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imnothanah · 16 hours ago

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Childhood best friend!Ushijima

Context: Random thoughts on Ushijima as your childhood best friend. Friends to lovers

Ushijima who has liked you since kindergarten. His dad thought it was only a puppy crush and didn’t pay too much mind to it since he thought it would eventually go away once he grew up (It didn’t). Ushijima father was shocked when he saw his son holding hands with someone’s daughter at the playground. She was eating a lollipop, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world while his son stared with bright big eyes, slightly red cheeks and biggest smile in the world.

Ushijima who saw you were the prettiest girl in the world and has developed a crush on you since kindergarten. He drowned himself in fairytales, daydreamed and drew his thoughts, that being him as the prince and you as the princess that needed recusing. He drew it after much consideration and decided to give to you it as a birthday gift.

Ushijima who got you a lollipop and drawing as a gift, he intended them as offerings to confess, but standing face to face with you got him all shy and words died up in his mouth .

Ushijima who finally gather up all his courage to confess but you couldn't understand. Despite his words being straightforward “I like you!”, you couldn’t comprehend his words or actions, but you knew candy, and it is delicious so you took his offerings anyways “Yummy, thanks”.

Ushijima who didn’t think much and thought you and him were together officially since you accepted his gift offering.

Ushijima’s dad was shocked to see he brought a friend home, a little girl from daycare home to play in the front yard. His dad’s mouth hung open in disbelief. He couldn’t quite put his shock into words.. “Kids these days they grow up too fast. Or am I living too slow?” Or “I raised a gentleman” after seeing how much he cared for you.

(His dad also started to welcome you home more often, inviting you to dinner and coming over to hang out with his son.)

You who weren't good at remembering things, so you could remember much in pre school. Your memories start as soon as elementary. All you knew was there was this boy who spawned in your life and has never left since kindergarten. But he was nice and caring so you didn’t mind his presence. You also found out he just yaps a lot around you specifically, and finds it endearing. He talks a lot but it isn’t annoying, instead you found his bluntness funny at times.

Ushijima who would always walk you home, and would even dare to be late to practices to walk you home (or at least to the bus station if you insist that you could go home by yourself).

He would walk you home then run back to school or sometimes ask you to stay during volleyball practices. You didn’t mind staying behind to wait for him. You often found yourself dosing off and waking up while he was piggybacking you home actually. (This continued all the was up to high school)

Ushijima was famous for his strength at a young age. And once, he spiked so hard that the ball flew off course and went straight to your face. Ushijima genuinely thought he had killed you because the hit was pretty hard, and it made you lay there like you were unconscious. Internally, he was panicking. He thought this was the end and you’re breaking up with him. He immediately rushed over to check your condition while silently blaming himself for hitting so hard. He was only assured when you started moving again and laughed at the situation while continuously assuring him since he looked really sad and remorseful. (He started practicing his spike control a lot more since he didn’t want that to happen again).

You who started going to his volleyball matches since elementary and found it interesting. Every time he scores. especially a hard one (triple blockers, scoring while his form was still crumbling, surprising the team by using right hand, you name it), he would immediately look for you in a crowd and you only continue playing once you gave him a nod or thumbs up or something like a signal of approval.

Ushijima who was strong and healthy most his life, so when he does get sick, it means the fever is really bad and he just dies immediately. You remember visiting him after school to give him get better cards from his teammates and classmates, he insists that he could sit up but you told him he should just rest and he immediately complied. You read him all the letter people sent and even helped writing his thank you letter to everyone that day. You could tell the fever was bad since he kept looking at the ceiling while squinting his eyes, trying to think of words. The fever was so bad that he could only see and see blurry lines. Then, you fed him soup and medicine that his dad left behind before work, tugged him to bed and went home. (He takes 3-4 days to recover average)

In high school, volleyball started getting really competitive and he would always stay behind after school to practice. It was also during this time that you realized he was changing. (Or something inside you were changing). His shoulders were broader and he looked more reliable than ever, but most noticeably, his features were getting more defined. In middle school, you could sometimes see his ears go red whenever he gets a compliment thanks from nice old ladies for helping with carrying their groceries bags, but it slowly disappeared once he started high school. Now he just nods. You started developing feelings for him during high school too an, saw signs that he reciprocated the same sentiment. He would buy stuff for you from the cafeteria or vending machine, stuffing your mouth with food, insisting that you should eat more (He did this in middle school occasionally), while stroking your cheek (now this, THIS is something He didn’t do this before high school, was he getting more bold? I wonder who taught him) Ushijima has spare hair ties in his bag since he knows you would sometimes forget your own and learned how to tie your hair up for you. Piggy backs home from practice upgrade to princess carry and then there was the occasional flowers every month, complying to your wishes without much thought. These made you confused, you guys weren’t a thing (you guys were, for Ushijima) his teammates asked who you were and he would always casually say you were together, proud and clear. So Tendou gave him tips about how to keep this relationship stable. Actually he was always this caring since kindergarten, but things just got more prominent as high school came, thanks to the help of Tendou, Ushijima acted more boyfriend like, instead of a best friend.

Sometimes you guys would plan a two people hangout, and you did it once more today. You were confused with Ushijima during this time and internally panicked so you also invited Tendou to tag along to the amusement park trip without thinking. On the day of the hangout, you found Ushijima getting even bolder. You caught him inhaling the scent your hair, putting hands on your side to keep you from being lost, looking at you with those eyes. And to make things more confusing, during important parts, Tendou would disappear among the crowds.

The whole day was awkward, at least for you it was, and on the last stop, Tendou disappeared once more. “You guys go ahead, im afraid of heights.” Tendou chirped as he happily pushed you guys onto the ferris wheel. You were quiet the whole ride, and to top it off, Ushijima looked hella good today, especially under the radiance of the sunset. “Damn it” you quietly mumbled.

“Are you alright? You’ve been awful quiet” Ushijima said as he looked at you, voice laced with concern. There it is, that expression that eye contact and especially the look in his eyes. The face that never makes your heart flutter every time. Looking at him now would only complicate the situation more so you started panicking and tried looked anywhere, everywhere but him.

“Y-yeah im fine its just-” Before you could finish your sentence, he placed his hand on your forehead, checking for temperature and the words died in your throat actually.

“You’re red. Are you really fine?” He looks at you while squinting his eyes. Which made you panicked and quickly slapped his hands off and stood up to a level that he couldn’t touch your face.

Now this is just unfair, your panic wasn’t completely unreasonable and uncalled for but it made you feel bad about yourself. A confusion and shock now display on his face. He squints his eyes slightly like he was thinking something. You don’t know what he is thinking but he was probably shock and hurt.

“I- sorry- It’s just” You panicked and sat back down with your hands covering your face. “I don’t know how to feel these past few days.” You started “You’re making me confused every time you look at he with those eyes!”

“What eyes?” Ushijima said as he slowly cups your hand as he slowly guides it off from your face. “THOSE!” You said as you once more panicked.

”Ushijima Wakatoshi, you’ve made me VERY confused with MY. FEELINGS. Sometimes, I FEEL like you act like MY BOYFRIEND, but then you’ve been my friend for WHO KNOWS HOW LONG, I CAN’T TELL IF I’M LOSING MY MIND OR IF YOU’RE JUST MESSING WITH ME.

Ive tried to calm down, and I myself, ‘No, he’s just your friend, you’re overthinking,’ but then BAM you say something that makes me think, Wait. Is he?? Is he actually into me. LIKE WHAT?!?!?

Im tired! You’ve blurred the line of our relationship and I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t affect- IN WHICH A LOT.

WAKATOSHI, I- I THINK I LIKE YOU, A LOT”

Silence.

You could bring yourself to look at him, and he just stares at you.

“Sorry-“ You quickly murmured and this time, misreading the silence as rejection.

”Wait no- Sorry I’m just shocked.” Ushijima quickly assured “I thought we were already a thing.”

“Huh?” You looked at him with confusion.

Turns out Ushijima genuinely thought you were dating ever since preschool.

“Remember that candy I gave you? I that was my offerings for you to be my girlfriend.” He started talking about how happy he was that day and he thought of 1000 scenarios of him meeting and getting to meet and approval from your parents already.

This made you laugh out loud. You couldn’t believe it, Ushijima was really a dork.

“I guess it can’t be helped, but I noticed how you were really downed today so I bought the same candy as I did that day.” He admitted as he gave you the lollipop

“Come to think of it, we were still kids back then, and I didn’t know a thing about, like… love or relationships. All I knew was that you were the prettiest girl in the world, so I confessed immediately.” He paused, eyes softer now. “But as days went by, I found myself falling harder for you. I like how you laugh, how you talk, how you look, how you treat others, how you treat me… and a million more things I could say. Everything about you amazes me.” Then he looked straight at you.

“So this time… I want to confess again. Not to the prettiest girl in the world, but to you. Just you. The real you.”

“I like you, Y/N, would you like to be my girlfriend and make it official?”

Aren’t you the luckiest girl in the world right now.

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milktei · 1 year ago

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Homecoming

Ushijima Wakatoshi x gn!reader

Genre: Sickfic, hurt comfort

Warnings: Slight manga spoilers

Requests: Closed*

a/n: hello hello! (is acting like i haven’t been gone for forever), can you believe i found this just sitting on a random note in my phone 90% done???? i literally wrote this over a year ago and never found the motivation to finish it ;-; due to its age toshi might be a bit ooc.

anyways, i’m not entirely back yet but i keep seeing lovely comments and reblogs that just make me want to start writing again ;-; maybe with the haikyuu movie being released soon my motivation will amp back up. ALSO i’m gonna try to start reblogging regularly again

*request box is still technically “closed” but if anyone has some genshin or *ahem* Baldurs gate 3 requests, i may be inclined to write if they pique my interest :)

enjoy!

If there was one thing that you knew for an absolute fact. it would be that volleyball would always be his main priority.

You knew this well before you started dating him, it was part of the reason you refused to admit your true feelings for him. You refused to take him away from his first love. Something that he was so visibly passionate about.

So you stayed on the sidelines, watching wistfully as the boy you had a crush on rose higher and higher, while you stood on the ground looking up in awe. This was comfortable, you were content with just watching and admiring. It was all you thought you were able to do.

Until he had asked you out first.

