#just shiratorizawa thoughts

[katescorner]

thinking about the shiratorizawa volleyball team and how when they grow older, they realize what coach washijo did during practices wasn't normal.

"if this were a practice match, i'd get a slap across the face."

give me goshiki who burns out by the time he reaches his third year. he's exhausted; the feeling has settled into his bones, and volleyball doesn't strike the same sort of spark in him anymore.

give me shirabu who only grows harder on himself until people have to physically restrain him from reacting to his mistakes. it takes years of unlearning to undo the harshness he's learned.

give me ushijima who bears the weight of the entire team because if he does well enough, the others should be spared. no one understands why he's so motivated when he's already one of the best, but it's something he shoulders quietly.

give me tendou who sings and makes unfunny jokes because it's the only way he knows how to break the tension. he doesn't pursue a career after high school because all his memories of a sport he used to love are tainted by his time at shiratorizawa.

give me semi who's somewhat relieved when his position of regular setter is given away but the guilt of having shirabu taking his place eats at him. so he learns to be a pinch setter and drowns himself in music during practice to quell the conflict he feels.

[kacievvbbbb]

I love bokuto. I would lay down my life for him.

…..but how did they ever make that boy captain 😭😭😭.

I get that he’s the star player and when he’s hype he brings the energy. But that’s just the thing dude goes through such intense mood swings and half the teams energy is devoted to cheering him up.

I’m pretty sure they only made him captain cause he would have simply passed away if he wasn’t nominated . And because Akaashi is a second year

I know his coach tired of him 😭

[102ki]

seeing as konachi talked about how she had been reading haikyuu in this stream its literally perfectly plausible for megu to be a haikyuu fan

[mncxbe]

# . ݁₊ ⊹When you transferred to Shiratorizawa during your second year you didn't expect to have a full blown crash out in the first week. As a new student, there were many things you needed to take care of— bringing documents back and forth from the secretary's office to the medic to the PE teacher. Just as you were entering the gym to drop off the last papers, the file tucked between your chest and the cup of iced coffee in your hand, scrolling on your phone, a volley ball came crashing against you. You froze, looking down at the coffee spilled over uniform and documents before looking up to see a guy jogging towards you. "Sorry, miss–" he began but you quickly cut him off, throwing your hands up in the air.

"Dude what's wrong with you? Can't you aim?" you huffed angrily, cringing at the feeling of the wet shirt clinging to your skin. "I was literally on the side of the court didn't you see me there?"

And so you went off at the massive guy in front of the whole volleyball team until you eventually stormed out of the gym, your face flushed from anger. Unbeknownst to you, Wakatoshi Ushijima was hooked. Staring aimlessly at your shrinking figure, anxiously grasping the volley ball in his hands, Ushijima tried to make sense of the strange flutter in his chest. And from that day on he followed you around like a puppy, his sharp gaze finding you in the cafeteria during every break. Despite his friends' taunts and comments about how whipped he was for the new mean girl in school he always came to sit by your side, bringing you a little treat— a soda, milk bread or whatever cake the cafeteria was selling that day. You thought it odd at first but figured he wanted to make up for the unfortunate accident on the day you met so you let him stay.

And Ushijima stays, silently at first, looking over your frame with that stoic expression of his, his eyes following your manicured nails tapping relentlessly at your phone. "Do you have something to say or what?" you snap after a few days of this behaviour, looking him over and Ushijima feels dizzy from how pretty you look with your brows pinched together and that angry little pout on your face. "I was wondering if you don't like the fruit cake. You haven't touched it."

You roll your eyes, pushing the cake towards him. "I don't eat kiwi, it's gross." Ushijima nods, staring blankly at the tart as he rubs his hands together. "They don't have anything else today." he begins and before you can spit another biting comment he speaks up again. "Maybe we could grab something else after class? If you want."

The captain's words make you pause for a second, his earnest look softening your anger. You finally notice how nervous he seems, fidgeting under the small table in the cafeteria while waiting for an answer. Then it occurs to you that maybe you are too bitchy to him— after all, why hold a grudge against some guy who you just met? One who was handsome, polite and bought you sweets too. So instead of throwing another scathing remark at him you nod. "Alright. But only if there's no tart."

Ushijima visibly relaxes at your approval, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. "Yea, no tart. Got it."

Yea, his friends were right. He was totally whipped.

[qardenofeden]

ushijima wakatoshi wasn’t a man of pda, you knew that much. it’s not that he shied away from it per se, he just... was taught to value modesty.

and that’s exactly how you got here, sitting across from him as dishes upon dishes were served on your table. steamers of xiao long bao were placed before you as he paused from eating his hot garlic ribs to thank your server.

“wakatoshi, you ordered too much... it’s only our first date as a couple,” you say, concern furrowing your brows as you looked at the table.

“that is precisely why i ordered a lot. plus, i just finished a match and i’m quite hungry. i hope you don’t mind,” he deadpans before adding a meek, “is it not to your liking?”

...well, as meek as one ushijima wakatoshi can be, anyway.

you two had just come from one of his matches and to no one’s surprise, shiratorizawa won yet again. as a reward, you offered to grab dinner with him at his favorite foreign restaurant, but you seemed to have forgotten a major key detail— wakatoshi was used to living in luxury. you’ve never even heard of this place before, that’s how fancy and niche it was.

“no, no. it’s fine! it’s your celebration, after all,” you reassure him, hoping he doesn’t take notice of your... mood.

“our celebration,” he corrects. brown eyes hold your gaze, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were in trouble. “you finally said yes to me after months of courtship. i apologize if my schedule has not allowed me to take you out on a proper date prior to this.”

was it getting hot in here? you feel like melting under his stare. why is he so naturally intimidating?

“it’s okay. i’ve been a little busy too with requirements and whatnot,” you shy away from his eyes and begin eating.

except... oh, you don’t like that.

the flavors are too much, and your mouth feels like it’s going to explode with how powerful the taste is. did you accidentally order from the spicy section?!

ushijima must have detected your slight internal panic, because he immediately asks, “is everything okay?”

you cough out, putting on a fake smile as you nod. “mhm, all good!”

“are you certain..? you look... flustered.”

god, there he was again. wakatoshi, you’re scaring me!! you mentally yell.

“...okay, i’ve never... been here before so i just ordered whatever i thought was the most basic option on the menu.” your eyes avoid his, feeling small before him. “sorry,” you feel like a loser. hopefully he doesn’t break up with you for this.

“ah. i wish you had said that sooner. i would have explained their food and helped you choose.”

wakatoshi eyes the table before wordlessly rearranging the sequence of the dishes. he takes your plate and moves the steamer of the xiao long baos in front of you, then gently places your original dish to the xlb’s previous spot. he takes off the lid and takes one dumpling for himself.

“these are soup dumplings. i picked your favorite meat, so you should have no problem eating them,” he bites his dumpling into half as the soup leaks out from the center and into his spoon. “see?”

you look at him, then down at the dumplings before taking one for yourself and mimicking his actions. “mmh...” you nod, “that’s actually pretty good.”

“do you mind if i eat your...”

you nod enthusiastically before he can even finish. “take it, take it. i love the dumplings. woah. can i have more?”

ushijima chuckles, his chest letting out guttural breaths as his lips curved into a smile. “of course. eat as much as you’d like.”

needless to say, you and wakatoshi will definitely be coming back. who knows, maybe it could even be the start of a tradition.

atsumu post-match &&& bokuto post-match

a/n: this is still post-match right... just not courtside-immediately-after-game post match. sry lol sigh ushijima what am i supposed to do w u my nonchalant king

[lcvemiyuki]

"in proximity" | hq, ushijima

content: ushijima asking for help on English is one thing--him sitting just inches away from you is another

tags+warnings: fluff, ushijimaxfem!reader, thirdyear!ushijima, tendou+semi appearance, not proofread

character(s): ushijima

word count: 1.6k

a/n: im sorry in advance this was written on the bus LMAO

Brown shoes pattered as the students of Shiratorizawa started to cluster in the slightly filled classroom. It was lunch break, and you decided to stay in with your feet bouncing slightly and earbuds in, the music blasting so loud it could be heard from the external world. It was so loud you didn’t pick up on the dress shoes cladding on the wooden floor. You were so focused on reading up the next lesson for English that you didn’t feel a tall, looming presence in front of the desk.

“[Y/N].”

A few more seconds passed until an unknown hand plucked your right bud out of your ear.

The muted classroom suddenly filled your hearing, and the chatter of classmates could be heard crystal clear. Your eyebrows furrowed at the action, and you trailed your eyes to follow up the cladded arm until you reached a calm, yet slightly tilted head.

Wakatoshi Ushijima.

Your mouth clamped shut with only a slight hum in response to the stunned and sudden intrusion of the ace on your academy’s precious volleyball team.

Your puzzled expression had you blinking your eyes more than usual, causing him to only slightly clear his throat.

“I know you may not know me, but you’re [Y/N], right?” His expression remained unchanged as if carved from stone. It almost felt like you were in deep trouble with how a million eyes darted right at the two of you.

After quickly glancing around the now hushed classroom, you peered back up at him and nodded, “Of course, I know who you are, Ushijima-san.”

The pressure of possibly being the next target of rumors in the upcoming week terrified you. It was astonishing at the rate and creativity these students could create over the slightest piece of information.

He only nodded in return and began to rummage through the black book bag slung across his body. It took him a moment to finally find what he was looking for, and he stretched out his unwavering hand to reveal another English textbook.

“I was hoping you could tutor me for the upcoming finals.”

“Huh?” You quickly zipped your lips shut as the thoughts in your head blurted out.

Okay, that really stumped you; your eyes scanned the area for some sort of snicker or nudge of the arms as a sign of a prank.

But that wasn’t part of his nature, was it—no, he meant business with how his sandy-brown eyes never left yours.

It wasn’t like he was trying to hide it either. His voice was crystal clear and projected enough for everyone to chime in. You would expect that from the volleyball captain, yet he still needed your help with English.

“What do you need help with?” you continued.

There was a short pause as he suddenly moved away from your gaze, his hand reaching out for a vacant chair and pulling it up next to you. The slightly grating sound of the chair legs scraping against the wooden floor paused any remaining conversation in the classroom, drawing all eyes to the two of you.

His sudden presence filled your senses in seconds as his side profile came into view. The scent of fresh laundry lingered in the air as he was near. You could see the fine details of his chiseled jawline, and the determined set of his brow. Up close, it was no surprise he looked even more handsome.

Suddenly, your palms felt a little sweaty, and the room got a little warmer.

His intense focus and proximity made it hard to breathe steadily. His huge frame caused him to lean back on the small wooden chair, making it creak slightly under his weight. Meanwhile, your frame remained sort of uptight, your back straight as a rod, in fear you might accidentally touch him.

The sheer size of him was overwhelming; his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than the chair allowed, and his legs spread slightly to accommodate his height. His arm brushed lightly against yours as he reached forward, causing a spark of electricity to shoot up your spine.

He placed the blue textbook next to yours, his large, calloused hands moving with surprising gentleness. Flipping to a certain page, he revealed a passage that had been neatly bookmarked, as if he already knew exactly what he needed help with. The text was underlined and annotated in pencil, showing his efforts to understand it on his own.

His voice, low and steady, broke the silence. "I figured you would be the best to tutor me."

He glanced over at your in-progress notes, his gaze unwavering and thoughtful. The closeness of his presence made the air around you feel charged, every small movement amplified your heightened awareness.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I... I’d be happy to help, Ushijima-san."

He nodded appreciatively, his stoic expression softening ever so slightly. “Thank you. I won’t take much of your time. It’s quite difficult to find time after school to study.”

As you started to explain the notes you had been working on, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his gaze on you. It was intense like he was studying every word you said, every movement you made.

The sliding door abruptly slammed open, the force of it causing a few heads to turn in surprise. An overly excited redhead waltzes into the room, a completely annoyed companion trailing behind him.

“I thought I saw ya in the window while walking past, Ushi!” Tendou explained, his mouth wide open with a pearly-white smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. His voice echoed through the now silent classroom, making sure everyone knew of his arrival.

Ushijima barely reacted, his focus still on the textbook in front of him, but a faint sigh escaped his lips. You, on the other hand, jumped slightly in your seat, your eyes widening at the sudden intrusion.

Tendou stopped just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual, almost theatrical air. Semi stood beside him, his expression shifting into one of mild entertainment at the sight. “And look who you’re with! [Y/N], right?” Tendou’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he peered over in your direction, taking in the view of the English textbooks and your notes spread across the desk.

You nodded, trying to compose yourself. “Yes, that’s right.”

Tendou grinned wider, not moving from his spot. “Tutoring, huh? Just like we sai—uh, thought so!” He straightened up slightly, trying to awkwardly save himself from the slip-up. His eyes darted everywhere as he looked around, trying to gauge the room’s reaction.

The ash-blonde friend next to him raised an eyebrow in amusement, then let out a small scoff, clearly entertained by Tendou's ridiculous attempt to cover up his mistake.

Ushijima glanced at his teammates, his expression unchanging as he blinked up at the two.

“Yes, that’s right.” he parrots you as he responds to Tendou.

Tendou chuckled, his voice carrying easily across the classroom. “Well, we wouldn’t want our star player struggling with finals, would we?” He shot you a teasing grin before wiggling his eyebrows.

Tendou clapped his hands together, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room. “Alright! Let’s go and nourish our starving bellies, Semi-pooh,” he cooed, waving a hand towards the sliding door.

Semi’s eye twitched as he muttered a curse word under his breath. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbled, his annoyance clear, but he still followed Tendou out of the classroom.

As they left, Tendou continued to chatter animatedly, his voice fading as they walked down the hallway. Semi’s occasional responses, a mix of chuckles and sighs, echoed faintly back into the room.

You were left there dumbfounded in your chair as you couldn’t help but glance back at Ushijima. He, on the other hand, resumed his notes like nothing had happened.

‘Huh, that was weird.’

You decided not to think anything of it.

𓇢𓆸 Later that day

“I told you to sit across from her, not next to her!” Tendou’s voice echoed out from the locker room, a blend of exasperation and amusement in his tone.

Ushijima glanced up from his phone, intrigued. Tendou’s rants were a familiar occurrence, but this time, there was a sharpness to his words that captured Ushijima’s attention.

“You were practically crowding her! I could feel the awkward tension all the way from the doorway!” Tendou continued, his arms waving dramatically as he paced back and forth. His eyes were wide with mock horror, clearly relishing the chance to tease his stoic friend.

“I thought it would be more efficient,” Ushijima said, his brow knitting slightly.

Tendou snorted, laughter reverberating in the confined space. “Efficient, huh? Sure, let’s go with that.” He gave Ushijima a knowing look, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “Come on, Ushi, we both know why you really wanted to sit next to her.”

Ushijima’s expression remained impassive. “I respect her intelligence.”

