enough by now. If he could physically fight your discomfort, he would’ve by now. With gloves on.
You feel the couch dip near your legs. Then the rustle of a bag being set down.
“I read about something,” he says slowly.
You lower your arm just enough to peek at him. He’s still in his work clothes—jacket slung over the armrest, sleeves rolled neatly past his elbows, forearms bare. His mask is off, stashed away now that he’s home. You catch the faintest crease of worry between his brows, like he’s weighing the next words carefully.
“Can I try?” he asks.
You blink, too tired to be curious. “Whatever. Go for it.”
He tilts his head. “You have to stand up first.”
You lower your arm further to shoot him a flat look. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
You huff, but he’s already sliding a hand beneath your arm. Gently, steadily, he helps you sit up, then rise to your feet with the kind of efficiency that speaks to practice. He’s been doing this for weeks now—helping you in and out of bed, out of the car, off the floor when you insisted you could pick something up by yourself.
“I swear to god, if this is another stretch video where I end up looking like a tipped cow—”
“It’s not.”
“Because if I fall, I'm taking you down with me.”
“Duly noted.”
Once you’re upright, he steps behind you. You feel the warmth of him, close and focused. One of his hands briefly trails up your spine in a slow, soothing pass—a single stroke meant to coax your muscles into releasing some of their stubborn tension.
"Relax," he murmurs, voice low and steady, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.
Then his hands brush your hips and slide slowly beneath the swell of your belly. One palm anchors, the other adjusts. It’s deliberate, the kind of precise contact that could only come from research and repeat watching. Then—he lifts.
Just an inch. Maybe two. But it’s enough.
The relief is instant.
Your lower back uncoils like a spring released from tension. That hot, grinding ache that’s lived there for weeks just… lessens. Not gone entirely, but dulled. Blurred. Like someone finally turned the pressure dial down from an eleven to a manageable hum.
You let out a sound you weren’t expecting—a breath that shudders out of you with more feeling than you meant to show. Like your whole body’s been waiting for this and didn’t know how to ask.
“Oh,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s… holy shit.”
You hear him exhale, and the barest hint of a smile follows in his voice.
“Guess it works.”
You nod, or try to. “What even—how’d you think of that?”
“There’s a forum,” he says. “A bunch of people were talking about it. Said lifting the weight can take pressure off the sacroiliac joint. Sounded reasonable.”
Of course it did. It’s so— him. Reading about biomechanics like it’s no big deal. Quietly researching ways to ease your pain without saying a word. You picture him in bed at night, phone dimmed, scrolling through medical threads while you snored beside him.
You lean back slightly, weight shifting into his hold like you’re trusting it—trusting him—with more than just the curve of your belly. His hands adjust to steady you.
Then you feel him begin to lower your bump back down.
“I didn’t say you could stop yet,” you murmur, voice hushed and wry.
His hands still immediately.
There's a pause, not because he's unsure—but because he’s listening. Because when it comes to you, Sakusa never rushes.
You feel his thumbs move slightly, drawing slow circles near your hips as he steadies the lift again, as if to say, I’ve got you.
"Should’ve tried this ages ago," you mumble.
You’re still basking in the quiet relief of his hold. Your back doesn’t feel like it's screaming anymore, and for the first time in hours, your body feels like it belongs to you again—like maybe you're not just a vessel walking around with sore feet and too many hormones.
He shifts slightly, adjusting the lift with a faint grunt.
"He’s heavy," Sakusa murmurs. There’s no complaint in his voice—just quiet awe.
You smile faintly, placing a hand over his. "That’s your fault."
"My fault?"
"You’re six-three, with legs like telephone poles. What did you think was gonna happen?"
He huffs a soft, amused breath behind you. "Could still be your fault. Maybe you manifested it."
You snort. "Yeah, I manifested a linebacker. Great job, me."
"He’s not even here yet and I already feel outnumbered," he mutters.
You squeeze his hand. "Don’t worry. He’ll probably inherit your poker face. You two can be brooding and beautiful together."
A beat. Then, so quiet it barely makes it to your ears:
"He’s going to be perfect."
You close your eyes, feeling everything swell in your chest all at once.
"He already is."
And there’s something so simple, so steadfast in the way he says it that you have to bite your lip against the warm rush crawling up your chest.
You rest your hand over his where it cups your belly. "Kiyoomi?"
"Mm."
"I love you."
His thumb strokes once, slow and deliberate. You hear the breath he draws, steady as ever.
"I know," he says quietly. "I love you too."
And just like that, in the stillness of your living room, with the soft glow of daylight bleeding through the windows and his arms supporting you from behind, you feel the kind of full-body peace that no prenatal yoga class has ever given you.