You had genuinely thought that Tendou was joking when he had told you that the Ushijima Wakatoshi saw you as anything more than one of the team’s managers.

His face was always devoid of emotion. Your interactions were limited to him nodding in thanks as you gave him a towel or water bottle, or him humming in acknowledgment as you relayed to him the notes you took after the most recent practice match.

And yet you found yourself standing in front of him, just outside the gym after practice, heart absolutely racing as he asked you out on a date.

Your first date was awkward to say the least. Having never spoken outside of club activities, you found it hard to keep a conversation flowing as you two sat in a cafe sipping your drinks.

He had walked you back to your dorm that day, but before you could go in, he had grabbed your hand.

You stared in shock at the large hand enveloping yours, “Ushijima?”

Suddenly, you felt a tiny gust of wind and a slight pressure against your forehead. You could only stammer dumbly as you realized the pressure was his lips.

He pulled away after a moment. He was heavily avoiding eye contact and turned his head to the side, but you could see the tips of his ears turning red.

“I don’t know much when it comes to this stuff. But I know I would like to go out again… if that’s okay with you of course.”

You gaped at the boy in front of you “I- um we…” you took a deep breath to centre yourself and smiled “Yes I would like to go out with you again Ushijima.”

Your relationship progressed quite fast after that. More dates, hanging out with him and Tendou in their dorm.

You were there for everything, cheering him on during games, you were the first person he would seek out when he won, you comforted him after a loss.

Your relationship lasted through high school and even university. It wasn’t long before you two ended up moving in together.

When Wakatoshi found his place with the Schweiden Adlers you were ecstatic. You had also just landed a great job and it felt like your two were simply cruising through life with ease.

Unfortunately your seemingly perfect life would never last forever.

Being in the v-league, volleyball seemed to fill his schedule more now than ever. Constant practice, games outside of the city even in other countries sometimes.

You hardly saw Ushijima anymore despite living with him. Even when you did, he was tired or just about to leave for practice.

It felt like you were pushed back into the sidelines. Watching hopelessly as he rose higher and higher, to places where you could not reach. It was no longer comfortable, you could no longer look in awe, but in despair as you watch him slip from the already loose grasp you had on him.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you went on a date. Every time you mentioned doing something in his free time he had brushed you off.

Which led you to now.

You woke up to an empty bed yet again. It was your day off so you weren’t rushing to get out of bed.

Yet you felt off.

The dryness in your mouth and throat is what you felt first. Then how runny your nose was. Finally, the cold sweat you were experiencing.

You were definitely sick.

You groaned to yourself and pulled the blanket to your chin. Hoping that you could possibly sleep it off.

Yet your efforts were in vain. After what felt like hours of trying to fall back asleep you realized that you were just going to feel even more miserable without anything to eat or at least drink.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and immediately regretted it. The world spun around you and your entire body shook. You collapsed back onto your pillow and panted at the exertion it took.

As you caught your breath you turned your head towards your bedside table, where your phone sat charging.

Weakly, you lifted your arm and with a bit of effort you were able to grab your phone. As it turned on you winced at how bright the screen was and with bleary eyes you managed to open your contacts.

The words seemed to blend together as you searched through your contacts, you nearly sobbed in relief as your eyes finally focused on the name of your best friend.

You clicked the call button and dropped you hand to beside your ear, preparing for the way your throat would undoubtedly hurt as you spoke.

After a couple rings you heard the person on the other side pick up and you quickly began speaking, desperate to get them to come quickly so that you could hopefully feel better.

“Hey, I’m sorry if you’re busy but do you think you can bring me some drinks and maybe food? i’m not feeling the best and I don’t know if I can get up at all.”

The person on the other end of the phone began talking but you could barely decipher it as your head spun and your body shivered despite how warm you were.

“-/n….y/n?”

You froze at the deep voice on the other side of the phone. You pulled away an looked at the screen, nearly breaking down at the sight of Wakatoshi’s name instead of your friends. Quickly you put it back against your ear

“Ah I’m sorry Toshi. I meant to call a friend you’re probably busy you don’t have to come back home.” you said quickly, actually sitting up as you rambled nervously, reprimanding yourself for interrupting his practice.

You had called and texted him during practice before. At one point he was fine with it, responding during breaks or calling you back once practice had finished. But lately you had been greeted with one worded responses, or you were just ignored.

One time you even tried to pry once he got home from practice, asking him about his odd lack of response. That day, he had turned to glare at you.

“I’m busy y/n. I don’t have time for things like that.”

“You’re sick?” your thoughts were interrupted by his voice again. He used a tone much gentler than the one he had used that day.

“A little bit, nothing to worry about I can just call-“ you cut yourself off with a harsh cough, unable to hold back the whimper as your throat throbbed in protest.

“I’m coming home.”

Whether from his words or the fever you couldn’t tell, but a chill ran down your spine

“N-no toshi you don’t have to I’ll be fine don’t leave practice just because of me”

“I’ll stop by the store for some ingredients don’t get out of bed.”

And with that the call ended. Slowly, you took the phone away from your ear and looked at it in shock. He was leaving practice early. Something you weren’t aware he was willing to ever do.

At least not recently.

Only when the shock settled, did you realize just how much your body was protesting you sitting up. So, despite your better judgment, you lied back down, waiting in nervous anticipation for him to come home.

What might have been half an hour felt like forever as you laid in bed. Shivering underneath the comforter despite sweating profusely, rubbing your nose raw from having to blow it constantly, all whilst it felt like you were spinning.

In your haze you didn’t even hear the front door or you bedroom door open. How could you when your body demanded all the attention you had?

Wakatoshi stood frozen in the doorway, a plastic bag hanging off his arm, silent as he took in the state you were in.

How hadn’t he noticed before he left? you couldn’t have possibly entered this state within the couple of hours he was gone.

He felt a tug of unease pull at his heart and willed himself to walk up to you.

“y/n,” he called softly. sitting on your side of the bed.

You flinched at the sound of his voice not knowing he was in the room. Slowly, you opened your eyes and winced at the light in the room.

“Toshi,” you croaked pathetically.

His face softened and he brushed your damp hair away from your face, frowning when he felt how warm your forehead was.

“Hey,” he greeted, he lifted a hand and that’s when you saw a thermometer from the medicine cabinet in his hand “can you open your mouth please?“

Weakly, you did as he asked, and as it sat in your mouth, he quickly walked towards the master bathroom. Mumbling something about a towel.

You didn’t hear him however as you turned your head back towards the ceiling and already felt your eyes drooping again.

You only came to when you felt something cool against your forehead, you opened your eyes to see Toshi looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows. The thermometer beeped and when he looked at the reading the crease deepened.

Toshi disappeared for a moment again, making his presence known when he began to take the comforter off of you.

You whined as he did so, shivering even harder as air hit your body. You even sat up to try and grab it back.

“‘s cold toshi,” you slurred.

He was quick to place a thinner sheet on top of you “I know dear, but we have to get your body temperature down.”

As you pulled the blanket closer Wakatoshi opened the bag he brought with him. You heard the rattle of a pill container and then the crack of a bottle being opened. Wakatoshi turned to you and held out some medicine and water.

You reached out a shaky hand to take the medicine, placing the pill in your mouth. Wakatoshi helped you hold the bottle, noting how weak your arms were.

You sighed in temporary relief when you finished drinking, glad that your mouth felt less dry.

Wakatoshi allowed a small relieved smile to cross his face and he quickly helped you lay back down.

“I’ll make you some food, stay here.”

Once he was sure you were comfortable he made his way to the kitchen quickly getting his ingredients ready.

It was only when he was midway through washing some rice when he took a moment to pause.

When was the last time he had cooked for you?

Wakatoshi continued his task albeit feeling guilty thinking about how you’ve been the one cooking and eating dinner alone for some time now. It used to be a shared responsibility. Now he usually came home late so you would put a plate aside for him or he would go out to eat with the team.

He was still deep in though as he pushed the bedroom door open with his back, a tray consisting of a bowl of rice porridge and a cup of tea left a trail small trail of steam as he walked.

You were asleep but woke easily at the sound of his footsteps. It took a moment for your eyes to focus on him.

He gestured with the tray, “Do you think you can eat?”

You looked at the food, perfectly plated and garnished, your mouth watering slightly at the savoury smell.

“I think so. At least a little bit.”

He helped you sit up, and when he saw the weakness still in your arms he fed you himself.

You hummed contently at the first bite of food. You had missed this more than you thought you did.

After about half the bowl was done and your tea finished, you signalled that you stomached as much as your body would allow. Now with your body temperature having gone down and your stomach full you could feel yourself becoming less and less loopy. You watched quietly as he put the tray on the bedside table. When he was finished with that, he sat still on the bed and stared at the wall.

You looked at his face, despite it deceptively lacking emotion, you knew better than anyone else that something was bothering him.

However before you could ask he began to speak

“Why wasn’t I the first person you contacted when you realized that you were sick?”

You froze, looking down in your lap fiddling wIth a loose thread in the blanket.

“…Well…you’ve been busy as of late….I didn’t think it was important enough to take you out of practice. Someone less busy would have probably been willing to come.”

He slowly turned to face you. “You didn’t think that your wellbeing was important enough?”

You shrugged, “Well volleyball is always going to be your biggest priority. I’m just sick it’ll pass.”

Obvious distress crossed Ushijima’s face “y/n, you are my main priority.”

You paused. Perhaps it was time to tell him how you were really feeling instead of dancing around the subject.

“…It hasn’t felt that way lately.” you say hesitantly, your voice small.

Wakatoshi faltered. You kept looking down, almost scared to look him in the eye.

“I was content with that at first, your love of volleyball is admirable, it’s was drew me to you at first. But it always made you seem unattainable. When you asked me on that date all those years ago I was over the moon,” you paused to clear your throat huffing in annoyance as your sickness interrupted you.

“But I can only endure so much Toshi. Nowadays it feels like your going where I can’t reach. You’re always busy, which is understandable for a professional athlete… I just wish it wasn’t to the point where I’m worried about your reaction if I were to try to talk to you.”

There was a shift in the mattress. Then familiar arms that you had been longing for wrapped tightly around you.

“Toshi you’re gonna get sick.”

“It’s fine,”

“but-“

“I’m sorry y/n.”

you stiffened but stayed quiet to let him speak.