Tendou’s grin broadened, his enjoyment evident. “Mhm? And you wanted to be close to her too~”

Ushijima’s gaze dropped back to his phone, his fingers idly tapping the screen as he sat on the dark wooden bench, his posture relaxed.

“That’s why I suggested you ask her for help,” Tendou said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned against the lockers. “You needed an excuse to spend time with her.”

The room was filled with the familiar silence Tendou was accustomed to.

He clapped Ushijima on the shoulder, his cue that he was taking off. “You’ll get the hang of it. Just remember to give the lady a little space next time.”

Ushijima remained seated on the bench, fingers navigating to his contact list. At least he got one thing right: asking for your number.

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[woncheolisms]

CRUSH (ushijima wakatoshi x reader)

summary: wakatoshi has a crush.

word count: 720

warnings: fem!reader, its all just fluff

tags: @keiva1000

Ushijima knows he has fans. He might be simple-minded and a little oblivious, but he’s not stupid.

He knows girls stare at him from the balcony during practice. And he can hear their giggling when he passes them in the halls. Tendou often calls him Shiratorizawa’s Golden Boy, which Ushijima wholeheartedly disagrees with, but never voices out loud. Tendou often says strange things. He doesn’t mind.

Ushijima doesn’t understand his popularity. Sure, he is a good player. The best ace in the prefecture. But most of these girls have no understanding of volleyball. So why are they spending hours upon hours in the stands, watching him play?

“They’re not watching the match, Wakatoshi-kun. They are watching you.”

Hm. Strange. His play is very consistent. Watching him do the same thing over and over has to get boring, especially when they aren’t watching for the sake of the game.

But then he sees you for the first time.

You are in his third year English class. In his three years of high school, Ushijima is sure he has never seen you before. Because if he had, there was no way he would forget you.

He is curious. And a little enamored by you.

You are, by all means, a regular girl. You sit on the same chair every day, bring your own bento instead of eating from the cafeteria. It is always wrapped in a pretty multicolored patterned cloth, done up in a knot on top. You have a small stuffed cat chain on the zipper of your backpack. And you wear your hair differently every day. Some days it is tied up, some days it is let down. And some days it is half-up and half-down. You have one pink bunny hairclip that you wear maybe once every two or three days that Ushijima thinks is very cute. Your uniform is always immaculate.

There are so many tiny details about you that Ushijima has learned, and he finally understands why girls would stay hanging over the gym balcony to watch him for hours, because he could watch you for hours too.

You are very smart, he could tell. You always answer correctly when the teacher would call on you, and he has glimpsed at your notes. Simple, but neat and easy to understand, just the way he likes it. There are no crazy colors and highlighters, and your handwriting is neat and beautiful, just like the rest of you.

You are also quiet. You have a select group of friends that you talk to, and while you are nice to anyone who interacts with you, you don't go out of your way to stand out. Again, Ushijima loves that. It seems he loved everything about you. All the minor details that make you a little bit more unique to everyone else.

When you show up at his game, he nearly loses his focus.

It in’t an important game by any means, just a practice match with another local university team. So why are you here? Have your friends dragged you along? Or are you here by your own volition? Ushijima feels how sweaty his palms are when he clenches his fists, and it surprises him.

Is he….. nervous?

Why? Because you are watching? How ridiculous. Ushijima has never once doubted his own strength, or his ability to win. How could your presence alter that? The thought annoys him, and he is determined to prove that you being here would not be a hindrance to his play.

Turns out, he needn't have worried. It seems your presence had sharpened his senses more than ever. Shiratorizawa won in straight sets, and of the 50 points they scored, 39 had been from Ushijima’s hand.

“You were on fire today, Wakatoshi-kun.” Tendou comments as the final whistle rings. Ushijima unintentionally glances at you in the stands, cheering for the team. Cheering for him.

His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he doesn’t think it is because of the game he had just played. He hears Tendou let out a dreamy sigh.

“Ah, the miracles of having a crush.”

He feels his lips tick up in a tiny smile as he throws a towel over his shoulders. Tendou is wrong. Ushijima doesn’t think he has a crush.

He thinks he is in love.

[shosweet]

hajime iwaizumi walked down the halls of aoba johsai, head swarmed as he recalled prior events. losing to shiratorizawa, leaving his beloved school soon, his best moments turning into fleeting memories — it all ate at him. as the sky roared, he could feel himself begin to descend like the drops of rain.

yet, nothing seemed to nag him more than you. you’ve spent so much time with him over your senior year, going on “friendly” little dates and being the reason iwaizumi gets teased by his friends so much. but, ever since that game, he pushed you away in fear of how close you’ve gotten to him — what if he loses you, too? he thinks to himself.

looking up, he finds you in a classroom, humming softly to yourself as you tidy up the clutter. you drove him crazy, mad even. from the hall, iwaizumi watched you intently, feeling an invisible force pulling him closer to you. but, he refused.

sensing another presence, you look up to see that familiar spiky hair and gleaming, olive eyes. he tenses at the eye contact and turns away, picking up his pace towards the exit.

“iwa, wait!” you called out as you rushed out the classroom. he only continued walking, ignoring your voice as you tried to keep up with him. he shoves the exit door open, hesitating as he sees the pouring rain just beyond the school steps. knowing you’re not far behind, he starts walking once more. as he’s about to get off the last step, your hand reaches out and grabs his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

panting and out of breath, you try to find something that will get him to listen. “why aren’t you talking to me? you don’t answer your phone, you barely even look at me anymore…” you start, heart pounding as you finally say the words that weighed heavy on your chest. rain starts to drip from iwaizumi’s hair, your clothes starting to get drenched.

fuck, what am i doing, he thought to himself. he still faced away, too ashamed of himself to face you. yet, you stood firm, wanting his answer desperately. suddenly, iwaizumi succumbs to your hold and turns around.

“you don’t ever leave me alone, do you?” he starts, chest heaving. your heart stung as you were taken aback by what he said, but your grip on his wrist only tightened. he scoffs, takes a deep breath, and continues.

“everywhere i go, you’re there. every place i look, every time i’m happy, fuck, even every damn song i hear. you drive me crazy, you know that? fucking insane!” his voice is louder, rougher, vulnerable. the patter of the rain meets the ground harder, but it’s nothing compared to your heart in your chest. he rakes his hand through his soaked hair, mind too scrambled to think straight.

“fuck… even at that damn game against karasuno… all i could see was you. you and your stupid face in the stands.” he looked in your eyes for any sign of interjection, but you just stood there, waiting for his next words as you let go of his hand. “cheering me on, smiling like that every time i scored a point.” his voice softens now, his head hanging low in his hands.

“i can’t get you out of my head. fuck, you drive me insane,” he mutters. sensing that there’s no more for him to say, your eyes sting as you open your lips.

“do you hate me, then?” you ask as your voice trembled. as you waited for his answer, the sky cried the tears you held back. iwaizumi tensed up, dropping his hands to find his gaze. his eyes were burning as they stared into yours — not with hatred, but with something else. in the blink of an eye, he walks closer to you, patience run thin as he holds your face, bringing it closer to his and crashing his lips onto yours. shocked at first, your body starts to melt into his touch. he waits until you’ve relaxed and pulls away.

“that answer your question?” he asks, voice low as his cheeks flushed. desperately, you grab his shirt and pull him back for more, his kiss being your permission to go further. his hand cups your jaw gently, his other making its way down to your waist and pulling you closer. your lips moved sloppily, slow here and fast there, as you both let go and fall into each other.

slowly pulling away to catch your breath, iwaizumi leans forward to chase your lips, only pulling back once he feels you smile. he chuckles in return, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he sighs.

“i’m an ass, aren’t i?” he mutters.

“a huge one,” you answer, moving your wet hair from your face. he lifts his head and starts placing small kisses on your face, from your forehead to your cheeks and the corner of your lips.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he whispers. “i swear it.”

“by kissing my stupid face?” you mocked.

“yeah, pretty much.” you playfully shove him away at his lack of denial. he smiles and reaches for your hands, but you pull away jokingly, holding them close to your body and turning away.

“c’mon, don’t be like that, babe,” he coos as he grabs your waist. his face nudges towards yours in attempt to get you to surrender. figuring that you wouldn’t budge, he picks you up and twirls you around, giggles spilling from your mouth.

“iwa, put me down!” you exclaimed as you lightly hit his shoulder. settling you down, he gives small apologies and kisses your cheek.

“i’ll walk you home then, yeah?” he says as he walks behind you to pick up your bag that you left by the school entrance. you nod and reach out your hand, signaling for your bag, but he doesn’t catch the gist. with a small “ah,” he intertwines his fingers with yours, smirking all proud to himself as he plays with you again. you only laughed and swung your hands together, joy overflowing as you continued walking.

finally summer 🦦

[hatsukeii]

ring pop! / bsf!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

genre(s): heavy on the crack and fluff, dumb and dumber, ushiwaka is dense but loveable! childhood bsf to lovers! yay! sunshine! rainbows! candy!

warning(s): nothing, implied fem reader for fluency's sake, but please interpret this as you'd like!! i myself am non-binary, so at the very least you know the person who's writing has you in mind!! i still tried my best to keep everything gender neutral to the best of my ability!!

wc: 1490

tldr; “boyfriend? but i thought we were already dating?”

“Wakatoshi, can I have your second button?”

Petals of blooming sakura flowers replace the grey pavement beneath your shoes with a mosaic of dusty pink as you stand beneath Shiratorizawa’s famous confession tree. It’s a ritual that has been done for many graduations before your own, students would act nonchalant as they drag their romantic prospects beneath this very tree, all to ask for their second shirt button. This year, it’s your turn, your hands clenched behind your back as you rock forward, backward, forward, backward.

“What do you mean? My second button?”

“Yeah, your second button.”

Wakatoshi’s nose twitches in confusion and under the blanket of pollen from the flowers above. What’s so special about his second button, that you’ve dragged him under the Shiratorizawa tree for? His hand shoots up, picking at the thread sewn between each hole in his second uniform button. It doesn’t budge as he picks and pulls, until finally, he rips it off with force, handing it to you between pinched fingers.

“Here.” He reaches for one of your hands, linked with the other in anxiety and anticipation, and pushes your fingers apart, before dropping the button into your palm unceremoniously. You stare blankly at the small round in your hand, then at Wakatoshi’s deadpan expression.

“Toshi, that’s…that’s not how it works.”

He tilts his head in confusion, eyebrows furrowing as if trying to search your head for clues. The petals shuffle beneath your feet as you mindlessly grind your shoe into the ground, not sure what to make of this situation.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I gave you the second button, like you asked. Did I do something wrong?”

“Wakatoshi, I’m asking you to be my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend? Do you hear yourself? What nonsense, what has he been to you for the past six years, if not that?

“Boyfriend? But I thought we were already dating?”

You mind empties its contents as your jaw goes slack, a dumbfounded hum escaping your windpipe. You’re not too sure- no, you have not a single idea when that idea planted itself into his head. You’ve been subtle enough, right? And careful too! No love letters, or secret gifts, or bento boxes, just day to day, regular best friend interactions between the two of you. What could have possibly gone wrong?

“Dating? Where did you get that from??”

Wakatoshi frowns, hands moving to his pockets. A spring breeze whizzes by, filling the stale air between himself and you. That’s not very nice of you. Wakatoshi knows close to nothing about relationships, but he does know one thing: You probably should remember how you got together in the first place.

“You…forgot?” After all these years of tailing behind you at grocery stores, and weekly dinners at your house, and running to your place at a text’s notice, only to end up watching dramas all night and crying with you, and you forgot that you were dating? His voice quivers, a rush of betrayal in the gleam of his eyes stabbing at your chest as he grimaces at your confused expression, then back at the second button he just ripped off his chest that sits in your hand.

“I think I would remember if we‘re dating…but we aren’t.”

“How could you forget? I still have the ring pop from that day!”

What?

“Wakatoshi, the ring pop? From sixth grade?” At the mention of the ring pop, the fuzziness of an afternoon six years ago is wiped clean. You can almost taste the disgustingly artificial grape flavour that tingled and fizzed on your tongue, before sending you into a sugar high for hours, feel the cheap plastic ring that hung a size too big from your ring finger. You’re fairly certain that the company had discontinued that line of ring pops by now, the two pack too costly of a production for the cheap price they sold for in convenience stores.

“Yeah! I asked you to be my girlfriend with the second pop, and you said yes! You even wore the ring on your ring finger!”

His hands leave his pockets now, pointing accusingly at your ring finger that lacks a humorously large plastic ring. You’re not sure whether to be shocked or to laugh hysterically, not when Wakatoshi’s accusations of your…infidelity? are rooted in the sanctity and candour of a discontinued ring pop, until it all hits you at once. All the nights that he would drop off bags of groceries at your doorstep, your mother gleaming at his persistent service, and the afternoons of watching his volleyball trainings, his eyes glancing at you for approval at every legal point he makes, all the little times that led up to your eventual confession weren’t “best friend interactions.”

They were the actions of a boyfriend. A boyfriend, who (rightfully so) thought he was dating his girlfriend.

“Toshi…did it never occur to you that we’ve done absolutely NOTHING in all these years of ‘dating’? I mean, wouldn’t you have wanted to, I dunno, hold my hand? Or like, kiss me?”

Wakatoshi jolts backwards by an inch, hand travelling towards his jaw as he rubs it introspectively, trying to fan off the heat that is crawling from his chest to his neck. You stifle a giggle, before clearing your throat guiltily. No, you shouldn’t laugh at him. He’s trying his best to process the past six years of unrequited ‘dating’, how could you interrupt him? Do you have no heart, or shame?

“W-well, my dad’s always taught me not to do anything with anyone, partner or not, unless they asked for it first… and you never asked to. So, I never did.” He finally responds, as confidently as his stuttering voice could seem. “Besides, I assumed you weren’t the type of person to be into super-romantic dating, so I just never questioned it.”

You shake your head, smiling at the ground as you take a step towards him. Your hand grips his uniform button by your side, afraid that it might get lost in the petals if you drop it. Wakatoshi’s head darts from left to right, as if piecing together red herrings on a cork board, pinning down every interaction from sixth grade to now with thumbtacks as the strings tangle and twist.

“What about our drama nights? Was that also just being best friends?”

“Yes, Wakatoshi. That is what best friends do.”

“The grocery runs?”

“You offered to do them, and I assumed it was because you were always training late and wanted to help a friend out on the way home.”

“And the weekly dinners at your place?”

“We’re neighbours!”

You watch him groan, his face shoved into his now clammy palms. This is information overload, and Wakatoshi’s processor is melting down in front of your very eyes. He shakes his head frantically, his hair becoming disheveled. His hands run through his green locks, and land on his hips as his feet tap at the petal-covered ground.