You don’t move. Neither does he. Because for now, this is enough.
timeskip!sakusa x fem!reader
cw: dom!sakusa and sub!reader, cockwarming, a lot of dirty talk, mix of praise and slight degradation, this ended up longer than intended not gonna lie lmao
nsfw / mdni
"c'mon doll, focus," kiyoomi says, holding you still on his lap. his chest is firm against your back as he wraps one arm around your waist. he uses his other hand to brush the hair off your shoulder, leaving it bare for him to trail kisses up to your neck.
"i'm trying, omi, you're just making it hard," you say, doing everything in your power to hold back from squirming for more friction.
"you're the one who wanted to do this, and you're the one who agreed to do it by my rules," he gently chastises, "isn't that right?"
it's true. you told him that you wanted to try cockwarming to see what it feels like. you were sure your boyfriend would be willing and it would definitely lead to some more fun later on, so it's basically a win-win situation for you two.
however, you made the mistake of texting him about it in the middle of his training, sending him a little photo of you wearing his favorite lingerie set with your request for the night. now don't get him wrong, he thinks you look absolutely stunning—but that's the problem. he ended up distracted for the rest of the day. his serves were messed up and his spikes weren't as accurate, leading atsumu to annoy him endlessly and tease him about "wasting his beautiful sets".
so he figures that if you're already suggesting this, he might as well make the most of it. it's enough of a punishment to get you desperate and enough teasing for him to let off some steam—the perfect start to what he is intending to make a long, long night.
"i asked you a question, pretty," he reminds you, kissing your jaw, "you wanted to do this, and you agreed to my rules. correct?"
"yes," you breathe out.
"good girl," you can feel his grin against your neck, "so just sit still and look pretty on my cock, okay? that's all you need to do."
"but i want you, omi, please."
"but we can't always get what we want, princess. i mean—" he moves to massage your breast, eliciting a moan from you, "i wanted you all day, but it's not like i could have fucked you in the middle of the gym right? or is that what you were hoping for?"
he moves his other hand down to start rubbing at your clit, finally giving you some relief. you let out soft whines, trying to be as obedient and as still as possible despite how good his fingers feel.
he hums, "sounds like you want to show everyone what a slut you are for me, want everyone to know that you spent the whole day thinking about my cock in this pussy, right pretty girl?"
the words he's saying, his fingers on your clit, his cock stretching you out—all of these plus the way you're trying so hard to be obedient has your head fuzzy. you can't even speak at this point, reduced to whines and whimpers that just make kiyoomi even harder.
"you're being so good for me doll. do you want your reward?"
"please!" you whine, finally arching your back to get some friction from his cock. he allows it this once, before gripping your hips again to keep you still.
"i need you to ask nicely, baby."
you take a beat to breathe before leaning back and looking up at him, eyes wide and almost watery. he has you exactly where he wants.
"please fuck me, i'll be good. just want to feel your cock and be a good slut for you, please."
he grins. he grips your thighs and pulls them up to your chest as he gets ready to start pounding into you.
I hope I'm not the only one but Atsumu gives me SO MUCH Sabrina Carpenter vibes, like I imagine him saying silly innuendos and just having that flirty but sarcastic personality while around his S/O.
Also, honorable mention to the songs i feel that most fit his personality: Juno & 15 Minutes.
If you sitting on his face he is NOT letting you go anywhere. He be gripping your thighs to make sure you stay in place and I know he eats like he's STARVING.
content: female reader, pro volleyball player!kiyoomi, brother’s best friend!kiyoomi. word count: 1,3k.
links: masterlist | part two | part three
note: i giggled like a teenager writing this <3
You twisted your arm behind your back for the third time, fingers blindly clawing at the zipper of your dress. No luck. Again.
Today was your brother’s wedding—honestly, you were still trying to figure out how that weirdo managed to land someone that lovely and sane—and you were supposed to be downstairs in fifteen minutes to take pictures with the bridesmaids for the wedding album. Which was, of course, the perfect time for your dress to stage a personal attack.
You sighed and dropped your arm, stepping back from the mirror. The dress really was beautiful. It fit like a dream, skimming your waist and hugging your hips like it was made for you. The color made your skin glow, and with your makeup and hair done, you almost felt like a different person. Someone elegant. Grown-up. Pulled together.
Too bad your zipper disagreed.
And the worst part? You knew this would happen. You’d tried the dress on last week, remembered how impossible it was to zip it up on your own and still chose it anyway because your mom had waved a hand and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you put it on.”
Naturally, Ms. I’ll Help You Put It On had vanished twenty minutes ago to “check on the bouquet” and was now, according to the family group chat, sipping wine at the hotel bar with one of your cousins. Classic.
After taking a few breaths, you tried one more time, clearly without success. God, you’re desperate at this point, maybe you should just go downstairs with your dress unzipped and tell one of the girls to help you. Who cared if half the hotel caught a glimpse of your bare back and—well, let’s be honest—half your underwear? Nobody. Or well, maybe you could throw a coat on, or a…
At that moment, the door opened.