“You’ve done so much for me without complaint and I have done so little in return. i’m sorry for letting it get to this point. It took you getting this sick for me to realize.”

A stormy look crossed his face, “I… I’ve been struggling to balance work and home, in return I’ve been neglecting you and letting how tired I am influence my reactions. you don’t deserve that. you are my first priority y/n, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You sniffled and wiped a tear that fell from your face. You didn’t even know you were crying. For a man usually so quiet and stoic, he always knew what to say to you when he needed to. It was always so endearing to you.

“If I had known you were going to take it this well I would’ve said something earlier,” you say softly.

He smiles sadly, “I haven’t been making it seem that way hmm?”

You shake you’re head but smile back, “no”

He sighs to himself but places a gentle kiss against your forehead much like how he did all those years ago. Your eyes flutter shut and you make let out a pleased sigh. You were much more comfortable than you were when you first woke up.

“We’ll talk more once you get better. I promise,” He eventually says. holding you a bit closer to him.

You nodded and snuggled closer to his chest. While it wasn’t an immediate fix, it was a start.

“Sounds good to me Toshi.”

He smiled down at you “Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

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sawamiyukiss · 2 months ago

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4. Reputation Management: PR Goldmine

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader. Fake dating! Pt 1. 2. 3 5 Teaser

Summary: It’s Day One of the National Sports Relay show, and the PR team wants to see chemistry and just enough tension to make headlines. You and Ushijima? You’re going to deliver. Especially when one of the challenges involves a blindfold and relying on nothing but his voice and touch. Part 4/8

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Filming for the National Sports Relay reality show was more difficult than your company had prepared you for. Three hours of filming in the burning sun with your hair stuck to your forehead, legs aching, hands dirty, and feeling slightly out of breath. All for a scavenger hunt challenge to find the key to your room.

The cabin was big enough to fit three people. You had taken a look around the place and secured a bed right as your other two roommates had arrived.

You’d barely had time to introduce yourselves to each other before being advised by the filming crew to get ready for the next mission. You rinsed off the dirt and grime from the day and changed into your new favorite set of sweats.

Ushijima had gifted you a black set to match with him during the filming of the reality show. He had said something about “increasing visuals for media cohesion”.

You were pretty sure he was just repeating something his management had told him. But when you asked the PR specialists about it, they only took credit for the quote.

But wanting to match with you? That was all Ushijima’s idea. It was a small gesture, but it stayed with you. Because he thought of it.

Your companies wanted to ensure you’d have moments that could spark headlines and edits that trended online. This weekend was more about the PR aspect of your relationship than the actual reality show.

Being partnered with Ushijima had been a miracle on your reputation. You had been invited to more events, the public was in love with your staged relationship, and there was even talk of a big brand deal in the works for you. Even Ushijima’s reputation was flourishing.

“Boyfriend of the nation, huh?” You read the headline out loud to your manager during the last prep meeting on the way to set.

She gushed, “Yes! And you’re the girlfriend who tamed him.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t tame anyone. He’s still pretty serious.”

“That’s the charm,” she said, unfazed. “You’re the grounded, lovable party girl who’s secretly dating the country’s not so stoic athlete. It’s opposites attract. PR goldmine.”

You groaned and let your head fall back against the headrest of the car. “God, it’s like a fanfiction.”

She only grinned at you.

Before dropping you off at the entry of the set, she reminded you again of the need to sell a believable story during the three days of filming. Every look, every touch, and every interaction had to feel real enough for the public’s enjoyment. No one could know the truth about your relationship with Ushijima.

Actually, you couldn't even call him Ushijima anymore. You had been strongly encouraged to come up with nicknames for each other.

They even floated the idea of an on-cam kiss. Something subtle but convincing enough for the public. The issue was that with both of your demanding schedules now that your reputation had flourished and the public loved you, it was hard to find any alone time to practice.

The kiss would have to wait.

As would the nicknames. You both struggled to come up with any believable nicknames for each other. The truth was, you were both a little too shy. It made no sense, really. Being able to easily pull off holding hands and soft pda without much thought, but a nickname felt too intimate.

You didn't have time to dwell on the implication too much.

A production assistant had come to guide you and the other two girls you'd be rooming with - Marie and Kiko - down to the set.

It was time for the second game of the day. In front of you was a table set up with different colored cards. The game host explained the rules and asked everyone to randomly pick a colored bandana and they'd be matched with someone of the opposite gender.

Blue. You reached for it, feeling some sort of pull.

You could not explain the nerves you felt as you walked towards the next room to meet your teammate. It was only a game, but still you hoped your partner would be him.

When you stepped into the room, your eyes scanned the small crowd of contestants before landing on him. He met your gaze the second you walked in. You lifted your own blue bandana slightly in greeting.

It was subtle, the way his posture eased and his eyes softened. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders slipping away.

“Did you miss me?” you teased, voice low. “I really think this is fate.”

“Yes,” he said simply. The directness of it caught you off guard.

You laughed awkwardly, hitting his shoulder to distract from the flutter in your chest. “Help me tie my hair up with this?”

He took the bandana gently from your hand. His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he gathered your hair. His hands were rough with callouses from his years of training, but his touch was gentle.

You shivered. It felt too intimate.

You knew the other participants were watching. You heard their comments, “Of course they got paired together,” and another voice laughed, “Producers probably rigged it.”

You didn’t look to see who said what. You were too focused on Ushijima. When he finished tying your hair, he silently handed you his own bandana. You looked down at the bandana in your hand and then up at Ushijima.

You stepped closer, wrapping the blue fabric around his upper left arm. The muscle beneath your touch was solid and warm, his bicep flexing slightly under your touch.

The host’s voice cut through tension that had developed between you and Ushijima. “Teams! This last challenge of the day is all about communication and trust. One of you will be the guide and the other team member will follow the instructions. The plot twist? You will have to wear a blindfold as you make your way through. There will be points deducted for any sort of physical contact. This game is all about trust in your partner!”

You didn’t think about the implications when you offered to be the one blindfolded. You only did so because Ushijima was more patient than you, and he was naturally good at leading.

But when Ushijima stepped forward with the blindfold in his hands, there was a shift between you. The silence was loud, and you were worried he could hear how fast your heart was beating as he bent down slightly to tie the blindfold for you.

His fingers brushed your face as he adjusted the fabric. You could feel his breath near your ear and the heat of his body as he leaned in to tie the knot.

You swallowed hard.

If the bandana moment had flustered you, this was worse. Much worse.

The blindfold heightened all your senses. You couldn't see, but you could feel everything. His touch. His presence. The way his fingers had grazed the back of your neck, and the goosebumps that followed from his touch. The moment felt too private for a televised series.

You were grateful Ushijima couldn't see your expression. If he noticed the heat rising to your cheeks, he didn't say.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice low, right beside your ear.

You nodded, clearing away any previous thoughts. “Please don’t let me look dumb on television.”

“I won’t.”

The whistle blew and the challenge began. You couldn’t hear the other teams, too focused on following Ushijima’s directions.

It shouldn’t have felt like this, enjoying his gentle touch on your elbow or lower back when you stumbled through the challenge. But every time he caught you and steadied you, you wondered if he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

His hand would brush your lower back when you started to veer off course, fingers pressing lightly to guide you back on track. His palm stayed there for a second longer than it needed to.

Every small, quiet contact burned hotter than it should have. The faintest brush of his chest behind your shoulder. Your body betrayed you with how it responded.

The heat wasn’t just from the burning sun anymore, it was from the way his voice dipped when he murmured, “Careful.”

You didn’t know if this was still part of the act, or if the two of you were simply indulging.

🌸 ⋆｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ . 🌸 ⋆｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ 🌸 ⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ 🌸

🌷✨ More characters and stories coming soon! Thank you for reading! 🌸💌 Requests are Open! 💌🌸 Feel free to send in headcanon ideas, drabble requests, etc! ��✨

🔗 Return to Masterlist 🌸 💌 🌸 All my other social media linked here!

Tag List: @completelyjae

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yatsurinamikaze · 10 months ago

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Wager [completed!]

Series : (first) - (second) - (third) - (fourth) - (fifth) - (sixth) - (seventh) - (eight) - (ninth) - (tenth_last) - (BONUS!)

tw// shit show, cringe, word vomit, objectification, shitty writing, grammatical errors, curse words.

Oikawa Tooru x Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Summary: They strike a bet. The Wager? You.

Five years have passed since that chaotic day in the gym, and life has unfolded in ways you never could have predicted. You’re now a leading architect, renowned for your innovative designs and dedication to your craft. Your life is busy but fulfilling, and you’ve carved out your own path—one that, as it turns out, was the right one for you.

Today, you find yourself courtside at the Tokyo Olympics, watching Argentina and Japan warming up before their big volleyball match. The energy in the stadium is electric, fans from all over the world cheering in anticipation.

As you sit down, your friend Aeri nudges you, her eyes wide as she spots the players on the court. "I can’t believe you dated Oikawa from the Argentina team back in high school," she says, her tone a mix of awe and disbelief.

You smile, shaking your head with amusement as you wave at Tooru, who just winked at you from the court. “Not just him,” you say, laughing softly. “I almost ended up dating Ushiwaka too.”

Aeri’s jaw drops, and she turns to face you with wide eyes. "Wait, what?! Ushiwaka as in Wakatoshi Ushijima?!"

You laugh goofily, nodding as you watch both the Japan and Argentina teams warming up. “Yeah, those were some crazy days.”

Aeri is still in shock, her gaze bouncing between you and the players on the court. "You almost dated both of them? And now they’re both Olympic volleyball stars? That’s insane!"

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Well, life takes you in unexpected directions."

As you watch the players finish their warm-ups, your mind drifts back to the choices you made after that day in high school. You had chosen your own path, focusing on your future and self-discovery instead of jumping into relationships. It had been the right decision. You’d grown into the person you were meant to be, without being tied to someone else’s journey. And seeing Oikawa and Ushiwaka thriving as pros? It only reinforced that they, too, had followed their dreams and flourished.

You made the right choice, you think to yourself, it wasn’t about being with someone, it was about finding yourself first—and you were grateful for how it all worked out in the end.