“So, we have not been dating for six years, but you want to start dating from today onwards?”

"That is exactly what I'm asking."

Finally. He’s finally got it. The button weighs heavy in your hand, and you duck beneath his face to look him in the eye. He glances away, visibly repulsed by his embarrassment. He should've caught the signs...well, earlier. It somehow has never occured to him that a ring pop proposal might not be the most legitimate way to one's heart, and it certainly has never occured to him that it might have come off as an ingenuine attempt at securing a relationship.

"I meant it when I gave you the ring pop though."

Your face morphs into an effortless smile, the towering boy looking more timid than he ever has before. You haven't changed one bit since the day he's 'proposed' to you, from the smile lines that adorn your face, to the little pout of your lips when you grin. And as you look at him, eyes shimmering under the shade of the infamous Shiratorizawa confession tree, Wakatoshi is twleve years old again, missing a canine tooth on the top right side of his toothbed. He's pinching a long discontinued ring pop between both thumbs and index fingers, getting down on one bandaged knee earnestly to pop the big question.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

And suddenly, you're twelve years old, standing right there, in front of him, tiny hands covering your mouth as you gasp and tell him yes, a million times over and more. Wakatoshi is 5'2 here, a whole foot shorter than his now eighteen year old self, slotting a ring pop that's two sizes too big on your ring finger, the candy diamond shimmering in the sunlight on the walk home. Except now, the ring pop has transformed into the second button of his soon to be forgotten Shiratorizawa shirt, residing in your clenched fist.

"I know. I know you did."

His eyes refocus as he snaps out of his thoughts, and he wonders if you still have the plastic ring from the ring pop, the one that means to him doing groceries for your household before his own, and showing up at your door to watch dramas all night in your bed, and helping your parents with the cooking before your weekly dinners. His eyes soften, the probing frown long gone from his face as he returns your smile with his own, cheeks pink and teeth threatening to show through his suppressed grin.

"Does this mean I get to kiss you now?"

"Yes, Toshi. Yes it does."

His hands spare no time to cup your face, pulling it up to his own as his fingers draw lines across your cheekbones. Wakatoshi's brain bursts in sparks of gold and red, and he genuinely ponders how he has lived until now without ever doing this once. He pulls away, unsure what else to do after, before sneezing in your face.

"Sorry, pollen, gross."

"Let's get out of here then, quick."

You grab his hand in your own, another sensation he isn't sure how he's lived without until now, and pull him away from the tree as you run to the school exit. He jogs behind you, and you turn around, your fingers interlocked with each other's.

"By the way, happy sixth anniversary, Toshi!"

author's note:

@catsoupki here's your long overdue ushiwaka prompt baby i hope you like you like ;P i had so much fun writing this omg i cracked myself AND my sister up like twenty times running her through what my plan was LMAOO

i too need ushiwaka btw i actually love him SO MUCH it's not funny anymore I NEED HIM SBSBSBSBSB the only other fic i have of him is genuinely some of the worst situations i've put any haikyuu character in recently so i have to treat him to a good one here ofc

anyways tags!!

@starlysama @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds

ok love u guys see u next fic bye bye

[haikyu-mp4]

The enemy of my enemy – Oikawa x reader wc 428 – gn!reader, brother!Ushijima

If Oikawa Toru thought he heard you should have come to Shiratorizawa too often, he should walk a day in your shoes. Ushijima Wakatoshi was your brother, and you decided to go to Aoba Johsai.

Which Seijoh’s starting setter didn’t actually know. Not when he first noticed you, and certainly not when he asked you out on a date to the arcade.

Not even on the date, as the two of you were giggling over your poor attempt at a dancing game where Oikawa ended up sabotaging yours instead of staying on his side, stating that if he couldn’t win, no one could.

Overall, the date was thoroughly enjoyable. He wasn’t that bad when he got comfortable, showing you more of who he was and perhaps even making you… return his crush.

As you were looking at the different claw machines together, hoping to win something to remember the date by, you heard an agitating, grating voice.

“We should totally get plushies! The dorm gets lonely when Semi-Semi won't cuddle me.”

You looked up so fast that you didn’t even notice the matching look of horror on Oikawa’s face.

It was just your luck that Tendo Satori would drag the third years to the arcade at the same time as your date.

“On second thought, I’m hungry,” you said quickly, patting Oikawa’s arm to make him look at you.

“I agree, starving,” he agreed just as quickly, intertwining your hands and pulling you along towards the exit.

“Y/n! Hey!”

“Tendo… oh, and the rest of you… hi…” you greeted, slowly turning around. Your eyes flicked to Ushijima, then to Oikawa at your side. Yeah, he looked quite confused. “What are you-”

Interrupted by an overly dramatic gasp from the redhead, you pursed your lips. “You’re holding hands, is this a date? Are you dating the enemy?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my date,” you challenged, sticking your tongue out at him.

Meanwhile, Oikawa had a staring competition with Ushijima. The two didn’t exactly have the room to speak yet, but Oikawa wondered how the hell you knew them.

So he squeezed your hand, making you stop the childish argument and look at him sheepishly. “Toru, you’ve probably met them before, but… this is my brother and his friends.”

When Oikawa’s line of sight followed your other hand’s gesture to Ushijima, his face paled.

Lord have mercy, he’s got the hots for an Ushijima.

“He’s your brother?” he repeated just to confirm, jaw dropping when you nodded.

“You should both have come to Shiratorizawa.”

“Oh, shut uuup.”

masterlist

requested by @toge-maki for my event, anything for you <3 /big thanks to @cottonlemonade and her wonderful brain for the help

[aryaryxoxo]

I have a fucking crush on the guy and you expect me to play a game against him—HIM?! Ushijima Wakatoshi x fem! reader

“Woah, look at that spike!” one of the commentators exclaims, eyes wide as the ball slams into the court with a deafening thud. The receiver dives instinctively, arms outstretched, but the sheer force of the ball knocks it past his reach, skidding across the floor. The crowd erupts in a mixture of awe and gasps.

“Ushijima is truly a beast,” another commentator adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “That kind of power—it’s like the ball bends to his will.”

“It’s no surprise that he’s the ace,” the first commentator continues. “His form, his precision, and the sheer strength behind every swing. You can feel the tension rise every time he jumps.”

On the court, Ushijima lands with calm composure, barely reacting to the roar of the crowd. His teammates rally around him, feeding off his quiet dominance, while the opposing team scrambles to regroup, rattled by the raw intensity of his spike.

“Rumors say no one has ever come close to blocking him,”

..

“Would you look at that, you’re trending again, Wakatoshi~!” Tendou beamed, practically shoving his phone in Ushijima’s face.

Ushijima didn’t even spare it a glance. He sat quietly, arms crossed, gaze distantly at the scenery behind the window.

Tendou scooted closer, persistent as ever. “Look! Someone said your spike just ended a man’s volleyball career. There’s even a meme of you turning into a missile. Come on, this is gold.”

Tendou laughed, but Ushijima remained silent.

I don’t understand why people are so interested, he thought. I just spike the ball.

“Okay, we’re nearing Tensei International Academy. Be ready,” Akira Saitō announced, standing from his seat to get the athletes’ attention.

At the mention of the academy’s name, a wave of murmurs swept through the bus. The once quiet vehicle now buzzed with chatter—excitement, and curiosity. 

“Isn’t that the one with the massive campus?” Kai whispered.

“I heard they own two Olympic-sized swimming pools,” Jin said, leaning into the aisle.

“Oh, and they have their own currency,” Yunohama chimed in, eyes wide with disbelief.

“No way. That’s insane.” 

Akira glanced back at the team, lips twitching into a small smile at their amazement. It was no surprise—they were seeing it for the first time. 

After all, this was the first time Tensai International Academy would be hosting the annual volleyball summer camp. Although the official start was still two days away, Coach Washijō had insisted they arrive early so they could have the Tensai players to themselves for a little while.

“And also,” Goshiki added, his voice rising just enough to stand out over the chatter, "It houses some of the best athletes in the country—including the ace.”

Goshiki emphasized the words with dramatic flair, eyes gleaming as he turned to look directly at Ushijima. Every head in the bus swung toward him, like a synchronized movement, their eyes fixing on Ushijima, who sat near the window, unmoved by the sudden attention.

He could feel their gaze, even if they were behind him—heavy, curious, waiting for his reaction.

He had heard the rumors. Whispers that had been circulating on the internet, growing with each passing day, about one player at Tensai International Academy who possessed skills so extraordinary. 

It was as if she were two steps ahead of everyone on the court, every move a calculated strike. Some even claimed her vertical leap defied physics, and her agility was beyond anything they'd ever seen.

The video clips that were being shared showed her lightning-fast reflexes, her incredible power behind every spike, and an uncanny ability to read the game.

“Rumors say she could rival Wakatoshi Ushijima,” Goshiki added, eyes still fixed on the ace.

…

“Holy shit, this is a huge court,” Semi said, his eyes wide with disbelief. He wasn’t exaggerating. The volleyball court gymnasium was massive, far larger than the one at Shiratorizawa.

“Oh, you’re early!” Hiroshi Takeda smiled at the team as they entered the gym, his warm gaze sweeping over them.

“Coach Takeda! Long time no see!” Akira called out, grinning as he stepped forward. The two shared a brief side hug, the kind of easy camaraderie that only old friends had.

“I must say, I’m not surprised when Coach Washijō said you’d be having a match when you arrive,” Coach Takeda laughed. “You know him,” Akira replied.

“The boys will be here soon. Why don’t you make yourselves at home? Change and stretch first, yeah? Your changing room’s over there.” Takeda pointed toward the silver double doors near the left corner of the gymnasium. “You can leave your stuff there for now; the bedrooms are still being arranged.”

The team shuffled toward the locker room, setting down their bags. Some of them paused, eyes wide at the spaciousness of the room, clearly impressed by the luxury it offered.

“If this is the locker room,” Tendou said with a grin, looking around in awe, “imagine the rooms we’ll be sleeping in for the next two weeks.”

Ushijima simply set down his bag and changed into his jersey, his focus entirely on preparing for the match. 

“Did you think she would show up?” Goshiki asked, glancing at Semi as he too changed into his jersey. Ushijima didn’t need to know the name, to identify who exactly they were talking about. 

“From what I know, Tensei's women's volleyball team is part of a summer camp in Brazil,” Semi shrugged, slipping on his shirt.

Goshiki’s eyes lit up at the mention of Brazil. “That is so cool! I wish I could go to Brazil.”

Well, that’s unfortunate, Ushijima muttered quietly to himself, his expression as stoic as ever as he zipped up his bag. Coach Washijō had made it clear: he needed to shut down the rumors about Y/N L/N being able to surpass him. 

He paused for a moment, glancing toward his teammates, who were stepping outside the locker room, chatting among themselves. Maybe I should do some research on her, he thought, the idea lingering in his mind for a second. But then, he pushed it aside. There was no point in overthinking it now.

Ushijima grabbed his water bottle and followed his teammates out, his focus sharpening once again on the match ahead. Even if it was just a friendly, it was still a match—and he had no intention of treating it lightly.

Once outside, the Tensei men’s volleyball are now stretching on the other side of the court. They notice Ushijima stepping out and most of them, mostly first year gape at the site of him. 

“Haruki, where is Kaito?” Coach Takeda asked, holding a clipboard.

Haruki, the captain of the Tensei men’s volleyball team, jogged up to the coach. “He’s sick, sir. Caught a cold last night.”

“Perfect timing,” Takeda muttered, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’ve told that kid a hundred times—stop drinking soda.”

Across the court, the Shiratorizawa team was scattered across the sidelines, stretching and warming up. A few paused mid-stretch, catching bits of the exchange.

“Kaito Kobayashi isn’t here? Damn it, I was actually excited to block his spikes,” Tendou groaned, lying flat on the floor as he stretched his legs side to side. His tone was more disappointed than playful.

“That means they only have one spiker,” Ushijima said calmly, arms crossed as he looked toward the court, already analyzing. He could see a blue haired man, arms now wrapped around Haruki’s shoulder. 

“Or maybe he’s just scared he’ll have to face Shiratorizawa’s ace,” Ren chimed in with a grin, laughter spilling out. Ren Sakuragi—the one spiker left on Tensei’s lineup.

“Ren Sakuragi,” a sharp voice rang out, slicing clean through the chatter and bouncing off the gymnasium walls,  “I can’t believe you’re backstabbing sweet, sweet Kaito like that.”

The air shifted—heads turned. The atmosphere thickened, as if the court itself was holding its breath.

But the voice had no clear source. The Shiratorizawa players exchanged confused glances, scanning the court.

Then, they noticed the Tensei team—every one of them looking up.

Slowly, their eyes followed the silent cue, rising toward the gymnasium balcony.

And there she was.

Bathed in sunlight streaming from the high windows, standing tall with arms crossed, the words “Glory to Tensei!” printed in bold behind her like a crown— Y/N L/N.

“I thought you were supposed to be in Brazil—sipping coconuts and swimming with the pros,” Ren called out, teasing from the court below.

Y/N smirked, leaning casually on the railing. “I thought you might miss me,” she replied. “So I stayed.”

The Shiratorizawa team went silent, their eyes widening in surprise. Tendou, who had been lying on the floor moments ago, shot up in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape.

“Wait, that’s her?” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking between his teammates. His grin widened, both impressed and intrigued.

Ushijima’s gaze remained steady, but there was a faint shift in his posture. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the sight of her—so confident, so poised—felt different from the rumors he’d heard. He wasn’t one to be easily distracted, but something about her presence drew his attention.

“The flight got canceled,” Emi Kobayashi, the Tensei women’s volleyball setter, replied flatly, her tone deadpan. “We’re flying out on Tuesday.”

As the news about the flight delay settled, Coach Takeda cleared his throat, catching the attention of the Shiratorizawa team and their coach.

“I must apologize for the lack of our spiker today,” Coach Takeda said, his tone a bit sheepish but still composed. “Kaito’s absence has certainly put us in a difficult spot. I assure you, we’re just as disappointed as you are.”

Coach Washijō raised an eyebrow but nodded politely, his arms crossed. “Good thing she’s here, right?” He gestured toward Y/N, who was gracefully making her way down from the balcony.

“What?” Y/N barely caught herself on the stairs, her foot slipping as she almost lost balance. She shot a look at Coach Washijō with wide eyes. “Sir, with all due respect, I look like I just ran through a marathon in a tornado—in sweats and crocs,” she added, gesturing down at her mismatched outfit and wild hair, clearly not prepared for such attention.

The gymnasium erupted in soft chuckles as the tension broke, and even some of the Shiratorizawa players couldn't help but smile at her sudden, unintentional comedy. Tendou is particularly eyeing Ushijima.