You spun around fast, startled, the back of your dress still gaping open. You almost froze in shock at the sight of him.
Your brother’s best friend.
Sakusa Kiyoomi.
In a black suit that looked ridiculously good on him. The jacket sharp, the collar open just enough to show the edge of his throat. His tie was loose like he’d just undone it, or maybe never tightened it properly to begin with. His dark hair just a little tousled like he’d run a hand through it out of habit.
His eyes widened the second he registered the scene. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I thought your brother was here.”
“He’s in the room across the hall.” You said quickly, arms instinctively wrapping across your torso.
“Right. Sorry.” He backed up a step, already half-turning like he was going to leave.
Impulsively, before he could close the door, out of your mouth came a “Wait!” that definitely sounded more desperate than you would have liked.
He paused with one hand still on the doorframe. “Tell me?”
You almost laughed at how formal that sounded. What was he? A butler? Well, he looked like one with that suit.
But today you decided better to swallow the comment and save the sarcasm for later because now you needed to blurt out a question before you regretted it.
“Can you help me with my zipper?”
Kiyoomi was silent for a few seconds before slightly leaning his head out of the door opening, revealing his confused face. “What?”
“My mom was supposed to help, but she ditched me for a drink.” You said quickly. “And I need to go take photos with the bridesmaids. I’m out of time.” You rubbed your hands together to distract from your nervous energy. “Can you help me?”
There was a beat of silence. Long enough to make you shift your weight.
Kiyoomi’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes swept down your frame and then back up. Too slowly. Not in a disrespectful way—he’d never been that kind of guy. It was more like he was thinking deeply if he wanted to help you or not.
He pressed his lips together. You thought he was about to say no.
But then, he stepped forward. Quietly closed the door behind him with a soft click. “Okay.”
You turned around slowly, eyes on the floor, brushing with your fingers your collarbone as if to distract yourself. Behind you, the room shifted with his presence, quiet but undeniable. You didn’t need to look to know he’d taken a step closer. You felt him, the same way you always had.
He didn’t speak.
You could feel his gaze on your back, on the half-zipped dress exposing your spine. The air felt warmer. Tighter. Your eyes flicked to the mirror in front of you, catching his reflection standing just behind you. Close. Closer than you expected.
He moved carefully, reaching for the zipper with steady hands.
His fingers brushed the fabric. A flicker of contact that made your skin hum beneath it. He caught the zipper between his fingers and paused— like he was giving you one last chance to change your mind.
Then he started to pull.
Slow. Smooth. Deliberate. The zipper glided upward, the dress cinching to your body with every inch, until the exposed skin of your back disappeared beneath the fabric. But it wasn’t just the pressure of the dress that made your heart race.
It was the heat of him behind you.
The closeness. The silence. The way your eyes met in the mirror.
He didn’t look away.
And just when you were about to, you heard his voice, quiet enough to wonder if he even meant for you to hear it.
“You look beautiful.”
Your breath caught.
The words didn’t sound like they were meant to flatter. There was no teasing edge, no smirk. Just quiet honesty, soft and low—almost reverent.
You turned your head slightly to look at him, lips parted, heartbeat a little too loud that you worried that in the silence of the room he could hear it.
Kiyoomi was already looking at you. Not at your dress. Not at your reflection.
At you.
And then—slowly, without speaking—he lifted one hand, brushing a knuckle gently against your cheek. It was a delicate touch, tentative, as if asking for permission. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The moment hovered between you, weightless and fragile, like a held breath.
Your gaze dropped to his mouth just as he leaned forward, just enough that you could feel it… the possibility. The electricity in the air. The way your stomach flipped like something long buried had just surfaced.
But then—
Knock knock knock.
“Sweetie? You ready?” Your mom’s voice called through the door, followed by your cousin’s laughter.
You both froze.
Like the world snapped back into focus and the lights had come on all at once.
Kiyoomi stepped back immediately, hand falling from your face like the contact had never happened. His expression shuttered. He ran a hand through his hair, like brushing off whatever had just almost happened.
“All set.” He said, voice calm— too calm. “See you at the wedding.”
Then he turned, walked to the door, and opened it.
Your mom and cousin were standing there, both of them with a glass of wine in their hands. He gave them a polite nod and a faint smile.
“Ladies.” He said simply, before slipping past them and disappearing down the hall.
They turned to you like wolves scenting blood.
“Was Sakusa Kiyoomi stepping out—” Your younger cousin whispered, eyes wide, “or did I just dream of him and his beautiful curls?”
Your stomach flipped with nervousness at her words.
“Yeah, he just— helped me with the dress.” You said, still staring at the now-closed door. “Since someone did not.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Your mom said, distracted as she straightened the necklace around your neck. “But I mean... he helped you? Like, with his hands?” She asked with disbelief in her voice.