The stadium’s noise fades for a brief moment as everyone prepares for the opening whistle. The excitement builds, and you lean forward in your seat, ready to watch the match. But just before the whistle blows, you hear someone clear their throat near you.

You turn your head to see a tall, athletic-looking man standing next to the empty seat beside you. There's something familiar about him, though you can’t quite place it. Your eyes flicker between him and the court, where one of the Japanese players—a faux-blonde in a red and black jersey—catches your attention.

The stranger grins, clearly noticing your confusion. "Are you…" you start, pointing at the blond player on the court. "Are you his… brother or something?"

The man chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Twin, actually."

You burst into laughter, the realization dawning on you. "Oh yeah, that makes sense!" you say, feeling a little silly for not seeing the resemblance sooner.

He smiles, his gaze warm and lingering as he looks into your eyes. There’s something about his demeanor—calm, confident, and inviting—that immediately pulls you towards him.

"So…" Nodding towards the empty spot next to you, he asks, "Is this seat taken?"

Masterlist

haha, just a fun bonus.

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arcreactordreams · 1 year ago

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"Im so sorry to bother you at home"

Starring: Nishinoya Yuu

Sypnosis: He has been trying to hit on you subtly for quite a few time, but he has grown a little more determinate now.

Request: Hello! Could you please write a Nishinoya x female reader where she’s seen by everyone as a serious, menacing person, when in reality she’s really just socially awkward and dense? Nishinoya tries hitting on her doing the usual tricks like flowers and bears and pick up lines but she’s just confused. Finally he just becomes more direct with her and honest and slowly she falls for him too? I’m sorry if it’s a bit too detailed and it’s okay if you don’t do this haha it’s been at the back of my head for a while

A/N: This one was so cute to write!, i tried to be really quick making this but the inspiration came to me like a thunder and here we are. Remember i use she/her in this fic.

Nishinoya Yuu. The thunder of the Karasuno team, always so energetic and kind, oftenly called delusional by his feelings towards Kiyoko, little did they know that it wasent a crush, he admired her and by that her personality and how she acted; But he liked you, he admired you and wordshipped the very floor you stepped on.

His tries were almost pathetic, sure he could tell Kiyoko anything btu it was different when it was you, he shacked and mumbled like a little kid inlove everytime he crossed any words with you. Everyone could tell but some way you didnt; Not even the flowers he gave you, little gifts he made for you with his own hands (which were a cute detail since he isnt pretty good with manualities) But from time to time his friends started to see that there was no response tho this little acts.

"She doesn't like you and she's acting like that to decline your feelings nicely" He heard one of them said, his heart ached but then Hinata spoke answering to the previous person, his words were filled with determination and his obvious spark that always bringed hope to everyone. "And what if she isnt?, she could see it was a friendly gesture. Nishinoya haven't talked about his feelings openly to her"

Hinata had a point, Sugawara and Daichi agreed, yes Nishinoya and his friends could think those hints were obvious enough to tell that he was completely head over heels inlove with you. But they know him as a friend and since pretty long time comparing to you; They weren't you and that meant they didnt feel or thinked like you.

He planned his confession, would you like something big? the whole school knowing?, No, it will make you agree by social pressure, Did you liked him enough to say 'Yes' without much people knowing? Oh God.

It was 6PM on a friday. He can remember it vividly, his steps were hard on the floor and his fingers were digging into his shirt and on the little box he held, his palms sweated and his face was red; He knocked at your door. After a few minutes you opened the door.

"Hey, im so sorry to bother you at home" he started as he saw you, his face blushed and his cologne was subtle as always. "I know that this might be hard but... I dont know what to say" he started panicking.

"I like you a lot" He finally stated after a sigh, his gaze fixated on the floor, the blush on his cheeks made him look heated, his breathing was heavy and his mind was longing and pleading for an answer.

"Are you being serious?" You spoke, a hidden tint of amusement in your voice, his feeling were glowing as he answered "Of course i am, why wouldnt i? i like you so much" He said as he took another step, reflecting his mind and then doing the opposite and stepping back, he didnt wanted to make the situation awkard, he just wanted to finally be totally sincere with you.

little did he know you liked him aswell, but oh lord he is the happiest man alive.

"Hey, i bringed this for you too" He said as he smiled at you, more confident and smug after your answer, handing you a little figure you have been longing to have since quite a few time. He buyed it for you since the first day you mentioned it but he decided to wait untill the ocation was perfect, and sure it was.

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writer-freak · 23 days ago

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Chapter 1: The Letter | Haikyuu Au

Pairings: TBA (there are gonna be different endings)

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: None for this specific chapter, oc side characters

A/n: This is the first chapter of a longer project! I haven’t settled on a title yet (open to ideas 👀), but there will be a full masterlist with like a summary and everything coming soon (I have some trouble making it). This is just the first chapter and some things are still going to get explained.

The whole story is a drama with lots of tension, secrets, soft angst, romance and smut. Hope you enjoy and maybe stay for the ride in the long run (also this is gonna be cross posted on AO3 and over there I have also included the summary)

(P.S. There will be gender-neutral, female, and male reader versions for each chapter.)

The envelope is thicker than any other paper you’ve ever touched.

Fancy ivory paper with a gold trim. Wax seal stamped with a Latin crest you had to Google to figure out what it meant. The letter smells like cologne—very expensive cologne—and the paper doesn’t bend like normal envelopes do. You almost feel guilty opening it, like you're destroying something precious.

But you open it anyway, hands trembling.

“Dear [Last Name],

We are pleased to inform you of your conditional acceptance into Veritas University, one of the most prestigious institutions in the country…”

You blink. You reread. You check the name, the address, your hands again, like this letter was meant for someone else and got dropped off with you by mistake.

It continues:

“Given your exceptional academic performance and demonstrated potential, an invitation to our academic community has been extended through a special arrangement. Please be aware that such arrangements are considered sensitive, and we encourage discretion regarding the circumstances of your admission to ensure your smooth integration into the social and academic fabric of the university.”

Discretion. Smooth integration. You get the message.

Don’t tell anyone you got in on a scholarship. Don’t tell anyone you’re not rich. And definitely don’t mention the strange phone call that came just before the letter. Or the name that you heard in that call.

You fold the letter carefully and place it back in the envelope, like maybe that’ll stop your heart from hammering out of your chest.

It doesn’t.

You think back to a conversation you’d had with your bestie Mira a few months ago—well before the letter, before the phone call, a time where Veritas was still a laughable dream at best.

“So, get this” she’d said dramatically over iced coffee, twirling her straw between her fingers. “You know that place Veritas? That fancy university with the Latin name that sounds like it comes with a crazy blood pact?”

You snorted. “What about it?”

“So like it’s basically Hogwarts for rich kids. I read somewhere that their dining halls have chefs trained in actual Michelin-star kitchens. Like, plural.”

“Sounds fake.”

“No, dude. Anyone who gets in there is set for life. Like, cursed with success. You graduate from Veritas and someone just hands you a glass office and a six-figure trust fund.”

You’d rolled your eyes and said without thinking:

“Obviously all of them that I have heard about are rich kids who are gonna inherit their parents’ business or whatever. That place isn’t for regular people to then get rich afterwards.”

“Exactly!” Mira had leaned across the table, wide-eyed. “It’s like the Ivy League’s mysterious, prettier, colder cousin. Nobody even applies there—they all just get like hand picked. Like royalty. I swear by god that if I ever find out where this place is I’m gonna sneak in there and find me a rich hot husband”

You laughed at the time. You don’t laugh now.

Because now you're holding an invitation.

And your hands are shaking.

“Are you okay?”

Your mom’s voice comes in from the kitchen, soft but with a nervous tinge—like she’s trying not to sound like she’s been pacing around this whole time. You walk out with the letter still in your hand, unable to find the words.

Your dad looks up from his laptop, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well?”

You hold up the envelope like a offering. “I actually got in like the call was real.”

They both go still. Then, in perfect sync, they erupt.

Your mom gasps and rushes over to hug you, and your dad lets out a long, stunned whistle. He stands, wrapping an arm around both of you.

For a second, all your worries disappear. You let yourself breathe it in: pride, warmth, your mom’s hand on your back, your dad squeezing your shoulder like he still can’t believe you’re actually here.

Then your mom pulls back, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. “There’s… a part in the letter. It says I shouldn’t tell anyone how I got in. That it’s a ‘sensitive arrangement.’”

Your dad frowns, reaching for the envelope. He reads the paragraph silently, lips thinning.

“They don’t want you to say you got in on a scholarship?” your mom says, blinking. “Why?”

You shrug, even though you know the answer. “They probably think if people find out I’m not rich, it’ll make things harder. Or awkward. I don’t know.”

“Because heaven forbid anyone on that campus interacts with a normal person” your dad mutters. “What a load of—”

“Hey” your mom warns gently, but her face is pinched too.

There’s a short beat of silence.

“I’m proud of you” your dad says, looking you dead in the eye. “This doesn’t change that. But if it ever becomes too much—if you ever feel like hiding who you are is the price for being there—you call us. Got it?”

You nod, blinking quickly.

Your mom patted your head like she used to when you were little. “We raised you to be brilliant. Not to pretend.”

You smile. But you also tuck the letter back in its envelope and slide it into your backpack. You’re already learning how to be careful.

Packing is… oddly quiet and emotional in weirdly small ways.

You fold your favorite sweater like three times before placing it in your suitcase, even though it’s already fraying at the cuffs. You dig out the mug your little cousin made for you in pottery class ( it's lumpy, weird, but perfect in its own way) and nestle it between socks like a treasure.

Your dad buys you a new power bank and slips a twenty into your pencil case when he thinks you’re not looking. Your mom bakes your favorite muffins and cries when she burns the last batch, but laughing through her tears.

The night before you leave, you sit on the back porch with your parents under a string of mismatched fairy lights and just…take everything in.

It’s a warm night. The stars shining beautifully in the dark night sky.

“I’m going to miss this” you say quietly.

“We’re going to miss you,” your mom replies, holding your hand.

You don’t say anything. You just listen to the crickets and try to remember this feeling—home.

The next morning, you meet Mira at the usual spot. A little coffee shop tucked between a laundromat and a florist, with chipped mosaic tables and weird rotating chalkboard quotes.