“From what I heard online, you once won a match barefoot,” Coach Washijō said with a sly grin, glancing toward Y/N. “And besides, everyone’s expecting a match between you two, Today is the perfect time, isn’t it?” he added, his eyes shifting toward Ushijima, who was standing quietly off to the side.

The moment his gaze landed on Ushijima, the atmosphere in the gym seemed to tighten.

That’s the problem, I can’t play a match against HIM

Miyu: How much do you bet Y/N is crying right now because she cannot witness HER Ushijima play upclose? Natsuki: 1000 yen. Girly pop sis is probably bawling Y/N: I’m still the captain mfs Miyu: A captain in loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Natsuki: im still confused why you liked that guy anyway.  Natsuki: Isn’t he like stoic? Emi: Oh god, what did you do Y/N: Ushijima Wakatoshi is not stoic, that’s... ugh, I mean, have you SEEN him?? 😍  Y/N: Like, seriously, the guy is PERFECT. His spikes? Literally untouchable, like he could break a wall with that thing.  Y/N: And don’t even get me started on his height. I swear, I have to look way up just to meet his eyes.  Y/N: 🤩 It’s like I’m staring at a literal giant. And his focus? Honestly, I’ve never seen someone so laser-focused and still look like they’re cool about it??  Y/N: He just has this presence, y’know? It’s like... he's in another level. 👀 Y/N: Oh, and when he wears his jersey? I’m sorry, but I think I might just die from how good he looks in it 😅.  Y/N: Like, how can anyone NOT have a crush on him? It’s honestly impossible! 😳💖 I could go on, but you get the point, right? 🤭 Emi: …

I have a fucking crush on the guy and you expect me to play a game against him—HIM?!

 “Y/N?” Coach Washijō's voice cut cleanly through her internal chaos. She blinked, snapped out of her meltdown like someone had slammed a cold towel to her face.

“Can you be the replacement spiker? It’s a shame that we came all this way just for you guys to be incomplete,” Coach Washijō asked with a tone so polite it was almost suspicious—but Y/N could smell the BS from a mile away.

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, not from embarrassment—well, maybe a little—but from the sheer absurdity of it all. A sudden friendly match, her Crocs still on, hair looking like she’d fought a hurricane, and now her teammates giving her that look. The kind that said: "Go on, miss hopeless romantic. Your prince awaits."

Y/N gave them a deadpan stare. "Traitors," she muttered under her breath.

One of them winked, while another gave her a thumbs-up. The entire gymnasium seemed to hold its breath, all eyes trained on her, waiting for her response. Y/N's gaze drifted to Ushijima, whose expression remained unreadable, yet there was something in the way he looked at her that filled her with an unexpected sense of courage. This match had been long overdue.

"Fine," she huffed, turning back to the coaches. "Give me five minutes to not look like I rolled out of a laundry bin." 

…

“Not gonna lie, this isn’t what I expected from someone whose nickname is The Ace,” one of the Shiratorizawa players murmured, thinking Y/N couldn’t hear. She did. And it didn’t surprise her anymore. It was the same response she’d gotten from every team, every gym, every court.

Y/N was on the floor, having failed to block Ushijima’s spike. Her timing was off, her hands missed the ball completely, and the next thing she knew, the floor was greeting her a little too harshly. “My ass is already flat!” she yelled, pushing herself up and giving her teammates a sheepish smile.

The score was 1-5, in favor of Shiratorizawa. This is good, she had seen enough. The energy in the gym was thick, tension hanging in the air, but she had her eyes on the prize now. Ushijima is next to serve—just as she had planned.

"Place me in the position where, after Ushijima’s serve, I’ll be next to serve," Y/N had told Haruki before the game started. 

The whistle blew, sharp and loud, signaling the serve. Ushijima’s eyes narrowed, focusing on his target. With a swift, fluid motion, he tossed the ball into the air. 

Y/N braced herself as the ball came hurtling toward her side of the court. From the first six points, she knew they would try to make her receive it. They had seen her slip, and now they were counting on it. 

But Y/N positioned herself on the court with an almost eerie calmness, she knew exactly what to do. Haruki had passed the ball with precision, and the setter, effortlessly set up the play, delivering a perfect pass straight into Y/N’s hands. She could feel her muscles tense as she lifted her arm and spiked the ball directly toward Goshiki.

It was a setup. A trap.

Goshiki was caught off-guard. She could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t prepared for the left-side angle. He struggled, misjudging the timing and the angle of the ball. The ball bounced up, too high and unsteady for him to control, giving Y/N a moment of satisfaction. 

Shirabu, the setter for Shiratorizawa, dove toward the high ball without hesitation, his eyes locked onto the ball. He passed it up to Ushijima, who stood ready to strike. The timing was perfect for Y/N, and just as Ushijima leaped, ready for another of his signature spikes, Y/N readied herself.

She didn’t let the moment slip.

With a well-timed jump, she leaped higher, positioning herself perfectly at the net. She stretched her arms forward and waited for the impact of the ball. Ushijima’s spike came down with devastating speed, but Y/N was prepared, looking at Ushijima, it felt like time stopped. her hands firmly blocking the ball with precision. The sheer force of Ushijima’s spike collided with her block, and it bounced awkwardly off her hands.

The court was silent for a split second as the ball ricocheted. But the moment was fleeting. The ball didn’t fly toward the Tensai side; instead, it spun off the other side, nearly impossible for anyone to recover.

The Shiratorizawa side scrambled—arms reaching, feet stumbling into desperate positions—but they didn’t stand a chance. They were caught off-balance, a half-step behind, trying to react to a move they hadn’t even seen coming. The ball slammed into their court with a thud. Silence cracked for a moment—then the referee signaled the point.

The Tensai bench exploded with cheers, clapping and shouts echoing across the court. But Ushijima wasn’t listening.

He was staring at her.

Y/N stood tall on the opposite side, her breathing steady despite the heat of the rally. Then, she turned—eyes locking with his. There was no cocky grin, no mocking smirk. Just a smile. Calm. Confident. Unshaken. She turned her back on him without a word, walking toward her teammates. 

Ushijima felt his heart jolt in his chest. Not from adrenaline. Not from anger. Something else.

Something dangerously close to admiration or...

… 

The final whistle echoed across the gym. The scoreboard: 20–25, in favor of Tensai. Gasps and murmurs filled the stands, mixing with cheers from the Tensai bench. They had done it.

The match had been heated—relentless spikes, brutal blocks, and moments of pure chaos—but Y/N had played it like a chess game. Every move calculated, every fake deliberate. Her plan had been simple, yet ruthless: force the Shiratorizawa players to chase her tempo, not their own. And it worked.

The players lined up along the net. One by one, hands were shaken. Tendou reached her first, grinning wide despite the loss. “You got me good,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear that set was going cross, but nope—dump shot.”

Y/N grinned. “Aw, don’t feel too bad. I only do it to people I like messing with.” Tendou snorted. “That’s somehow worse.”

She laughed, but her voice caught in her throat as she saw the next player. Ushijima.

Her pulse skipped. He extended his hand, silent and stoic as always—but when Y/N reached out, he wrapped his fingers fully around hers. Warm. Firm. Gentle.

Y/N could feel it—her knees almost gave out. Yup, I was going to die. Right here, right now, in the middle of the court. No glory, no spike. Just death by hand contact.

“Looks like we finally did what they wanted, huh,” she managed, forcing her gaze to stay on their joined hands instead of his unreadable expression. Her voice tried for playful, but her heart was doing full gymnastics.

There was a beat of silence. Then— “Yes,” Ushijima said quietly. Then he was gone. Just like that.

She finished shaking hands with the rest of the Shiratorizawa team. She was just about to escape the chaos when she heard it. “Y/N~!” Y/N didn’t even have to turn to know. Miyu, Of course.

Y/N sighed and turned slowly, bracing herself like she was facing a final boss.

Miyu stood there with heart-shaped eyes, literally sparkling with mischief, phone in hand like a weapon. “Can you take a picture with Ushijima?” she asked sweetly, voice dipped in fake innocence.

“What.” Y/N froze. 

“One picture! Come on.”

“I—what—no—why would I—?”

And that’s how she ended up standing side by side with Ushijima, the scoreboard behind them. Miyu was practically vibrating with excitement as she took the photo. Y/N forced a smile, heart thundering, especially when Ushijima shifted just slightly closer, their arms brushing. The camera clicked.

Miyu: *sent a picture* Miyu: you two look so cuteeeeeeeeeeeee Natsuki: Y/N looks like she going to explode lol Y/N: because i am  Natuski: My baby finally touched her husband Y/N: that sounds so weird  Miyu: also, i sent it to Ushijima 🤭 Y/N: WHAT HUH WHAT Natsuki: GIRLGIRLLOOKATUSHIJIMA’SIG Y/N: ….djndimsajdbasjda

Y/N abandoned the chat and clicked on Instagram, thumbs trembling. There’s a new notification, @.wakatoshi_ushijima tagged you in a post. Her heart stopped a bit when she opened it.

There it was—the picture. The scoreboard glowing behind them, their arms nearly touching. The caption read: “Well played, @.Y/N_.”.

Y/N stared at her screen, frozen. Her brain short-circuited.

Oh no. She was falling. Hard.

Then a message popped up in the group chat.

Emi: the summer camp is cancelled due to an overlapping schedule. Coach said we’ll be joining the boys’ summer camp instead. Emi: They’re doing mixed scrims.

...

A/N: USHIJIMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA part 2? hehe

Warnings: grammar and cringe (?)

[loveushijima]

morning schedule | ushijima wakatoshi x reader

where you disrupt ushijima wakatoshi’s morning schedule, but he was okay with that.

fluff !! | reader is gender neutral

Ushijima Wakatoshi had a schedule he followed.

Everyday at exactly 5:30 in the morning, he would wake up, toast two slices of bread to a golden-brown hue for his breakfast, be out of the dormitory building by 6am for his morning run, and be back by 7am, sometimes 7:05 if he felt like taking an extra lap but never after that. He then gets ready for a full day of classes and a full night of volleyball training.

Ushijima Wakatoshi followed his schedule to a T. It became routine and he never found himself straying away from his repeated morning schedule.

That was, until he saw you.

You, with your tired eyes and homemade onigiri in hand, sitting on the bench along the path Ushijima takes for his daily morning run. You, still in your sleepwear and slightly tangled hair — Ushijima wonders, how could anyone come out into public view looking like that?

Ushijima pondered that thought to himself the first morning he saw you sleepily drag yourself to the bench, back facing him and eyes looking upwards toward the sky.

The second morning Ushijima saw you at the bench, he followed your eyes up to the morning sky; that was when he saw something different. Your half-opened eyes turned into ones that gleamed of wonder and delight, a beam formed on your lips and you stare at the sunrise.

Ushijima had never noticed the colours of the sky before. He had never noticed how the sky was a beautiful blend of orange, pink and yellow and how it painted the entire sky above the Shiratorizawa campus. But most importantly, he had never noticed how beautiful you looked — with the colours of the sunrise giving you a soft, orange tint and how if he looked close enough, he could see the sunrise swimming around in your eyes.

Ushijima did not understand why you looked so happy and content by the mere sight of the sunrise. After all, the sun rises everyday, it’s nothing special. Ushijima did not understand the smile that crossed your features as you looked up into the colourful horizon — but how could he blame you when he himself was rendered speechless just by the mere sight of looking at you too?

From that day forward, Ushijima slowed his pace and took his time when he approached your bench. He would, without fail, find you there everyday at 7 in the morning, staring up into the sky with your messy hair and wrinkled sleepwear. Ushijima would often take multiple laps around the area just so he could come running past you at your bench.

Ushijima started to arrive back to his dormitory late after his morning runs. 7:10, 7:20, some days even 7:30.

Ushijima Wakatoshi had a schedule he followed, but he couldn’t care less if that meant he could spend an extra 15 minutes or so running past you looking at you.

He started to notice the small things around him after knowing you. Ushijima noticed how the colours of the sky started to fade into its average periwinkle blue at 7:28am because that’s when you started to leave your bench. Ushijima noticed you in school, taking mental notes of your class and which side of the campus you and your friends frequent to the most. Ushijima noticed how after a month or so of you two seeing each other every morning, you started to smile at him — the same beautiful smile you always wore on your face whenever you stared up into the sky. Ushijima never smiled back, but he had grown a fondness for you even though you two had never spoken to each other once.

But Ushijima knew he was too quiet, too stoic, too introverted. He told himself that the smile you offered him was one out of courtesy, not because you actually see him the way he saw you, every morning.

“Is this going to be an everyday thing or what?”

Ushijima slowed down, head turning to see whether he heard that correctly.

It was his first lap around your bench for that morning and it was exactly 7 in the morning at that very moment.

There you were, in all your glory. You sat criss-crossed on your bench, holding a bento box and with your signature smile plastered on your face.

“Pardon?” Ushijima deadpanned, a surprised glint in his eyes.

You smile even wider, scooting over so that there’d be extra room on the bench. “I see you everyday, here, running past me as the sunset plays in the background. Would you like to join me today?”

Ushijima thought you never noticed him. He thought wrong.

Everyday with no fail, at exactly 7am you would see the captain of the Shiratorizawa volleyball team run by you. At first, you barely noticed him, paying all your attention to the sunrise you wake so early to catch. But after awhile, you take notice of the way things changed. He passes by the bench more. He tries to act like he’s looking past you and at the sunrise everytime he runs by, but he’s not great at acting.

After awhile, you don’t come for the sunrise anymore. You come to the bench every morning just to be with Ushijima Wakatoshi. You come to hear his breathing as he runs by, taking notice of how he starts a slow jog when he approaches your area. You come to be in his presence as you assume he comes to be in yours as well.

A light blush dusts Ushijima’s cheeks as he accepts your invitation and sits down beside you. You offer him an onigiri from your bento box and he replies that he already ate two slices of toast earlier that morning. You raise an eyebrow at his rejection of your onigiri. Ushijima gets the hint and takes the onigiri anyway despite being slightly full from his breakfast at 5:30 that morning.

As he took a bite into his second breakfast that morning and listened to you start to talk about something else, Ushijima Wakatoshi felt okay with not following his schedule anymore if it meant more mornings like this with you.

[goatunderthebridge]

Tendou knew that Ushijima took things in the literal sense. He would misunderstand phrases, take idioms for gospel, and flounder at abstract metaphors. Tendou knew all of that, but he hadn't exactly thought about what extent that literalness would take.

When Tendou had returned back from visiting his family in France, he hugged Ushijima tightly, winding them both. When Ushijima asked why he did it, Tendou declared that was what people did when they missed someone. It was a passing phrase, just one moment out of many that Tendou had spent explaining to Ushijima something small and obscure and not meant to be taken seriously at all. He should've known better than that. Ushijima took everything seriously.