It smells like cinnamon and burnt espresso beans, and you’re not sure if the A/C’s broken or just never actually worked. The barista knows your names without asking. Mira always orders something iced and obnoxiously sweet.

You sip your drink slowly, counting the scratches on the table, trying to ignore how Mira keeps looking at you like you’re already halfway gone.

“So,” she says finally, “you nervous?”

“Nah,” you lie. “It’s just school.”

“Just school,” she echoes, with an eye roll. “You’re literally going overseas for it. I bet you’re going to end up with a secret society nickname like ‘the Oracle’ or something.”

You laugh, but it’s tight in your throat. Mira leans forward across the table.

“Okay but—real talk? Like are you not telling me about it because they have a weird cult on campus. I know it’s like a fancy place and you can’t entirely tell me about it but like.. is it weird? “A little.”

“Weird like, weird food and fancy fountains? Or weird like someone disappears and no one talks about it?”

“I mean... probably both.”

She grins, then sighs, falling back into her chair.

“Ugh, you’re abandoning me internationally now? What am I supposed to do when I start spiraling at 2 a.m.?”

“I’ll still have Wi-Fi. Probably...”

“Not the same. I can’t even stalk you properly considering you’ll probably be too busy to post anything. And what am I supposed to tell people? That you vanished into some academic Bermuda Triangle?”

You smile, but your heart tugs.

To her, you’re just “heading abroad to a weird-sounding academic program”some vague, exclusive opportunity you couldn’t explain without giving too much away. She never got to see the name Veritas. You never showed her the letter. You weren’t allowed to.

“You’re gonna miss this, though, right?. Us. The shop. The smell of fried donuts and stress sweat.”

You smile. “Already do.”

You both go quiet. She stirs her drink with the end of her straw until the ice clicks against the sides.

“I hope they don’t ruin your brain” she mutters. “Or your heart.”

“I think my heart’s pretty break-proof.”

“You better text me” she says. “Like, at least lie and tell me things are boring. I can’t be the only one rotting in this boring place.”

You promise you will. You both pretend like the goodbye right now doesn’t sting like hell.

The day you leave, you take a bus. Then a very long train ride. Then another bus. And then a taxi payed by the College for you. No private car. No airport lounge. Just headphones and old seats that you are sinking into but not in a good way.

And eventually… the gates appear.

Completely made of iron and towering, the main entrance to Veritas University feels like the start of a different world. You can see the Primus dorm building in the distance, marble and incredible. Somewhere out there, the elite are probably already lounging by their dormitory pool, sipping some sparkly drinks.

You pull your duffel bag higher on your shoulder and follow the signs toward Dorm Novus.

It’s farther out than you expected.

Past the fancy roads and down a narrow walkway with slightly cracked cobblestones and street lamps, there’s a plain gray building tucked almost behind a line of trees. You pass a couple of other students on the way, all in designer sunglasses and with sleek brand name luggage. No one makes eye contact.

When you finally reach the door to your floor—B3, the basement level—it sticks. You have to push with your full weight before the door groans open.

The hallway smells like lemon cleaner and damp tile. You walk past a series of heavy doors before stopping at your own: B3-07.

Tiny brass numbers. Scratched. Slightly crooked.

You open it and find… well.

It’s not terrible.

The room is… modest. Plain, but clean. Not cold, but not luxurious either. A single bed, a sleek desk bolted to the wall, a neutral carpet, and a window that looks out onto the back lot. The view is uninspiring: hedge, stone, hedge.

There’s no chandelier. No en-suite marble bathroom. No designer lighting.

It’s about the size of your bedroom back home—maybe a little wider now that you're looking at it closer. You’re grateful it’s a single room, at least. That was probably intentional. Someone thought putting you with a roommate would be risky.

You drop your bag onto the bed and run your fingers across the desk.

Everything feels so sterile. Like no one’s ever lived here. You’re half-expecting a voice to come over the intercom and say “Simulation complete.”

You start to unpack slowly, piece by piece. T-shirts, jeans, one blazer you borrowed from your mom’s closet, even though you don’t know when you’ll ever wear it. You put your books on the shelf—a stuffed animal you won at a claw machine, the fantasy novel you read three times last year, your DVDs and some small little trinkets.

Then you reach the photo.

You and your best friend, Mira, making stupid faces in front of your favorite coffee shop. She’d drawn cat ears on your foreheads with eyeliner that day. You tuck the photo into the edge of your mirror frame, the smile on your face in the picture a little too bright to be fake.

You stare at it a moment longer than you meant to. It’s strange, how something as small as a Polaroid can make you homesick before classes have even started.

She didn’t even know where you were really going.

But sitting here now, inside this impossibly elite school, surrounded by people whose names you probably read in the news before, it comes back to you. That one night. That one conversation with Mira you’d almost forgotten.

“Okay, listen,” she’d said over the phone, half-whispering like she was leaking state secrets. “I went down a rabbit hole on that university—Veritas University, and like now I'm totally sure it’s a cult for rich kids.”

“Sounds promising.”

“No, I mean it. If you Google who goes there, it’s like a society page from hell. Legacy heirs, oil money, tech empires, models with trust funds. It’s terrifying. The Miya twins go there—I think. And definitely Wakatoshi freaking Ushijima.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“God, yes. You live under a rock but even then I bet you heard about them. My cousin’s obsessed with his family—the Ushijima Group. They own everything. Real estate, fashion houses, international resorts. Literal billionaires. He was in Forbes before he could even drive. Doesn’t even post on social media and he’s still trending.”

You hadn’t said much back then. Just smiled awkwardly and changed the subject, like you always did when Mira started talking about high society stuff.

You didn’t think it would ever matter.

But now you’re here. At that school. The one you pretended wasn’t real.

And all those names she mentioned? They’re not magazine headlines anymore. They’re people. Faces. Potential classmates. They’ll walk past you in designer shoes, drive cars worth more than your neighborhood, and laugh about vacations at places could only imagine to go to in your wildest dreams.

You’d remembered the name Ushijima, though after that talk. Obviously you knew him even if you didn't remember the name at that time.

The Ushijima Group was one of those empire names that floated through news segments and stock tickers like a ghost. Real estate, luxury brands, global holdings—you name it. His family had it. Their faces were regulars in glossy business magazines and elite family features.

Wakatoshi himself? He was practically myth-level. Some kind of golden boy who looked like he was carved from marble and groomed for power since birth. Attending galas before he hit puberty, photographed shaking hands with people who leaded countries, and somehow almost never saying a word in public. The kind of guy who didn’t need an online presence because his name alone did the networking.

And now, somehow, impossibly… you’re at the same university as him.

Not just him—there were others, too. Names you would regularly see on forums, in competitions, on social media: the Miya twins, Oikawa, Tsukishima. People with last names that were brands, legacies that were locked into place before they ever took a test.

Veritas didn’t just collect students. It curated heirs.

You pull out your phone, thumb hovering over the browser icon.

Just one search. That’s all it would take. A quick look. You’d know exactly what names to brace yourself for. What kind of world you’re really walking into.

You bite your lip, staring at the blank screen.

Should you?

Your heart's already pounding. And what if it makes it worse? What if you see faces you've seen on magazine covers, or be able to put faces to names you’ve read in headlines about people who live in mansions bigger than your whole block?

You let out a slow breath… and lock your phone again.

You don’t need to know.

If you start googling people now, you'll be stuck looking at the world from behind glass—already an outsider before you’ve even stepped into your first class.

Better to go in blind. Better to find out who they are face-to-face, if you have to.

Your laptop slides into place on the desk. You lay your comforter over the bed—navy blue, very soft, and smelling like home. A tiny candle holder sits near the window, unlit. You’re not even sure if they allow candles here, but it just makes you feel more at home.

You pull out the letter one more time and press your fingers to the corner of the wax seal.

Veritas University. A place for the elite. For the bloodlines and boardrooms. For the kind of people who get written about before they turn twenty. And you.

You lie down, folding your arms behind your head. The room hums with a faint mechanical buzz. You stare up at the smooth, white ceiling and wonder what the air feels like in the other dorms.

Probably cleaner. More expensive.

But you don’t need marble. You just need a chance. And someone already gave you one—even if you still don’t know why.

You’ll figure that part out later.

For now, you’re not here to belong. You’re here to survive.

Chapter 2: The first step

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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wttcsms · 1 year ago

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wttcsms wags blind bag, one shot collection ;

about poking fun at blind items & wanting to explore wag culture (and also looking for any reason to write about hot anime athletes), this fic collection's theme is inspired by/based off of... well, blind items about wags!

you're what i wanna love on, shugo meian

at the height of peak stardom, you're not just japan's pop princess — you're everyone's. with it comes controversy; your infamously short dresses, the late night parties you attend after every concert, your outrageously expensive concert tickets and merch, your racy performances that have concerned mothers going on social media saying you're a bad influence. adding to your list of typical pop star transgressions, you also have a hot, successful, wildly successful and just barely controversially older boyfriend!

but it would've been fun (if you could've been the one), tooru oikawa

from high school rivals to long-distance college sweethearts to perhaps the couple that got eloped way too early, it's no surprise that you and oikawa end up divorcing soon after getting married. while in your case it seems like love might be a losing game, you and oikawa both only play to win. when the olympics brings you two together once more, there's a good chance you two can reconcile and get your relationship back and better than it was before — or, go down with this sinking ship. with either outcome, at least you two are doing it together.

something to lose, shoyo hinata

heartbroken, jaded, and convinced that all men are garbage, you don't plan on anything happening when you're invited to an after party for a profession volleyball team in order to boost said team's publicity. you don't plan on making any friends or meaningful connections, and you certainly don't plan on getting the number of one of their star player's, shoyo hinata. then again, a lot of things don't go as planned when he's involved, and you don't expect yourself to be happy about these turns of event, but for once you are; happy, that is. and it's all his fault.

easy like sunday morning, wakatoshi ushijima

wakatoshi ushijima is notorious for his devotion to two things: volleyball and his family. during his post-game interview where he's been away from home for nearly two months, interviewers are asking him if he's excited to attend the rowdy after party to celebrate. ushijima's answer? he's taking a flight directly after this interview to head back home. he plans on celebrating the only way he knows how to: by finally being able to tuck in his sweet kids to bed, and then show his beloved wife how much he's missed her.