Tendou had only been off sick for a few days with a cold. He'd been resigned to his bed until he fully recovered, not chancing passing it on to the team. But he had only stepped a couple feet into the Shiratorizawa gym before someone had grabbed him and wrapped him tightly in a hug, squeezing the frail bit of life barely left in him.

Tendou saw a flash of dark green hair and tanned skin, putting two and two together. He patted Ushijima's back as best he could with his restrained arms, "Uh, bud? What are you doing?"

"This is what people do when they have missed someone," Ushijima returns flatly, his arms still wrapped tightly around Tendou. "I have missed you."

Heat creeps onto Tendou's face and he's glad at that moment, as the other boys start to crowd around them and question what they're doing, that they can't see his face as he lets it fall into the crook of Ushijima's neck.

"I've missed you too, bud." Tendou mumbles back with a smile.

[yeonniesblog]

Oikawa Tooru felt a bit dizzy behind his eyes. Maybe the gymnasium lights were too bright.

Or maybe it was her standing there, just here for your brother Yahaba’s match lingering by the bleachers after the game, fingers curled around his water bottle like you had every right to be there [you did], and no right to make his pulse stutter [you absolutely did].

Oikawa noticed the exact moment you walked in. Of course he did; he had a sixth sense for these things— he could read the shift in air pressure before a serve, the angle of Iwaizumi’s exasperated scowls, and especially, the gaze of a pretty spectator watching him with quiet intensity that made his skin prickle.

And now, despite his legendary focus, his brain short-circuited like bad Wi-Fi.

Badum.

His heartbeat was obnoxiously loud, the kind of dramatic thud that belonged in a shoujo manga, not in his stupid chest. He tightened his grip on the volleyball, knuckles whitening.

Focus. Serve. Ace. Repeat.

But then then you looked up. And smiled. At him? No. No, definitely at Iwaizumi, who was stretching behind him like some muscle-bound shoujo rival. Not that Oikawa noticed. Or cared. Obviously.

“Oikawa!” Coach barked. “You’re up.”

Right. Serve. He could do this. He’d done it a thousand times.

He tossed the ball, leapt–

and his knee almost buckled when your voice cut clean through his focus.

“Nice form, Oikawa.”

The ball sailed straight into the net. thwap.

Silence.

“Wow,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “That was embarrassing even for you.”

Oikawa’s cheeks burned. “A fluke!” he declared, flipping his hair. “The air was... wrong. And my shoelaces were–”

“You’re staring at [Name] again,” Hanamaki stage whispered.

“I’m not!” But his traitorous pulse was already sprinting ahead without him. And it only took one sentence from you to prove him wrong.

“Oikawa.” Your voice, closer now. Too close. He turned and there you were, tilting your head, a little frown on your face that flipped his stomach inside out.

He couldn’t say when you started affecting him. You were just supposed to help him with notes, as class president, catching him up after missed lectures. So why did your voice shake him more than a punch from Iwaizumi?

maybe it was because he was a keen observer..? He noticed how your pen would hover over the edge of his messy notes, then burst into doodles bunnies in jerseys, a stick-figure Yahaba mid-sneeze but you’d freeze when given a blank page.

How you empathized with everyone, the teacher, rivals, even the cranky lunch lady but turned into a flustered mess when he thanked you. Left ink-smudges on your cheek he ached to wipe away.

And the way you bit your lip trying not to laugh at his dumb jokes, turning your lower lip a soft, tempting pink.

Oikawa Tooru knew exactly why he liked you. He was doomed.

“Are you okay? You look tiptop— just like you do on TV.”

The gym air turned to concrete in his lungs. His brain screeched to a halt like a buffering video.

TV.

TV.

TV.

“…TV?” he croaked, voice cracking like an old vinyl record.

You spun Yahaba’s water bottle cap between your fingers. “Yeah, I caught your match while flipping channels.” A pause. “Right when you said that thing about—”

Oikawa’s entire life flashed before his eyes.

Please no.

“‘If you’re gonna hit it,’” you quoted, eyes crinkling, “‘hit it until it breaks.’”

Nuclear silence. Iwaizumi looked like he scored ten points for the team “She knows your catchphrase,” he grinned.

“IT’S NOT A—” Oikawa clutched his hair, executing The Exact Flip mid-panic. “I WAS FIFTEEN! IT WAS METAPHORICAL!”

“Sounded pretty literal before the Shiratorizawa match,” Matsukawa said casually.

“With tears in your eyes,” Hanamaki added.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“NO!” Oikawa shrieked, voice hitting frequencies only dogs could hear. “THEY’RE LYING—YOU GUYS I SWEAR TO—”

Through the chaos, you smiled. Soft. Infuriating. “I thought it was cute. Kinda cool, too.”

Oikawa’s brain blue-screened.

Because that was the worst part. You liked it. You remembered him. And now his heart was pounding loud enough to echo across the entire prefecture. He likes you. Oikawa tooru likes you.

“Aw,” Hanamaki cooed. “Captain’s blushing.”

“I’M NOT—!”

“Wait, wait,” Matsukawa cut in, eyes gleaming.

“[Name], you do know our captain has this weird habit of staring at the bleachers during timeouts, right?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

"Like he's looking for someone" Hanamaki singsonged.

Oikawa made a sound like a deflating balloon. “You all just lost your bestfriend priveledges.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said solemnly, “just admit you like that she watched—”

“NO!” Oikawa lunged, spectacularly missing as Iwaizumi dodged.

“HE DOES THAT,” Hanamaki told you brightly, “when he’s—”

Oikawa’s shoe connected with his shin.

LOSER MEN ON TOP UGHHHHH.

[ghostlynightpanda]

Can you write something fluffy for Tendou? Maybe how you met and how he fell for you or something? I don't really care much what, just lots of fluff please <33

Guess My Feelings

A/N: Thank you for the request! I love writing for Tendou—he's my favorite character—so this was really fun!

synopsis: You transfer to Shiratorizawa in your third year and become the volleyball team's manager, quickly catching the eye of a certain redheaded middle blocker — and just as swiftly as you win his attention, he quietly steals your heart in return.

content/warning: Tendou Satori x fem!reader, fluff, 8.396 words

You stood at the front door of Shiratorizawa Academy, your new uniform still stiff with unfamiliarity and the morning sun casting long shadows across the campus courtyard. It was early spring—cherry blossoms just starting to bloom—and everything felt too big. Too clean. Too new.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and took a slow breath. Third year of high school... new school... new city... new everything. You hadn't expected to transfer for your final year, but life had a way of doing its own thing. Your father's new job had been a great opportunity—"one we couldn't pass up," your mom had said. And Shiratorizawa was a prestigious school, known for its academics, sports, and somewhat intimidating reputation.

So here you were. Starting over.

You navigated the wide hallways, passing students who were already forming their usual cliques. You caught a few curious glances—being new was like wearing a sign on your back—but for the most part, everyone seemed wrapped up in their own lives. That suited you fine. You'd settle in at your own pace.

After orientation, you found yourself wandering the school grounds during lunch, enjoying the crisp breeze and trying to get a feel for your new surroundings. You were just rounding a corner by the athletic wing when you heard it.

"Still no manager for the boys' volleyball team?" a girl's voice floated out from a bench where three girls sat with packed lunches.

"Nope. I mean, would you volunteer to work under Coach Washijo?" another replied, her face scrunched in mock horror.

"Ugh, no way. I heard he made a first-year cry just for misplacing a water bottle."

"And the team's scary too, right? Like... not mean, but intense. No thank you."

You slowed down unconsciously, your ears perking up. Volleyball team. No manager?

Your fingers itched with instinct—familiar, almost nostalgic. At your old school, you'd been the team manager for two years. You loved it. The rhythm of practices, the responsibility, the tiny details that made things run smoothly. Being part of a team, even from the sidelines, had always felt like home.

The thought sparked something in your chest.

After lunch, your curiosity was officially impossible to ignore. The rest of the day passed in a blur—introductions, class overviews, and polite smiles from classmates—but in the back of your mind, one thought kept looping:

Volleyball team. No manager. Coach is scary. Doesn't matter—I want in.

By the time the final bell rang, you had a plan.

You packed up your things slowly, casually turning to the girl sitting beside you. She'd been friendly during roll call and even pointed out the nearest vending machine earlier.

"Hey," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Do you happen to know who I could talk to about the volleyball team?"

She blinked, surprised. "You mean… joining the team?"

You chuckled softly. "Not as a player. I used to be the manager at my old school. I heard they don't have one here."

Her eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed or maybe just intrigued. "Wow. Brave of you." Then she glanced around. "Actually… you're in luck. One of the players is in this class."

Your heart skipped. "Really?"

She leaned closer, lowering her voice slightly. "His name's Soekawa. He's the vice captain. Quiet, but nice enough. That's him over there—see? By the window."

You followed her gaze to a tall, broad-shouldered boy with shaggy brown hair and a calm, serious expression. He was halfway through packing up, earbuds already in, head tilted slightly to the side as if lost in thought.

"Thank you," you said quickly, feeling your nerves stir.

You walked over before you could talk yourself out of it.

"Hi," you said, stopping a short distance away.

Soekawa looked up, pulling out one earbud. His eyes were calm, neutral.

"I'm sorry to bother you," you began. "I'm new here—today was my first day, actually—and I heard the volleyball team doesn't have a manager. I used to manage at my old school, and I was wondering… if you could tell me who I should talk to?"

There was a beat of silence. His expression didn't change much, but his gaze sharpened slightly, assessing.

"You managed a team before?" he asked, voice even.

You nodded. "For almost two years. Practice schedules, hydration, warm-up routines, keeping track of stats mid-match."

He gave a thoughtful hum, standing up fully. He was even taller than he looked seated. "Coach Washijo's really strict. Most people don't last five minutes around him."

"I can handle strict," you replied with a small smile. "I'm used to high expectations."

He actually looked impressed at that, just a flicker. "I'm Soekawa. Vice captain."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

He gave a short nod. "If you're serious, I'll let the coach know. He'll probably want to meet you first."

"That's all I ask."

He looked at you for another moment—measuring your confidence, maybe—but finally gave another nod, this one slower.

"Be at the gym tomorrow after classes. I'll talk to him before practice."

You smiled, grateful and already feeling the thrill of reentering a world you'd missed.

"Thank you. I'll be there."

You showed up at the gym ten minutes early, nerves fluttering in your chest like restless birds. The sharp sound of volleyballs hitting hardwood echoed from inside. You stepped into the open doorway and waited quietly at the edge of the court, observing the tall players warming up and stretching with practiced focus. Their movements were precise, almost mechanical. No wasted energy.

Soekawa spotted you quickly. He jogged over, towel around his neck, and nodded toward the building between the gym and school.

"He's in the office. I told him you were coming."

You gave him a grateful nod and walked toward the room, following the short description Soekawa had given you. Your knuckles tapped gently on the open door.

"Come in," came a gruff, gravelly voice.

You stepped inside.

Coach Washijo sat at his desk, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable under bushy brows. He looked exactly as you imagined: stern, compact, intense. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, sizing you up.

"So," he said. "You want to be the team's manager?"

"Yes, sir," you answered, hands calmly at your sides.

"You understand this isn't a club of amateurs, don't you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. "Shiratorizawa's volleyball team is not just some after-school hobby. We don't run around for fun here."

"I understand."

"Our team captain—Ushijima Wakatoshi—is one of the top three aces in the country," he said with clear pride. "National-level talent. Do you grasp what that means?"

You nodded. "That you play—and train—at a national level. That the expectations are just as high for everyone, even those supporting from the sidelines."

Washijo studied your face.

"I don't allow dead weight on this team. If you're not diligent, precise, and reliable, you'll be gone by the end of the week."

"I'm not afraid of hard work," you said evenly. "I'm serious about this. I know what it takes to support a team like this."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "What makes you so sure?"

"I was the manager for Itachiyama Institute before I transferred here," you said simply.

That made him blink. It was subtle, but there was no missing the shift in his expression.

"…Itachiyama, huh?"

"Yes. I worked closely with the team. Organized their travel for last summer's training camp, too. I know what kind of discipline is required. I know how to handle players at a high level."

"Sakusa Kiyoomi's team," Washijo muttered, more to himself than to you. He leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed but less rigid now. "That boy's one of the top three aces too. Only a second year."

You waited, saying nothing more. Letting your resume speak for itself.

After a long moment, he exhaled, almost like a growl.

"Fine. You'll start on probation."

Your heart jumped, but you kept your face calm.

"You'll show up fifteen minutes before every practice, stay until everything's packed, and listen to my instructions the first time. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't make me regret this," he muttered, already reaching for a clipboard.

"I won't."

As you left the office, you spotted Soekawa just outside the gym. He caught your eye, and you gave him a short nod.

You were in.

Not officially.

But almost.

You arrived at the gym fifteen minutes early, nerves tightly wound beneath your composed expression. The polished wood floor reflected the overhead lights, and the air was already heavy with the faint smell of sweat and determination. You had the distinct feeling that something important was about to begin.

Coach Washijo was already there, arms crossed and eyes sharp as ever. He gestured for you to stand beside him near the center of the court. You caught a few glances from players stretching or warming up—brief, curious, sizing you up.

Once most of the team had gathered, he raised his voice.

"Listen up."

Conversations died instantly. All eyes turned forward.

"This is Y/N," he announced, nodding to you. "She'll be acting as our team manager—on probation—until she proves she's worth keeping."

You smiled politely, bowing slightly. "It's nice to meet all of you. I'm looking forward to working with you."

There was a beat of silence—nothing unfriendly, just the kind of quiet that came with high expectations.

"Try not to make her job harder than it already is," Washijo added, voice gruff. Then he turned to you. "You can set up over there by the bench. Practice starts in five."

You nodded and moved quickly, already settling into the routine. Occasional glances came your way—nothing harsh, just curious. After all, you were the newcomer.

But you weren't here to be timid.

This was your world, too.

You started prepping water bottles, lining them up neatly near the bench. Every action had purpose, efficiency. Still, you couldn't help but notice how even the jokes were whispered—muted smiles exchanged behind shoulders, quiet chuckles that never reached Coach Washijo's ears.

You glanced toward the far end of the gym. The coach stood near the net, arms behind his back, eyes like a hawk's. Every time he looked in someone's direction, backs straightened. Conversations died.

Whoa. You'd expected intensity, but this was another level.

They ran drills like machines. Serves, receives, spikes—flawless execution, timed down to the second. And yet, something about it didn't quite sit right. You'd worked with a top-level team before. You knew the difference between focused and tense.

Then, somewhere near the midpoint of practice, the spell broke—just a little.

Coach Washijo stepped out of the gym for a moment, grumbling something about reviewing footage. The moment the door clicked behind him, you saw it.

Shirabu let out a breath and rolled his eyes in exaggerated exhaustion. Kawanishi muttered something sarcastic under his breath, and Goshiki —the only first year to be on the official team — finally relaxed his death-grip on the ball.