it's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender, koutarou bokuto

before he gets scouted by the msby black jackals and becomes one of japan's most famous athletes of all time, he's a struggling athlete trying his hardest to get a contract. during the off-season for recruiting, he decides to make some extra cash by using his looks and charms to become a contestant on a reality dating show, where he meets you: beautiful, intelligent, ambitious you, who is so clearly out of the league for anyone. you adore him, and you two have the strongest connection out of everyone on the show, so when he ends up picking someone who's not you, you're shocked. you don't know that he thinks he's doing you a favor because he believes he'll only ever hold you back. when the show invites you two for a reunion episode special, bokuto can only hope your feelings haven't changed.

burn out season, michael kaiser

what do you do when suffer a potential career-ending injury? hopefully not get diagnosed with depression, find out that because you devoted your whole life to your sport, you now have no sense of what to do without it, and then realize the only person who really Gets You is the only person who can irritate you like no one else does. hopefully you don't start to spend your newfound free time with him, and hopefully, you don't start to experience all the fun firsts in your life because of him and with him. or, maybe hopefully you do.

life could be a dream, yoichi isagi

getting together was no easy feat, and yoichi wants to show you how happy he is that you're his. he showers you with presents, shows you off at any given chance, always has a hand on the small of your back or around your waist. his possessive streak only grows when he finally slips that expensive engagement ring on your finger, and he shows you just how good married life is going to be for you.

i was supposed to sweat you out, michael beckenbauer

michael beckenbauer doesn't give a shit about japan, or the other subpar racers who have the nerve to get behind the wheel of the cars just to lose by a wide margin to him, or about how he's perceived by the media. he just wants to finish out this season, return home, and maybe find some worthy competition. he doesn't care if it's your job to try to brighten up his image; he never asked for a publicist, and in typical michael fashion, he's going to go out of his way to get you to quit. he has a bad tendency to underestimate his opponents, though, and off the track, you just might be his worthiest competition yet.

#this was silly and 4 fun ok #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #mf ghost x reader #blue lock x reader #meian x reader #oikawa x reader #hinata x reader #ushijima x reader #bokuto x reader #michael kaiser x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #michael beckenbauer x reader #masterlist #reader insert

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therealvalkyrie · 2 years ago

Text

the morning, the evening

Pairing/setting: Farmer!Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: very fluffy, implied sex, reader wants a baby AN: I've been working on this sporadically for *checks watch* 2.5 years so I hope y'all fucking like it lmao. I really struggled with tying up the ending, so if it feels abrupt that's why! also was too intimidated to try and write baby-making smut, so feel free to imagine those particular shenanigans in your own huge and wrinkly brainsicle. love you all! ~valkyrie

It’s on mornings like this that you feel most unlike yourself. When you slip out of bed before your husband and tug on one of his huge flannels, the sun just peeking into your window. It’s too early. Too early to think, too early for food, too early to do anything but slip out onto the porch in bare feet and curl up on the porch swing. The birds are just waking up with you -- chickadees singing a greeting and the chickens clucking softly in reply. The dewy air sends goosebumps up your bare legs and settles in your lungs as mist clings to the ground. It makes you feel a little lost, a little out of place; mornings have never been meant for you.

When your husband wakes up with the rooster, he joins you on the porch swing, the screen door creaking shut behind him, and hands you a cup of coffee. You lean into his sturdy side and clutch your third favorite mug with both hands (the handle broke last year when you dropped it on the kitchen tile). He doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips to your temple and looks out to the mountains with you. He knows you’ve never been meant for mornings.

When his yellow mug is empty, he rubs your bent knee with a huge hand and leaves you to start farm chores. You may be entitled to a slow start, but the horses expect breakfast before 7 or they’ll be ornery all day.

The sun burns enough dew away for the farmhand’s truck to kick up dust as he drives up your long driveway -- your cue to go put on pants. Back in the bedroom, the stained glass ornaments hanging in the windows are casting shifting rainbows on the wall. This is what lifts your lips for the first time today and prompts the first sip of tepid coffee. You sprawl out on your unmade bed, stretching like a cat in a sunspot made just for you.

By the time you pad downstairs in jeans and an airy blouse, the morning has begrudgingly made a space for you in between its sense of purpose and quiet watchfulness. You set about making breakfast and more coffee, nudging the kitchen awake. You say good morning to the toaster and the butter bell and the kettle on the stove and purposely ignore the dishwasher, which has been giving attitude since the weekend.

You’re murmuring quietly to a pancake when Wakatoshi clomps back in, hanging his hat on the hook by the door.

“Good morning,” you greet, offering up your cheek, which he kisses along with a heavy hand on your hip.

“Does the pancake ever talk back?” he wonders aloud, looking over your shoulder into your cast iron pan.

“Not yet,” you reach for your spatula and grin up at him, “which is what makes it such a good listener.”

He hums thoughtfully and squeezes your waist with his big hand before turning away to reach for plates from the cupboard.

Breakfast passes in conversation about the farrier visiting in the afternoon -- some horses are due for new shoes -- between bites of food. Toshi disappears out the back door to start the rest of his day and you load dishes into the dishwasher. It grumbles to life after a swift kick to the bottom left corner. You’ll have to call the plumber before the weekend.

You’re feeling halfway back to yourself again when you settle into your creaky wooden office chair. It’s nearly the end of the month, which means today is for paying bills and making calls. It’s not nearly as much of a task as it was when you first took over the business side of the farm. Then, you’d had to wade through fifty years of an unintelligible filing system and re-negotiate deals that Wakatoshi’s grandparents had made just as long ago. You’ve always had a way with numbers and a sense for business; it’s the local politics that gave you trouble. People this far into farming country simply don’t trust outsiders, no matter if they’re married to the local golden boy.

Wakatoshi says it had been the same for his father, coming in as an outsider and marrying the beloved daughter of a beloved family. That’s why he’d left, when Toshi was just a kid, never having managed to really feel at home in the community or on the farm.

“But he didn’t have the advantage of your smile,” he’d joked, poking the corner of your mouth gently as you lay in bed late one night a couple of weeks after your wedding.

You’d giggled, swatting his hand away and burying your face into his broad chest. “Do you really think they’ll like me?” you asked in a small voice after a quiet moment.

“They’ll love you. Just like I do.”

You wouldn’t quite say they love you, but the town has at least grown to tolerate you after you’d asserted yourself into their daily lives. Miss Betty at the feed store still doesn’t give you a discount on grain like she had your mother-in-law, and Mary Fletcher still calls you a gold digger behind your back. But at least you’ve made good enough friends with her cousin Amber, who boards her horse in your stables and comes by almost every weekend, to hear about it.

You begin to sweat as the summer announces that it’s still here in the late morning and turn on the rotating fan in an effort to stay cool. The dial of the old rotary phone whirs under your fingertips as you call up the bank, one bare foot bouncing in the air where your leg dangles over the armrest of your chair and receiver cradled to your ear.

It’s a tedious conversation with Laurie, the one and only bank teller, whose daughter is going off to college in just a couple of weeks, that carries you over into lunchtime. You eventually manage to steer her in the direction of the purpose of your call, learning, amidst tidbits about her daughter’s roommate and her son’s soccer tryouts, that your check to the vet had bounced because of an error on the bank’s end. Thank God.

“Shit, that woman can talk,” you breathe when the receiver is safely in its cradle, and Laurie won’t threaten to wash out your mouth with soap for using foul language.

With a deep exhale, you allow your head to fall onto the back of the chair, languishing in the buzzing heat. For the millionth time this summer, you think back to your tiny city apartment, with its shitty water pressure and shitty commute and heavenly air conditioning. What you wouldn’t give….

Well, you wouldn’t give up Wakatoshi, for one.

And you’d had that, with him. You fit him into your tiny shower, washing each other’s bodies and then fucking on the bathroom counter when he couldn’t figure out how to finagle his limbs to fit. He kissed you every morning before work, pressing a packed lunch into your hands.

He proposed under your favorite oak tree in the park at peak foliage, asking you to marry him and move back to his home. You said yes.

You meant it.

But, God. This heat.

The afternoon drags you down, oppressive and lingering, and you find yourself incapable of thinking anymore.

You pass Wakatoshi on your way across the driveway and give him a brief wave, your ring of keys hanging off your middle finger.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” you call as he takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his sweaty hair.

He watches the way your legs propel you up into the elevated cab of his truck, loaded with some buzzing anxiety to move, even through this thick air.

“Okay,” he says.

The first summer you knew Wakatoshi, he invited you to visit home with him for a week. You weren’t together yet, still dancing on the periphery of a relationship with that youthful arrogance of those barely touching adulthood. Halfway through the six-hour drive from the city, he pulled over at a farmstand and bought peaches and lemonade. You ate them in the bed of his truck parked under a maple tree, boughs flush with green and peach juice slipping down your chin.

These grocery store peaches aren’t quite as tender -- you’re just too far North to get them really fresh -- but they’ll do. Still, you worry they’ll bruise as you set the paper grocery bag on the passenger seat next to the bakery box already there. You stand there for a second dumbly, trying to think of a better way to pack them in among your other groceries so they won’t bump around, until the afternoon sun has sunk into the top of your head so it feels like your brain is melting to the inside of your skull. Feeling a little foolish, but otherwise at a loss, you buckle the grocery bag and the box into the seat.

That makes you grin to yourself and snort a giggle as you slam the passenger door and circle around to the other side of the truck. The engine turns and complains for a second before giving in.

Sometimes this is all you need to put yourself back in your body. This little ritual of grocery shopping by yourself -- driving with the music turned up, reading ingredient labels, watching the deli counter guy slice half a pound of provolone. That mundanity, that routine of an adult woman who buys her own groceries, puts everything else in perspective.

You’re here because you want to be. Because you chose to be.

You come to a decision.

Wakatoshi doesn’t pick up the phone when you call on your way out of town, but that’s to be expected. This time of day, he’s most likely out with the horses, and cell reception gives out only a quarter-mile into the pastures. The call goes to voicemail, and you smile to yourself as his recorded voice instructs you to please leave a message. The tone beeps.

“Hey, I’m headed home now. I’ll be there in, uh, about fifteen? Anyway, meet me down at the pond for dinner. Maybe… six-thirty? I thought we’d do something a little special. Okay, I love you!”