And then… laughter. Small and easy.

Semi grinned at someone. You turned to look and—

"Oi oi, you missed that by a mile!" a voice called, full of mock horror and delight.

You spotted the speaker instantly: tall, lanky, with red hair and a sharp grin that didn't seem to leave his face. He was draped over the bench like he had no bones, waving dramatically at Goshiki, who had just messed up a serve.

"Tendou," someone warned with a snort.

"You're breaking the spell," Semi added, amused but tired.

"Spell?" Tendou replied innocently. "I'm just trying to revive the boy's spirit before Coach turns him into a statue."

The mood in the gym shifted. Lighter. More human.

You watched with subtle fascination as the tension drained from the team—just slightly—but enough that you saw it: beneath the hard edges and intense drills, they were still just boys. Young men chasing the dream of winning. Friends, teammates, rivals.

They're not machines after all, you thought with a small smile. Just really, really good at pretending they are when the coach is around.

There was one exception.

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You tried not to stare, but it was impossible to ignore him. Every movement was purposeful, calm. His expression didn't change—at all. You weren't sure he could laugh, much less joke around like the others.

Even when Tendou clapped him on the back with a teasing, "Wakatoshi-kun, loosen up! You look like you're at a funeral," the tall ace didn't so much as blink.

A brick wall. Completely unreadable.

You mentally filed him under "TBD"—for now.

Still, as you handed a towel to one of the players and accepted a quick thank-you in return, you felt it: the shift. You weren't invisible. They had noticed you. And they weren't just intimidating athletes with perfect spikes.

They were a team.

And maybe, if you proved yourself, you could become part of it.

The sharp whistle echoed through the gym one last time as Coach Washijo called an end to practice.

You exhaled quietly, not realizing just how long you'd been holding your breath. The players bowed quickly, murmured their thanks, and immediately shifted into cool-down mode. The once-mechanical atmosphere softened again, conversation resuming now that the coach had retreated to his office.

You stayed in your corner, wiping your hands on a towel and beginning to gather the water bottles. You were about to carry them toward the cart when you noticed someone walking over.

It was Soekawa.

"You doing okay?" he asked, his voice quieter than during your earlier conversation. "That was a pretty intense first day."

You blinked, a little surprised by the gesture. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's definitely different from my last school, but not in a bad way. Just… more structured. Serious."

He nodded, the smallest flicker of a smile on his lips. "That's one way to put it."

Then he turned, clearly satisfied with your answer. "Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need anything," he added, and then jogged off toward the locker rooms with the ease of someone who'd already said everything that needed to be said.

You were just about to turn back to your cleanup when you noticed another presence nearby—less businesslike, more… curious.

"Tired yet?" came a voice, bright and sly.

You looked up.

Tendou.

He leaned casually against a ball cart, watching you with unmistakable interest, red hair slightly damp with sweat and a grin curling at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm okay," you replied, trying to match his energy—though something about the way he tilted his head made you feel a little like he was trying to read you.

"So," he said, drawing out the word like a thread. "How long have you been at this school? Just started, right?"

You nodded. "Yeah. We moved here last month so I could acclimate before starting on time for the new school year."

"New girl and the new manager? That's bold," he said, eyes twinkling.

You shrugged lightly. "I've done it before. Figured I might as well jump back into something I actually enjoy."

Tendou looked amused. "Where from?"

"Itachiyama."

That earned a low whistle from him. You noticed a couple of the guys—Semi and Shirabu, mostly—lingering just within earshot, clearly pretending to do cool-down stretches but very much listening.

"You're kidding," Tendou said. "That Itachiyama? As in 'super-tight-defense and Sakusa-is-a-germaphobe' Itachiyama?"

You laughed, genuinely. "The very same. Though Sakusa isn't actually a germaphobe. It's just a rumour because he doesn't like crowds."

He stared at you for a second, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he straightened up slightly. "Okay, now I have to know more. You gonna tell me more about the team or is that classified manager info?"

You smirked. "Depends. You always this nosy?"

"Only when I'm intrigued."

His words weren't flirtatious exactly—just honest in that weirdly offbeat Tendou way. You didn't mind. It was… nice. The attention didn't feel overwhelming. Just curious. Playful.

Before you could answer, he added, "Don't worry. I'll be good. I won't scare you off."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that something you do often?"

"More than I'd like," he said, grin faltering for just a split second before it returned. "But you don't seem the easily scared type."

You tilted your head slightly. "Neither do you."

He blinked, like that answer caught him off guard—and then he laughed. Loud and sharp but not unkind.

"Touché."

There was a brief, comfortable pause. Somewhere behind you, Semi muttered something under his breath and nudged Shirabu toward the lockers. The eavesdroppers were finally retreating.

Tendou leaned a little closer, though not enough to cross a line. Just enough to let you know this moment wasn't quite over.

"Glad you're here, Manager-chan," he said, almost sincerely. "I think you'll make things interesting."

You smiled. "Glad to be here."

It started with a folded set of clothes laid neatly on top of your bag after practice a few weeks later.

A soft plum-colored jacket with white sleeves and Shiratorizawa Gakuen High stitched in crisp letters across the back. A clean collared shirt and track pants in the school colors, folded with near military precision. And tucked into the pocket—a note, in Coach Washijo's unmistakable sharp handwriting:

"You've proven yourself useful. Keep it that way. — W"

You stared at it for a moment, unable to stop the small grin tugging at your lips.

You were in.

No more "probation," no more careful watching for mistakes. You had earned your place.

When you walked into the next practice in your official team uniform, Tendou was the first to notice. He let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like he was in a soap opera.

"Our little manager's all grown up," he said, mock-sobbing into a towel. "Look at you, all official now!"

"Congrats," Semi called from where he was setting up cones. "About time, honestly."

Even Coach Washijo gave you a small, approving nod as you handed him the attendance list that day—a quiet gesture of acknowledgment that somehow meant more than any congratulations.

From that day forward, something shifted.

You weren't just "the new girl" anymore. You were the manager. Part of the team.

You got used to Tendou's strange tangents and weird energy—actually, you started to look forward to them. He brought a kind of chaotic comfort to the court, throwing jokes like volleyballs and weaving lightness into even the most grueling drills.

He'd trail beside you during breaks, pointing out which teammates had the worst taste in snacks, or leaning over your clipboard just to scribble "guess monster strikes again" next to one of his stats. He always made you laugh, even when you were exhausted. Especially then.

But there were serious moments too. Especially with Ushijima.

You quickly learned that as team captain, he took your role very seriously.

Every week before a match, he would seek you out—always with the same line.

"Let's go over strategy."

He was blunt. Always direct. But never unkind. He asked for efficiency reports, stamina trends, tendencies in other teams' rotations. At first, the silence between you felt… heavy.

But over time, you found a rhythm. He'd listen carefully to your insights and nod at your assessments, occasionally asking follow-ups with the same calm intensity he brought to the court.

One day, after you'd shown him a chart you'd put together tracking their recent practice intensity versus performance in mock games, he gave a rare, quiet response:

"Good work."

That was it.

But coming from Ushijima Wakatoshi, that felt like being handed a trophy.

You were growing into your role, and it showed—not just in your work, but in the way the team treated you. Goshiki came to you for pep talks when his confidence wavered. Kawanishi asked you to double-check his form footage. Even Shirabu, who rarely trusted anyone's judgment but his own, started pausing to ask, "Did you log that set? What did it look like from your angle?"

But through all of it, Tendou remained your most frequent and chaotic visitor.

He showed up by your side like a specter—half the time scaring you, the other half offering gummy worms or odd bits of trivia.

And you didn't mind.

Not at all.

You were halfway across campus, clutching a clipboard and a fresh sheet of lineup notes, when you heard your name.

"Hey, Manager-chan!"

You stopped and turned, spotting two guys from your parallel class leaning against a vending machine near the athletics building. You recognized them vaguely—neither unfriendly nor particularly important in your life. Still, you offered a polite smile.

"Hi."

One of them gave a dramatic stretch. "Heard you're managing the volleyball team now. That's gotta be intense, right? With that coach?"

"Coach Washijo?" you asked, arching a brow. "He's strict, yeah, but he's fair. He just expects people to take the sport seriously. Which they should."

The other guy snorted. "Still, isn't it exhausting being around all those egos? I'd fold in five minutes."

You kept your expression polite, if a little guarded. "I like it. They're a good team. Very dedicated."

That should have been the end of it, but one of them tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Even that one weird dude—what's his name again?" he said. "Tendou? The red-haired one? Man, he creeps me out."

"Yeah," the other added, "people call him the Guess Monster for a reason, right? Don't tell me you're comfortable hanging around that guy all the time."

You froze.

Your grip on the clipboard tightened.

And for a moment, something inside you snapped.

You didn't raise your voice. You didn't make a scene. But your tone cut sharp as a blade.

"Actually," you said coldly, "Tendou is one of the kindest, funniest, and most genuine people I've met since transferring here. He works harder than most of you probably ever have, and he still finds time to make everyone laugh even when he's exhausted."

They both blinked at your sudden change in demeanor, stunned.

"So if you're done talking behind someone's back, maybe try actually watching a match before judging someone who's twice the athlete you'll ever be."

Neither of them had anything to say after that. Just awkward glances and a mumbled "...jeez, okay."

You turned on your heel, storming off toward the gym, blood hot in your veins.

You'd known, in the back of your mind, that Tendou wasn't exactly popular. He made jokes about it sometimes—offhand mentions of being "the creepy one," of kids back in middle school who called him a monster, laughed at his voice, flinched at his grin.

And yeah, you'd heard the other version of his nickname too—the cruel one whispered between students who didn't know a single thing about him.

But it wasn't until now, hearing it with your own ears, that you realized just how much it pissed you off.

Not just because the comment was unfair. But because it was about him.

And maybe that was the moment it really hit you:

You liked Tendou.

More than the others. More than you probably should.

And it made your chest tighten painfully, because he didn't even seem to notice how bright he was. He didn't seem to realize that someone could look at him and feel their heartbeat stutter—not out of fear or discomfort, but because they wanted to be closer.

You pushed open the gym door, already trying to shake off the frustration before the team saw it.

What you didn't realize—what you couldn't have known—was that just behind the shrub-lined path leading to the entrance, two teammates had stopped to let your conversation pass.

Tendou and Ushijima stood in silence.

Tendou's eyes were wide, lips parted slightly, like he wasn't quite sure he'd actually heard what he thought he heard.

Ushijima, in his usual fashion, simply said:

"She defended you."

Tendou blinked once. Then again.

A quiet flush rose to his ears.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

He'd just… paused, hearing your voice, and then couldn't move once the words started coming.

Now, standing in the shadow of a tree with his heart pounding louder than the cicadas in the summer air, he could barely breathe.

You had defended him.

Not with pity. Not to score points.

With fire.

The gym was filled with its usual sounds—sneakers squeaking on polished floors, volleyballs echoing like thunderclaps against the walls, the occasional sharp whistle from Coach Washijo cutting through the air.

On the outside, you looked the same as always.

Focused. Efficient. Clipboard in hand, eyes on drills, scribbling down performance notes and hydration reminders. You made sure to hand towels out, fill water bottles, call out the time remaining on intervals like clockwork.

But inside?

You were still fuming.

The words those guys said kept replaying in your head—how casual they were about it. Like calling someone a monster was nothing. Like it was a joke.

You knew it shouldn't be bothering you this much. You'd stood up for him. You'd said what needed to be said. But still… the unfairness of it lodged under your ribs like a splinter.

He had been nothing but kind to you. Honest and a little strange, sure, but in a way that made the world feel more interesting. He brought you snacks he claimed "tasted cursed" just to see your reaction. He made you laugh until your stomach hurt during team dinners. And he always noticed when you were feeling off—even before you noticed yourself.

So why did people look at him like that?

You blinked back to the present when someone waved a hand in front of your face.

"Earth to Manager-chan," Tendou grinned, voice light and lilting. "If you stare at Shirabu that hard, he might combust."

You blinked. "What?"

He nodded sagely. "Boom. Right there on the court. One second we have a reliable setter, next second—charcoal briquette."

Despite yourself, your lips twitched.

You quickly looked down at your clipboard, hiding the hint of a smile. "I'm not staring at Shirabu."

"Hmm, denial. Classic sign of combustion plotting," he said dramatically, spinning his towel like a cape before hopping up to sit beside you on the edge of the bench.

He stayed there for a few minutes, talking nonsense.

A conspiracy theory about how Kawanishi was secretly a lizard person based on his snack preferences. A completely false trivia fact about the original volleyballs being filled with goat hair. Something about offering you a cursed potato chip that could grant one wish—but only if you licked it first.

You didn't say much in return.

But you smiled more than you meant to.

And he didn't leave your side.

Even later, as drills got harder and the team pushed through Washijo's punishing endurance circuit, Tendou kept glancing back your way.

Making faces from across the court. Winking when he caught you frowning. Mimicking Ushijima's stoic blocking form so precisely that Goshiki had to stop mid-serve to hold back laughter.

You chalked it up to him just being Tendou.

But what you didn't know—what you couldn't have known—was that he was trying.

Trying harder than usual.

Because he'd heard you defend him.

Because it still echoed in his ears like a dream he was scared to wake up from.

"Tendou is one of the kindest, funniest..."

He hadn't expected it. Not from you. Not from anyone.

And he didn't know what to do with how warm it made his chest feel—so he tried to make you laugh.

Because maybe, just maybe, if he could make you smile again… he could pretend that someone like you might actually think someone like him was worth standing up for.

Valentine's Day at Shiratorizawa wasn't anything special—at least, not in the way it might've been at a more laid-back school. Classes ran like usual. The hallways still buzzed with gossip, test scores, and club announcements. The only sign of the date was the occasional girl clutching a heart-shaped box or the flustered first-years whispering in corners.

But for you, it was different this time.

You had gone home that weekend instead of staying in the dorms. Your mom had greeted you with a knowing smile and a wink when you shyly mentioned your idea. Of course, she helped. She always loved baking—especially for a "cause" as pure as this.

Together, you had filled the kitchen with the smell of melting chocolate and warm sugar. You shaped and decorated each piece carefully, even labeling the gift boxes with tiny notes. You'd made something for everyone: players, the coaches, and even Washijo himself. It just felt right. You weren't about to exclude someone who contributed to the team's spirit—even if that spirit came with a terrifying glare and a whistle.

When Monday morning arrived, you carried the boxes to the gym in a large paper bag, your heart thudding nervously in your chest.

It wasn't romantic. Not yet. It was just encouragement, appreciation—team spirit.

That's what you kept telling yourself.

By the time practice ended, you waited just long enough for everyone to gather by the benches before pulling the paper bag from where you'd tucked it safely beside your gear.

"Uhm—can I get your attention for a sec?" you asked, raising your voice slightly.