The pond is at the East edge of the property, fed by a brook that bubbles out of the foothills. On the side opposite of where the horse pastures end, there is a willow tree that stretches and drapes down to trace the surface of the water. It is under that willow tree that you unpack your picnic basket, pouring white wine into thermos mugs as the low sun streaks through branches.

The heat of the day is finally breaking, giving way to a cacophony of peeper frogs that you can normally only hear distantly in the house. Here, it fills your mind and allows you to think of nothing else but watching the distant silhouette of your husband crossing the pasture towards you. He’s backlit, long shadow reaching across the fence long before he does. You watch him walk in an easy, rolling gait through long grass, watch him hop the fence like he was born for it.

And he was, you remind yourself. He was born for these wide spaces and nature smells. Where you must find space for yourself in the uninhabited corners of the farm (the office, the Eastern edge, the kitchen), he fills the rest as naturally as water fills the pond.

He says your name at the edge of the willow tree, ducking under a bough.

“Hello, love,” you say and smile and pat the blanket next to where you’re sitting.

Your husband sits, folding his legs under him like a little kid. It makes your heart feel a little tender as you tuck yourself into his side and explain your meal: sandwiches and fruit, cherry pie and wine for dessert. He thanks you simply, bending down to kiss you in that slow way that caught you like honey in a trap that first night in front of your apartment building, all those years ago. He tastes like vanilla chapstick.

You eat. Wakatoshi tells you about his day. About the farrier's visit and fixing a leak in the chicken coop’s roof.

“Wakatoshi,” you say, leaning forward to pick at the grass as he works the stone out of a peach with his pocket knife. He hums, deft in his work but listening. “What would you say about having a baby?”

He makes a sharp noise of pain and you look over, wide-eyed, to see he’s sliced clean through the peach and into his own palm. The blood wells before your eyes, mixing with peach juice as you gasp and lunge for the paper napkins in the basket.

“You have to be more careful! What if you seriously--” “Yes,” he cuts you off as you’re taking his hand in both of yours, setting the fruit and knife aside, and wadding up the napkins to stop the bleeding.

“What?”

“I’d say yes to having a baby.” He’s looking right at you with those hazel eyes, the expression in them so close to reverence it stuns you.

“Oh,” you breathe, staring straight back.

At that exact moment, the setting sun glows orange at the top of the pasture hill, streaking Wakatoshi’s cheek with gold through the willow branches. All the breath is gone from you, your head gone light from having this question you’ve mulled over for weeks answered so simply.

His uninjured hand finds your cheek, tucks stray hair away from your face.

“Are you asking? Do you want to have a baby?”

“I-- Yes. I’m asking.”

He smiles, soft as the cattails that sway at the opposite edge of the pond, and leans in to meet your lips with his. You let yourself sink into it for a moment, unable to stop smiling against his mouth, but pull away to further inspect the slice across his palm. He lets you, his fingers curled gently inward while you dab away blood and rub a gentle thumb on his wrist, but his gaze never wavers from your face. It’s intense-- almost like how it was when you first knew him, but with an undercurrent of affection that makes your chest warm.

“It doesn’t look too deep,” you conclude, folding up some clean napkins and pressing them to the wound. “But we should clean it--”

“It can wait.”

“But it could still get infected, what if--”

“It can wait,” he interrupts again, insisting with gentle obstinance. The next words are low in his chest. “I can’t.”

You don’t get back to the house until late, August constellations suspended thickly overhead. It’s like you’re kids again and the barn cat is your mother, watching disapprovingly from her perch on the porch railing as you sneak in after curfew, wine-tipsy and elated. Your husband crowds in the door after you, handsy even after you’ve done nothing but touch each other all evening. You pull him into the kitchen and make him wash his wound thoroughly, your thumbs rubbing into the meat of his palm.

“I hope our daughter has your eyes,” he says. He’s close, his own eyes finding yours in the almost-dark.

“A daughter, huh?”

“A daughter. She’ll be just like you.”

“And what am I like?” you ask, coy, looking up at him through your lashes in the starlight streaming in the window.

Wakatoshi leans forward gently, resting his brow on yours. “You are,” he swallows thickly, eyes fluttering closed, “you are the world.”

Your day ends nothing like it began. Your day ends with utter surety of your place in this house, in this town, in Wakatoshi’s arms. The day ends and you feel completely yourself again, cradled in the gently rolling hills of the life you’ve chosen.

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #fluff #reader insert #haikyuu!! reader insert #valkyrie writes #tw babymaking #tw fluff

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xxnaiad-s · 2 years ago

Text

wc: 7.8k words

cw: milf! reader; reader is described as a plus sized black woman; masturbation (m); public masturbation (m); no penetrative sex; fantasizing — throat fucking; one (1) mention of a daddy kink; one sided sexual tension; wakatoshi is a simp; he’s down bad; let me know if i’m forgetting anything!

notes from author: so, i’d wound myself up for an entire month working on this and i still had so much i wanted to write for it despite it already being nearly 8,000 words long…! i’ll certainly try my best to make a second part for this, one i’ll want to write from our reader’s experience too! this, truthfully, wasn’t the first idea for my milf reader idea, but i think it’s so much better, and i’m happy with the plot i settled with! i hope that, at least even a little bit, it’ll be satisfying for you to read, too!

it’s amidst a blistering summer’s day when you move into the house next to his.

there’s blood pumping beneath ushijima wakatoshi’s skin and boiling beneath each heavy breath that wafts from his swollen lips. his feet pound against the paved roads as he jogs at a steady pace, and he feels his fibers tinge with a static as they blaze beneath the sweltering noon’s heat, a familiar ache ebbing deep within his muscles and crawling through his veins. the sweat clinging to his brow burns like a toxin that pours out through every cell, his heart beating with the drums that pound through his airpods and teach him a dance he’d learned many times before. iwaizumi had told him once that running could be as addictive as any drug, and here, beneath clear blue skies and through heavy draws of air, wakatoshi considers that maybe he was right.

he takes a deep breath as he mounds the slight hill that leads to his house, and abruptly, his pace halts, chest heaving still as his eyes take to the moving truck parked out in front of the house next to his; a house that had, for a while, remained empty, certainly gathering dust and stale air after the elderly couple had moved away nearly a month long past. it had been easy for him to forget all about the vacant space, what with him dedicating his days to training and months of traveling for practice and tournaments, and it seems that, within that time, someone’s finally purchased it and were moving in today.

he’d been gone long enough for the hard working men to have finished their work, wakatoshi muses, as he watches them pack away their trollies and begin making to either door of their truck. though, as he stands there, he feels puzzled, confused and seeking reason to something he can’t find. there’s nothing spectacular about seeing these two men readying to go about their day, nothing that should keep wakatoshi’s feet planted and his laboured breaths stilling beneath the wind, yet he finds himself waiting, lulled into a curiosity that he can’t explain as he watches the break lights glow red and listens to the engine roaring to life.

and then, he sees you.

you, who wears a gorgeous sundress, deep purple fabric woven like a tapestry of flowers that blossom over a body of voluptuous curves. he finds himself enraptured by your brown skin that shines beneath the scorching sun like smoky quartz, by the sweat that lines your brow as he likens the glistening sight of it to beautiful jewels that shine around your smile and set you alight with the luster of ten thousand diamonds. the strands of your black hair, they sheen on the painting of the midnight sky; dark and elegantly falling around your round face and pouring like a river of obsidian and black tourmaline across your busty chest.

“thank you so much once again,” your voice comes through with fluency in his mother tongue, the japanese you speak perhaps a little regional… osaka, he considers, or kyoto? your voice sings on the breathlessness of intense labour, and wakatoshi deludes himself into thinking that the exhaustion on your sultry voice mirrors the intensely beating heart that stirs in his chest with a restlessness that he doesn’t attribute to his run. “seriously, you two… i can’t tell you how much i appreciate coming all this way!”

the older men you speak to are friendly in their departure, cheering with bright smiles that resemble yours in their warmth and openness as they drive down the deep slope, passing him by the side and far from his mind as he loses his focus on you. suddenly, the fog that clouds his mind doesn’t come from a sweltering summer’s day, but instead from the picture of you, hot and bothered and eyes squeezed shut as you try to wave cool air over your wet skin. the daze that locks around his tongue is the one of your sheen-covered lips as they part and let pass the heavy breaths that sit on your chest, of the rise and fall of your large breasts and the bit of tummy that he can see atop your curves. that daze that consumes wakatoshi, he tells it to lust — a venom that crawls through his bloodstream and tinges his tongue with desire unchecked, so that he becomes consumed by you and the deceptively innocent visage that burns itself into his skin. and suddenly, wakatoshi feels too damn hot, his heart beats so hard he fears it’ll leap right from his throat, and his pants are too damn tight.

oh. fuck… how embarrassing could it be to get a hard on in front of your new neighbour? he didn’t think he’d ever have to ponder such a specific scenario, and he certainly isn’t happy to have a taste of it first hand. even worse, what is he supposed to do when the very same neighbour turns her eyes to him and catches him staring like some demented creep? wakatoshi’s face burns with a heat that far precedes the blazing sun and he wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole as his mouth starts to taste of sand and parchment paper. really, he shames himself, how appallingly embarrassing!

just like a guilty child, he averts his eyes as his blood boils across his neck. his feet act on their own, guided by the desire to disappear as quickly as he can with hurried steps and trembling hands that are more than eager to open his front door and seal him behind their sanctuary, and he feels even more guilt for awkwardly avoiding the kind yet confused smile you’d sent his way as you watched the large man scurry up his front steps. the protruding bulge that pokes out from his trousers is so painfully obvious, almost aching behind its confines as he prays that you hadn’t had enough time to notice it. and even then, behind his barrier of safety, he’s left with a problem — a very big one that powders his nose red and takes his breath on laboured climbs.

huffing, wakatoshi trudges to the kitchen, desperately searching his refrigerator for the coldest bottle of water he can find and starts chugging right away. arctic drops spill between his lips and down his throat, though the chill does nothing to dissipate the heat coursing beneath his skin and inside his pants. he doesn’t intend to slam the now half empty bottle down on his counter the way he does, but he loses control and water spills over, and his olive eyes only glare at the puddle that drips over on his marbled floor with something of disdain and increasing frustration.