Tendou looked up from where he was juggling a volleyball with his knees like a soccer ball, and the others slowly turned to you, some with curious expressions, some already guessing.

You cleared your throat, then reached into the bag, pulling out the first box—white with a neat red ribbon.

"I… know it's Valentine's Day," you began, voice a little shaky. "And I just wanted to say thank you. You've all been really great to me since I transferred, and I figured—what better way to boost morale than sugar?"

A pause.

Tendou's eyes lit up immediately. "No way."

"Manager-chan made us chocolates?" Goshiki gasped, as if you had presented him with an Olympic medal.

"Even me?" Coach Saito asked, somewhat amused.

You nodded, cheeks warming. "Even you, Coach. You're part of the team."

"And me?" Washijo's voice boomed from the sidelines, arms crossed.

You gulped—he'd been the one you worried about most.

"Yes, Coach Washijo," you said, giving a respectful bow as you handed him a small box. "Thank you for letting me be part of this team."

He stared at it for a long moment. Then, with a huff and a nod that could almost be mistaken for approval, he accepted it.

"Don't think this'll get you out of laps if you slack off," he muttered.

You smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Soon, the rest of the team was diving into their boxes, laughter and exaggerated reactions filling the air. Even Ushijima gave you an approving nod as he inspected the handmade chocolate bark you'd included in each set.

Tendou, meanwhile, held his box like it was made of glass.

His grin was wide—genuine, no teasing this time—as he peeked inside and saw the careful arrangement of chocolates, each molded into playful, irregular shapes. He looked at you, then back at the sweets, then back at you again, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be this happy about something so small.

You caught his eye, offered a soft smile, and quickly turned away before you melted on the spot.

The warmth in your chest lingered, though.

Because this? This was just the beginning.

What came next... was for him.

As everyone began to leave, you stayed behind to finish cleaning the gym—just like always.

Wiping down benches. Picking up forgotten water bottles. Gathering towels for laundry. It had become part of your rhythm, and Tendou had slipped into that rhythm too, in his own way.

He sat cross-legged on the bench, elbows on knees, chatting aimlessly as he waited for you.

"So I asked Goshiki if he knew what aphrodisiac meant and he choked on a protein bar," Tendou laughed, eyes crinkling with delight. "I thought Semi was going to kill me for real this time."

You smiled, but it was a little dimmer than usual.

You finished folding the last towel and stood, stretching your back with a soft sigh. Tendou watched you, eyes flicking over your face. He didn't say anything right away, but you could feel it—the way he was studying you a little more carefully than normal.

You switched off the lights, the gym echoing softly as the doors clicked shut behind you both.

It was just the two of you in the hallway now, the buzz of the overhead lights faintly humming above your heads as your footsteps echoed in sync down the corridor.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced sideways. "You're quieter than usual, Manager-chan. Chocolate-related exhaustion or... emotional sugar crash?"

You huffed a soft breath through your nose, not looking at him. "No, nothing like that. Just... thinking."

Tendou didn't press, though his eyes lingered.

The night air greeted you when you stepped out of the building, a soft chill brushing over your arms. The walk back to the dorms was familiar by now, the path lit with soft lamps and the low rustle of trees.

You kept walking beside him, neither of you rushing. This part—just the two of you walking back—had become so regular it felt like a quiet tradition.

But tonight, your hands were clenched a little too tightly around the straps of your bag.

And when the moment came—where you'd usually wave and say "see you tomorrow"—you hesitated instead.

"Wait," you said, stopping him before he turned toward the boys' wing.

Tendou blinked, curious.

You fished into your bag again, this time pulling out a much smaller box. Not fancy, not decorated with ribbons. Just a small container wrapped in soft tissue paper. Handmade and simple.

You held it out with both hands, eyes on the ground.

"This one's for you," you said quietly. "Only you."

Tendou stared.

He didn't reach for it at first. Didn't move.

"Didn't I already get chocolate from you?" he asked, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth—but it didn't reach his eyes.

You swallowed. "That was for the team. This one... isn't."

He finally took it, carefully, as if he was afraid it might crumble in his hands. He looked at the box, then at you—searching.

You forced a nervous laugh, shifting from foot to foot. "I mean, it's not much. I just… I remembered you like the strawberry-filled ones. And the weirdly spicy ones? So I made a mix. Just... thought you might like it."

Your voice had gone a little too fast near the end.

And before he could say anything, before you had to see whatever reaction might cross his face—you dipped your head in a flustered goodbye.

"Anyway, night! Sleep well!"

Then you turned on your heel, walking briskly away toward your dorm before your legs could betray how shaky you actually felt.

You didn't see the way he stood frozen for a moment longer, staring at the little box like it might vanish if he blinked.

Didn't see the way his hands trembled—just a little.

And you definitely didn't see the figure of Semi, standing just down the path, arms crossed and smirking knowingly.

Tendou stood there a little longer than he probably should have, watching your figure disappear toward the girls' dorm building, the small box of chocolates still clutched in his hands.

He hadn't even opened it yet.

He was afraid to.

"Wow," a voice drawled from behind, laced with amusement. "Didn't know Valentine's Day came with a personal encore."

Tendou jolted slightly, turning around just as Semi stepped out from the shadowed edge of the path, hands shoved in his pockets and an all-too-knowing grin playing on his lips.

"Semi-semi," Tendou blinked, his tone too casual, too flat. He straightened, box tucked swiftly behind his back like he could pretend nothing happened—even though Semi had clearly seen everything.

"She made that just for you, huh?" Semi said, tilting his head slightly. "Didn't see anyone else get a second helping."

Tendou huffed a weak laugh, shrugging. "I dunno. Maybe she felt bad for me."

Semi gave him a look. "She blushed like she was going to combust, Tendou."

"Maybe she was embarrassed about her chocolate," he tried again, brushing it off, voice thinner this time.

Semi rolled his eyes. "Come on. She basically spelled it out. And don't act like you haven't been attached to her hip since day one."

Tendou's heart gave a sharp twist. "So?"

"So," Semi smirked, "she likes you, idiot. Like, likes you. Unless you're telling me she spent extra time making your favorite chocolates just because you're a weirdo she pities."

Tendou flinched—not visibly, but deep under his skin, where no one could see it.

His grip on the box tightened.

He wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to.

But belief came with risk. And Tendou Satori knew rejection. He knew it well—too well. It lived in the curve of every whispered insult he'd learned to ignore, every stare that lingered just a beat too long, every time someone recoiled from his smile.

He swallowed. "People say things they don't mean all the time."

"Do you really think she's that kind of person?" Semi asked, the teasing gone from his voice now, replaced with quiet sincerity.

That stopped him.

No.

No, you weren't.

You were kind. You were honest. You looked at him—really looked at him—and never once flinched.

He felt a weight lodge itself in his throat.

"She might've meant it," Tendou said softly. "But that doesn't mean I get to believe it."

Semi sighed, but didn't push. "You don't have to believe it," he said, already turning to head to the dorms. "Just… don't be stupid and let it slip away."

Tendou stayed there, unmoving, staring down at the box in his hand.

Maybe it did mean something.

Maybe that shaky, nervous laugh and the warmth in your eyes wasn't just kindness.

Maybe… just maybe, someone saw him and didn't want to turn away.

And that hope—that dangerous, beautiful thing—settled into his chest like a flickering flame.

He wasn't ready to believe it.

But he wanted to.

And that, for now, was more than enough to make his feet move.

Half an hour and a shower later, Tendou stood outside your dorm room door, unmoving.

The corridor was quiet now, the faint hum of the heater the only sound around him. His hand hovered just inches from the wood, clenched into a loose fist he hadn't managed to lift.

He'd been standing there for at least three minutes.

Maybe more.

Any reasonable person would have either knocked by now… or turned around. But he couldn't do either. He just stood there—heart hammering, thoughts a blur.

What if he'd misread it all?

What if the extra chocolates were just a thank-you?

What if Semi was wrong and he was just a delusional freak again, seeing things that weren't there—hoping for things that didn't exist?

He was used to rejection. He could take it.

But somehow, with you… he wasn't sure he could.

It would be different with you.

Because you were real. You were warm and kind and you laughed at his stupid jokes like you meant it. You looked him in the eyes. You never treated him like he was a monster.

And the thought of you telling him gently, kindly, that it wasn't what he thought—it made his chest ache in a way he hadn't expected.

He wasn't used to wanting something this badly.

But if he left now… if he didn't find out…

He'd regret it. That scared him even more.

So without thinking about it further—without letting himself stop—he knocked.

Once. Twice. Softly.

Then silence.

He heard a muffled shuffle, the creak of a bedframe, and a few seconds later the door cracked open.

And then there you were.

Not in your uniform anymore.

In cozy sweatpants, a slightly oversized hoodie that fell off one shoulder, hair tied up loosely like you'd just been lounging or studying or maybe both. You looked relaxed and warm and safe.

Tendou felt his brain short-circuit.

You looked… adorable. Like home. Like everything soft and good and impossible.

Something in his chest squeezed so tightly it was almost painful.

You blinked at him in surprise, tilting your head slightly. "Tendou?"

Your voice was quiet, a little raspy from not speaking for a while, and it dragged him straight back to the present.

His eyes widened. Crap. He was staring.

Mouth slightly open. Hands frozen at his sides. Just… stuck.

"…Uhh…" he finally managed, voice cracking slightly. "Hi."

You blinked again, then smiled gently. "Hi."

He felt his ears burn.

"I was—um," he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyperaware of how awkward he probably looked. "Just. I. Wanted to talk."

You stepped back without hesitation, opening the door wider. "Of course. Come in."

That single gesture—so easy, so you—nearly broke him.

You didn't hesitate.

Not for a second.

He stepped in slowly, the box of chocolates still tucked in his hoodie pocket, his heartbeat so loud he was sure you could hear it.

And even though he still wasn't sure if it meant what he desperately hoped it did, for the first time since knocking…

He started to believe that maybe—maybe—he hadn't imagined it all.

Tendou settled into the desk chair slowly, like he was trying not to disturb the air between you. His long limbs folded awkwardly beneath him, hands resting in his lap, fidgeting ever so slightly.

You sat on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, your hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands like a nervous reflex. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable… but it was heavy. Loaded with things neither of you had said yet.

Tendou's eyes flicked around the room — to your desk, your small shelf of books and snacks, the soft string of fairy lights outlining the window. Then to the empty bed on the other side of the room.

"Where's your roommate?" he asked, clearing his throat softly.

You smiled faintly. "On a date."

Tendou's brows lifted. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Apparently the guy she likes finally grew a spine and asked her out. So she's gone for the night. Snuck off campus."

Tendou snorted, a little surprised. "Risky move."

You chuckled. "She said it was worth it."

A pause.

Then: "So… does that mean we're alone?" he asked, his voice playful — but there was a nervous edge underneath.

You met his gaze, a little warmth creeping up your neck. "Looks like it."

His fingers twitched in his lap.

Another long pause.

He didn't know how to start this.

How do you ask someone if they meant it? How do you bring up the moment you've been replaying in your head nonstop since it happened?

Finally, you broke the silence with a soft voice. "Is everything okay?"

Tendou looked up quickly, blinking like you'd caught him off guard. "What?"

"You're acting a little… weird," you said, your voice gentle but honest.

He let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah. I guess I am."

You tilted your head, encouraging him to go on, but gave him space.

He rubbed his hands over his jeans, then pulled the little chocolate box out of his hoodie pocket and set it carefully on your desk. Like it was something fragile. Something that had been weighing him down.

"You gave me this," he said slowly, eyes on the box. "After practice. When no one else was around."

You nodded. "Yeah. It's only been, like, what—an hour ago? I do recall giving you this."

"Half an hour," he mumbled. His gaze flicked up to yours, and his voice dropped to a quieter register. "Why?"

Your breath caught.

There it was.

No beating around it. No jokes to mask the nerves. Just him — quiet, serious, vulnerable.

You swallowed. "Because… it was for you."

"I already got chocolates from you," he said, but not accusingly. Just carefully.

"That was for the team," you said, folding your hands together. "This one was just for you."

Tendou stared at you, wide-eyed, searching for something in your expression. You could see the disbelief in his face — like he was scared to name what he was hoping to hear.

So you gave it to him.

"I like you, Tendou," you said softly. "I have for a while now. And I wanted to tell you, but I was… nervous. So I made chocolate instead."

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. His eyes were locked on yours, and in them, you saw the storm — surprise, fear, something almost like grief, and underneath it all… wonder.

You offered a nervous smile. "It's totally okay if you don't feel the same. Really—no pressure. I know you've got a lot going on with the team and everything. I just… I figured I should at least say something. Better that than always wondering, 'What if I'd just said it,' you know?"

"You like me?" He whispered, staring at you in disbelief. 

You nodded. "I do."

He let out a shaky breath — one that sounded like he'd been holding it for years.

"…Why?"

Your chest ached. "Because you're kind. And funny. You made me feel welcome here when I didn't know anyone. You never made me feel out of place, even when the rest of the team was still sizing me up. You're weird — in the best way. And you make me laugh every single day."

He still looked stunned.

"I know you've probably heard a lot of awful things before," you added, voice softer now. "And I know people can be… mean. But I never thought you were scary, Tendou. Not once."

He laughed — a quiet, broken sound — and his hands came up to cover his face.

And that's when you saw it.

His shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

You moved before thinking, standing up and stepping over to him, kneeling down beside the chair. "Hey—Tendou, are you—?"

He looked down at you, tears caught in his lashes, a trembling smile on his lips.

"I thought I'd dreamed it," he whispered. "That someone like you could… like someone like me."

You reached for his hand and held it gently. "It's not a dream."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything.

Then, with a laugh that sounded like joy and disbelief mixed together, he dropped to his knees beside you. "…Best Valentine's Day ever."

And with that, he wrapped you in a tight hug, squeezing you close to his chest as if he never planned on letting you go again.

Tendou's arms were locked around you, not too tight — just right — as if he was terrified to let go but equally afraid of crushing you in his excitement. You could feel his breath against your shoulder, shaky with leftover nerves, with relief, with something tender that had been locked away in his chest for too long.

You buried your face against his neck, heart still thudding erratically. The silence was soft now, no longer heavy. Just the hush of two people finally close enough to hear the other's heartbeat.

"I feel like if I let go, you'll disappear," he mumbled against your shoulder.

You smiled, your arms tightening around him in response. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tendou shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were still a little pink at the edges, but the look in them had changed — open, warm, happy. Really, truly happy.

"I want to take you out," he said, his voice suddenly steadier than you expected. "Like, officially."

You blinked. "You mean… a date?"

"Yeah. A real one." He gave a soft, almost sheepish grin. "Not just walking to practice together and sharing snacks after training — though I'd keep doing that forever too."

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest. "You really want to?"

He nodded. "So badly. I wanna take you somewhere nice. Somewhere you'd like. Maybe the bookstore in town you told me about that one time? With the bakery next door? I heard they've got those cookies you like."

You blinked, surprised that he remembered. "You remembered that?"

"Of course I did," he said, nudging your forehead lightly with his own. "I remember everything you say."

Your face grew warm again, and Tendou laughed softly, pleased with himself.

"I mean, I might not be super experienced at this whole dating thing," he went on, "but I want to treat you right. Like a queen. Like you deserve."

You reached up, cupping his cheek. "You already do."

He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment like the contact alone was grounding him. Then he opened them again, gaze clear.

"Still," he whispered, "I wanna try even harder. Just so you never doubt how much I like you. Or how lucky I feel right now."

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his. "You're the sweetest guy I know, Tendou."

"Don't say that," he murmured, eyes scrunching slightly.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll melt again and you'll have to mop me off the floor."

You giggled, and he laughed too — that unmistakable, offbeat, boyish laugh that always tugged at your heart.

The kind of laugh you'd fallen for.

You stayed like that for a while longer — kneeling in the middle of your dorm room floor, just talking in hushed tones. Making soft plans. Promising little things. A movie night when the team had a day off. Cookies he'd try baking for you. A date at that tiny bookstore café. A life made out of small, sweet moments.

And when you finally stood up together, he gently took your hand, laced his fingers with yours, and looked at you like you were something out of a dream.

Only this time, he believed it was real.

And it was his.

Masterlist

[ballsandbabes]

Haikyuu Captains reaction to their s/o showing up to their game for the first time

Daichi Sawamura

The gym buzzed with energy—sneakers squeaking on the floor, the rhythmic thud of volleyballs, and the familiar shouts of teammates echoing across the court. Karasuno was warming up for a scrimmage, and Sawamura Daichi was in full captain mode: focused, steady, composed.

Until he looked up. Just beyond the bleachers, half-hidden behind a group of students, you stood. Eyes bright. A small, shy wave aimed directly at him.

Daichi blinked once. Then again. You came? Normally you weren't a fan of spending your Saturdays in the local gyms. It just wasn't your thing. His usually serious expression cracked—slowly at first, like ice thawing—until a wide, completely unguarded smile spread across his face. The kind of smile he only saved for moments that truly mattered.

"Oi, Captain! Ball!"

The shout came too late. The volleyball bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, to the amusement of his teammates.

"What’s with that dopey look, Daichi?" Tanaka teased.

But Daichi didn’t answer. His eyes hadn’t left you. And when he finally jogged toward the sideline during a break, he barely managed to contain the flush of pride in his voice.

“You came?!,” he said, slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you replied. “You said tis game today was really important to you....sooo I thought I could you know, come and see you play.”

His hand found yours briefly—just a touch, barely a squeeze—but it said everything. He looked back at the court, then at you again, and this time his voice was quieter, almost reverent.

“Guess I’ve got one more reason to win today.”

Tōru Oikawa

The gym was buzzing, as always when Aoba Johsai played. Students were filing into the stands, the sound of volleyballs thudding on the court mixing with the hum of conversation and the occasional scream from Oikawa’s fan club. He was in his element—smirking, hair perfectly styled, throwing finger hearts at the crowd and spinning the ball effortlessly on his finger like a showman. Classic Oikawa.

“Ladies, try not to faint when I serve~!” he teased dramatically.

But then he froze mid-spin. There, just past the third row, barely peeking over the heads of some overly excited second-years… was you.

Oikawa blinked. For a second, his entire brain just… blue-screened.You were actually here. He hadn’t told you to come. He’d joked about it, sure—countless times. "You have to see me in action sometime," he’d say with that mock-dramatic flair of his. But he didn’t think you’d really show up.And yet here you were, giving him a tiny wave and the sweetest smile. The smile that made him forget entire plays.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispered, grabbing his best friend’s arm.

“What?” Iwaizumi grunted.

“They’re here.” He pointed.

Iwaizumi followed his gaze and sighed. “Focus, Oikawa.”

“I am focused. On love.”

“God help us.”

The whistle blew. Oikawa jogged onto the court, but not before shooting you a wink so exaggerated it almost made you laugh. Every time he scored, he’d sneak a glance toward you, just to see if you were watching. And when you cheered? He glowed.

After the match—victory, of course—he practically sprinted off the court and threw his arms around you. “You came! You came to see me crush it on the court!” he said, still slightly sweaty but far too excited to care.

“I did. You were amazing.”

“I know! But hearing it from you? It’s different.” He grinned, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’ve officially made this my favorite match ever.”

“Even better than that time you scored the game-winning point against Shiratorizawa?”

“Especially better. Because this time, I got to win with you watching.”

Tetsurō Kuroo

The gym was chaos. Shoe squeaks. Thunderous cheers. The ref’s whistle piercing through it all. It was everything you usually avoided on weekends. You weren’t exactly the scream-from-the-bleachers type. But today… well, today was different.

Today was Kuroo’s game. You weren’t even sure how he spotted you—tucked away near the back, hoodie half-zipped, arms crossed like someone trying to pretend she wasn’t exactly where she wanted to be.

But somehow, he knew. In the middle of warm-ups, his sharp golden eyes flicked toward the crowd. His head tilted. A smirk slowly curled across his face. And just like that, you were caught. He didn’t wave or make a scene—yet. No, Kuroo just offered that sly, cat-like grin of his that said “Oh, you’re mine now.”

And it only got worse from there.

Every serve? Flash of smug confidence. Every point he scored? He looked directly at you. Like the crowd didn’t exist. Like the whole gym was just the two of you.

And then it happened. Right before match point, as he jogged back into position, he glanced your way again. This time, he didn’t bother with subtlety.

He blew you a kiss.

Right there. In the middle of the game. Surrounded by yelling teammates and echoing whistles. You nearly sank into your seat. The second-years sitting nearby definitely noticed and started whispering. Kuroo, of course, looked very pleased with himself.

After they won (of course), he trotted over during cool-down, sweaty and flushed with victory.

“You came,” he said, tossing a towel over his shoulder, grinning like he was holding back a million teases.

“I did,” you replied, trying to sound unimpressed. “It was loud. And crowded. I hated every second.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, stepping closer. “And yet… you stayed. For the whole game.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, too late,” he smirked, leaning down, voice low and warm, “You blew my mind just by showing up. Figured I’d return the favor.”

Kaname Moniwa

The gym was loud. Too loud, in your opinion. The constant echo of shoes on the floor, the sharp thump of volleyballs, the buzz of excited fans—it was the kind of sensory overload you usually avoided like the plague. You were more of a quiet-coffee-shop-on-a-Saturday kind of person.

But this wasn’t just any Saturday. It was Moniwa’s game. You stood toward the back of the bleachers, not quite ready to throw yourself into the crowd. But your eyes were on the court, scanning Date Tech’s warm-up line until—

There. Him.

Moniwa looked locked in, focused, the reliable captain he always tried to be. Calm voice, patient instructions, shoulder claps to his teammates. The pressure of leading never showed too much on his face. But then, like he felt your gaze, his eyes flicked to the stands.

He saw you.

And just like that, his expression broke—surprise first, then something soft and warm blooming over his features. His lips parted slightly, and then the tiniest smile tugged at the corners. A quiet, stunned kind of happiness.

You mouthed, “Hi.” A little awkward wave followed.

His cheeks pinked immediately. He missed the ball that was gently tossed his way by Futakuchi, who, of course, made some snarky comment about "Moniwa-senpai being in love or whatever," which only made his face redder.

The game began, and you stayed tucked in your spot—cheering when you could, flinching a little at the louder moments. But Moniwa? He kept glancing at you between plays. Every time Date Tech scored, his eyes would dart up, like he was silently asking, “Did you see that?”

After the game—Date Tech won—he jogged over to where you stood, his hair a little messy, still catching his breath.

“You came…” he said, like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“I did,” you smiled. “Loud gym and all.”

Moniwa’s gaze softened. He stepped closer, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know this kind of stuff isn't really your thing… so thank you. Really.”

You shrugged, gently bumping his arm. “I figured if I was ever going to sit through a game, it should be for the guy I like.”

Moniwa laughed quietly, eyes bright. “That’s dangerous talk. You keep saying things like that and I’ll get used to seeing you here.”

You smirked. “We’ll see.”

And right then and there, still surrounded by the noise and chaos, Moniwa looked at you like you were the calm in the storm.

Would you like a version where the team finds out and gently (or not-so-gently) teases him afterward?

Kōtarō Bokuto

The gym was alive with energy—yelling fans, squeaky shoes, the echo of volleyballs slamming against the court. Kōtarō Bokuto was in his zone. Confident, loud, grinning from ear to ear as he launched himself into another perfect spike. “Bo-kutoooo-saaaaan’s in the ZONE!” he shouted, arms raised in celebration.

But then—

A flicker of movement in the crowd caught his eye. Something unexpected. Someone unexpected. There you were. Tucked off to the side, clearly not dressed like the typical volleyball crowd. You looked a little awkward, a little out of place… but you were smiling. At him.

Bokuto froze mid-celebration, his grin faltering into a wide-eyed stare.

“AKAAAASHIIIIIIII—” he half-whisper-yelled across the court, grabbing his vice captain’s arm and practically vibrating. “They're here! THEY'RE HERE! My babe showed up!! I didn’t even guilt-trip them this time!!”

“Yeah,” Akaashi replied calmly, “I see them. Eyes back on the game, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto spun back to the court, but it was no use—he was on cloud nine now. His serves got more dramatic, his spikes somehow even louder, and every single time he landed a point, he immediately whipped his head around to see if you were watching.

You were. During a timeout, he couldn’t help himself. Right before heading back onto the court, he turned toward the bleachers, locked eyes with you, and—grinning like a fool—blew you a kiss.

You immediately turned red. He knew it. He could feel your flustered reaction even from halfway across the gym.

Victory? Already his.

After the game (they won, obviously), he jogged over to you, still dripping with sweat and pride.

“You came!” he beamed, eyes practically sparkling. “You came even though it’s loud and annoying and not your thing and everything!”

You shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Well… it’s you. So.”

Bokuto made a soft, dramatic noise like he’d just been shot in the heart. “You’re gonna kill me with cuteness, babe.”

Then he threw his arm around your shoulder, gently tugging you close.

“Next time,” he said, “you’re sitting in the front row. Right where I can see you every time I score.”

You laughed. “You act like that’s not what you did already.”

He winked. “Guilty. But hey, you were my lucky charm.”

Wakatoshi Ushijima

It was full, very crowded. Almost as if the gym was bursting.The energy buzzed like electricity, tension coiling around every bounce of the ball, mood is at its peak. It was one of Shiratorizawa’s biggest matches of the season—the match Ushijima had mentioned more than once with a rare kind of intensity in his voice. You knew how much it meant to him.

You also knew loud gyms and sweaty sports matches weren’t exactly your idea of a good time. But… this was Wakatoshi, your Toshi. So you made the exception.

And more than that—you were wearing his jersey. You figured, if you were going to go then you wanted to give it a hundred percent. The crisp “USHIJIMA” across the back felt a little big on your frame, but it made you feel closer to him, even from the bleachers.

He didn’t know you were coming. Not until the teams lined up to warm up and his eyes flicked across the crowd like they always did, calm and unreadable—until they landed on you.

His stoic expression wavered. Barely.

But if you knew Ushijima, and you did, you could see it: the ever-so-slight softening of his eyes, the subtle part of his lips, the faintest breath he held in his chest. You gave him a small wave.

His eyes dropped to the jersey. His name. On you. That was it.

For the briefest moment, Ushijima looked overwhelmed in the quietest way—like someone had just handed him a truth he didn’t expect but never knew he needed.

“...You good, Ushiwaka?” Tendou murmured beside him, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Ushijima said simply, his voice lower, grounded. “Better than good.”

He turned back to the court with quiet determination, shoulders squaring, eyes sharper than ever.

He played flawlessly.

Spike after spike, point after point—he was unstoppable. But after every break, every timeout, his eyes would find you again. Just a glance. Just enough to remind himself you were really there.

And after the win, when the gym was slowly emptying out, he found you waiting near the exit, still wearing his jersey, arms crossed like you weren’t as out of place as you felt.

He walked up, quiet as ever, and stood in front of you with that signature stillness.

“You wore my jersey.”

You gave a small shrug, trying to play it cool despite your heart hammering. “Well, I figured… you said this match was important.”

Ushijima nodded once. Then paused. And then, in a tone so soft it barely reached your ears, he said, “It meant a lot to me. That you came. That you wore that.”

You blinked, surprised by the warmth in his voice. He looked down at you, something gentle and deeply sincere flickering in his eyes.

“I always play to win,” he said. “But today, I wanted to win for you too.”

Shinsuke Kita

The gym was buzzing—shouts, squeaks of sneakers, the sharp echo of volleyballs slamming against the floor. It was the kind of environment you usually avoided. Too loud, too many eyes, too much everything. And you’d told him as much, gently and apologetically. “I want to support you, I do,” you had said, “but crowds just… drain me. I’m sorry.”

Kita hadn’t pushed. Of course he hadn’t. He’d simply nodded, his voice as calm as always. “I understand. Don’t worry. I know you’re supporting me, even if you’re not there.” And yet… he’d mentioned this particular game more than once. It was important. A chance to qualify for something bigger. And every time he spoke about it, you could hear it in his voice—how much it mattered.

So here you were.

Tucked quietly near the back row of the bleachers, hoodie slightly too big, hands clutched in your lap. Heart pounding. You’d snuck in just as warm-ups started, unnoticed by most.

But not by Kita.

He spotted you as he turned after stretching, mid-routine. At first, he froze, subtle and still. A blink. A quiet breath. He hadn’t expected it—you’d told him you wouldn’t come—but there you were. Watching. Really there. His expression didn’t change much. Not like some of his louder teammates would react. But you knew him. And the soft widening of his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on you for just a heartbeat longer than usual, the tiniest upturn at the corner of his mouth?

It said everything.

You came anyway.

That was all he needed.

He played with the same precision and calm strength he always did, but there was a new sense of quiet pride behind each move—like your presence grounded him more than it distracted him. Steady and sure. After the game (they won, of course), Kita approached you as the gym slowly emptied out. He didn't rush, didn't say anything flashy. Just walked up and stood in front of you, hands in his jacket pockets, soft brown eyes meeting yours.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, voice low and warm.

You fidgeted slightly. “I know. I… I thought I could handle it. Just this once. Because it was important to you.”

Kita was quiet for a moment.

Then he smiled. Not just with his mouth, but his whole presence—something gentle and solid.

“It means a lot,” he said simply. “More than I can say.”

And then, so naturally it made your heart flutter, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers warm and careful.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “You didn’t have to. That’s what makes it special.”