for all that was holy, he can’t stop thinking of you. even now, with cold water sticking to his skin and poured over his bare feet, wakatoshi cannot get this image of you out of his mind and is rendered powerless to the aching boner that refuses to go away. within just one moment, you’ve seeped into his mind like a parasite that morphs and festers on sin and fornication, plaguing him with your large breasts and plump thighs that sheened with sweat and poured out from beneath your sundress. it’s a hard battle he faces with himself, feeling morally disgusted by the thoughts he finds himself with, and all about a stranger, no less. there’s no way he could be acting so depraved, right? is he a man so starved that the mere sight of an admittedly attractive woman could send him reeling like a damn teenage boy?

once more, wakatoshi heaves a heavy sigh, slouching for a moment with hands clenching the edge of his black stone counter before he rises to his full height. it’ll do him good to at least clean up this spill, and perhaps, he thinks, he aught to keep himself busy — surely then, he’ll forget all about you, and this glaring problem beneath his trousers will forget you too.

thankfully, it’s easier than he’d had hoped to fill the hours of his day. after taking care of his spill, wakatoshi takes to his home gym and continues working out till the late evening, when he showers and prepares himself to settle in with a cup of white wine and a book that he’d bought himself a while back, though only just recently had the time to begin. it’s only so rare for him to be able to enjoy slow days like this between training and volleyball tournaments, and he finds himself at peace with this lull in his schedule. finally, he feels relaxed and at ease, and his stressful situation from the afternoon earlier is far from his mind, until there’s a knock at his front door, and his heart lurches in his chest.

apprehensive, he turns his jade coloured eyes to the smoky glass panels by his entrance, and he feels his tongue turn heavy when he sees you waiting. for a moment, he hopes that you’ll give up if he doesn’t answer, though he immediately feels a bit guilty for thinking that. you’re only wanting to greet your new neighbour and make a good first impression, he considers, and it certainly isn’t any fault of yours the situation he’d found himself in earlier that day. you’re entirely blameless, and it’s really him who apparently needs to mature and grow a bit more than he’d thought. taking a long sip from his glass of chardonnay, wakatoshi builds himself on liquid courage and meets you by his doorway — though there’s no amount of wine that could’ve possibly prepared him for the sight that greets him once he opens the door.

you’re here, but you hadn’t come alone. hiding behind each leg are a young boy and girl who look about the same age and share striking resemblance to your own soft features. heads topped by black, wavy curls, with her tied in pigtails and his cut to his shoulders, there’s curiosity in their dark brown eyes as they appraise him, and he feels almost as if they’re judging him with something that he can’t identify. and you, you smile sweetly at him, your lips painted with a clear gloss that shines golden beneath the lights of his entryway’s chandelier.

“i’m sorry for disturbing you so late in the night, mister,” you offer your apology, and wakatoshi can hear more clearly the distinction in your accent that he’d only briefly heard before. now, as he listens attentively, unconsciously taking in the sultriness of your voice as your words flow from your two-toned lips, he’s certain that it really is a kansai dialect. “i’d just wanted to introduce ourselves since we’d just moved into the neighbourhood.” you lift your hands, that he now notices are not empty, to present a beautifully packaged basket with a little pink bow tying it closed. “and we also brought you these as a gift — a thank you gift, kind of! for having us here with you!”

wakatoshi accepts the gift basket from your hands, trying his best not to focus on the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and beam brightly up at him. standing so close, he’s able to notice new things about you that he wishes he didn’t feel so curious about; like the way you style yourself elegantly, your straight black hair parted to the side, curling the smaller hairs surrounding your forehead so that they lay neatly and perfectly brushed to frame your round face, or the fact that you stand several inches shorter than him, perhaps only barely reaching his chest. he wishes he doesn’t take in the clothes you wear and how they fit your beautiful figure, how your white cardigan hangs elegantly over a beige tank top and khaki coloured pants that accentuate your mature body. he tries, not to notice these many things about you, and so hopelessly fails, as he clears his throat and tries to offer you a polite smile that he hopes doesn’t come off as a grimace.

“thank you for being so thoughtful,” he says, and your smile widens, your eyes creasing around your expression as you respectfully bow.

“it’s my pleasure! i really should be thanking you for welcoming us this late!” theres a timidness to your grin as you lift yourself to full standing once more and you bashfully laugh. “it took us a little longer than we thought to prepare all our gift baskets — oh, right!” your eyes widen on a realization, “my name’s (l/n) (f/n), and these two here,” gesturing to the two children behind you, you bend down a bit to rest a hand on either of their backs. “this here is asahi, and this is makoto.”

the two young children, with your encouragement, bow their heads in greeting to him, with the boy — asahi — quickly returning to hide behind your leg, while makoto continues to stare at him, now with her curiosity unbridled and what looks like an eagerness that roars beneath her brown eyes.

he looks back up at you and offers a bow of his own, ducking his head with the basket clutched to his chest. “my name’s ushijima wakatoshi,” he says his name, and immediately, he hears two simultaneous gasps from the children by your feet. though, at least in this moment, he decides not to ponder too much on the expression. “thank you for introducing yourselves and for bringing a gift.”

you wave your hand in a ‘shoo shoo’ motion and shake your head. “no need for thanks, ushijima-san,” you hum, “really, it’s nothing much, but i hope you’ll be able to find good use for them— ”

“are you a volleyball player?”

suddenly, the little girl, makoto, blurts out a question that causes your eyes to widen and catches him off guard as you both turn your attention to her. she continues to stare up at him, as if awaiting his answer despite you reaching for her hand to gently pull her back. “makoto!” you exhale, a bit surprised, it seemed, as if you hadn’t expected her to ask something like that. though wakatoshi, he doesn’t take any issue at all with her question, and he simply nods his head, once more offering the most polite of smiles he can muster.

“that’s right. i play volleyball.”

you seem to recognize something within the awe-filled gazes of the two children that he doesn’t, because before either of them can get a word out, you’re hurriedly reaching for their hands and making your way down the stairs. “thanks so much again, mr. ushijima!” you call back to him with one free hand, leaving the man standing stunned inside his doorway as you walk away from him. “let’s get along well from now on!” when you think you’re far enough, he thinks he hears your voice taking to astonishment as the little girl whines a complaint — “but mom, we saw him on tv! it’s really him!” and your response heavily pouring with your dialect as you lightly scold her for blurting out so suddenly.

he’s left here, basket in his hand as he hears several gears creaking to their abrupt stops and clanking as they fall apart in his mind. mom? she’d said mom, hadn’t she? with ghostly steps that are far too quiet for a man of his stature, wakatoshi shuffles to his expansive living room where he sets your gift atop his clear glass coffee table, right next to his glass of wine and his book, and collapses into the black suede sofa behind him. you’re a mother? the guilt that consumes him tastes bitter and threatens to crawl up his throat. he sits, hands folded above his lips as his elbows dig into his thighs, and he stays this way for one minute, then two, constantly replaying the sound of your daughter calling you mom. your daughter, your daughter and son, you have a daughter and a son who both call you mom—

wearily, wakatoshi’s eyes glaze over your cutely packaged gift and straight to the glass of wine that sits like a pretty temptation, and cruelly, he thinks of how you are just the same. a beautiful and painfully enticing temptation that will surely render him helpless if he gets any more involved with you. he groans, hissing under his breath as he reaches for the glass and stands up. it’ll serve him better to retire for the night, he concedes, a hand nursing the growing migraine that sits on either side of his head. he’ll finish his glass and read his book peacefully in bed, and for the second time this day, wakatoshi will forget all about you.

except, he doesn’t.

amidst his waking dreams and long night, forgetting you is impossible. how can he, when you come to him here in his bed, the straps of your purple dress falling from your brown shoulders and your breasts pouring out from the thin material? how is wakatoshi supposed to forget you when in his dreams, you tease him with the likeness of a vixen, when you lift the edges of your skirt to show him just how plump and fleshy your thighs and ass are, whispering “do you wish to touch me, mr. ushijima?” in that sultry, silk-like voice of yours. he dreams of the way your eyes would roll back into your skull if he brushes his fingers over that sweet spot between your legs, if his tongue traces lines over your panties until your knees buck and you fall right on top of him. in his dreams, he wants you so much that it’s an ache he needs to fill, until he’s unconsciously fucking his mattress and squeezing his pillows with a vice. his breathing is laboured and tasting of honey as he begs you yes, yes, please, i need you… need you so bad, please i need to touch you—

his climax rocks his body like an earthquake and tears him away from sleep with a jolt, his chest heaving as sweat clings to his skin and his eyes, disoriented, search his dark room for your image before they fall to the soiled mess leaking through his boxers and between his thighs. his damn cock is twitching, still painfully sensitive, and wakatoshi stutters through a gasp as his hips buck uncontrollably, as if chasing some phantom feeling, cum still continuing to spurt from the angry red tip. he reels from pure shock and a bit of morbid amazement as he reflects on his dream, and as he recalls those dirty visuals his mind managed to conjure, he lets out a loud, frustrated cry and falls flat against his mattress. really, is this the man he is? a perverted fool who has inappropriate thoughts and dreams about another man’s wife?

he curses himself, and curses his mind too, as he begrudgingly swings his legs over the edge of his california king and. sleep evades him now, he certainly fears reliving that dream that felt far too realistic, your touches, the taste of you — all far too real that it leaves him shaken. one hand lifts to brush his sweat-matted hair away from his forehead as his eyes disdainfully behold the mess he’s left all over his dark sheets, where his semen sits in a large puddle while there are still drops running down his thighs, and he unwillingly thinks about you once more. those sounds that your voice made in his dream, all those dirty songs and cries of his name that you’d uttered, the way your skin felt so supple and soft beneath his hands as he felt you up and spread your legs apart—

a surprised moan causes wakatoshi to slap a hand around his mouth as his cock twitches in his soiled boxers, still very hard and leaking through the now cold material. no, he decides, he really won’t be able to fall asleep again — not like this, at least. but wakatoshi has practice in the morning, and within all his years of playing volleyball, he’d never gone a night without proper sleep. for the umpteenth time, he groans helplessly, flopping back down on the edge of his bed. he glares at his boner, wishing it would just peacefully deflate and that, really this time, he could forget you and just go back to bed; and again, once again, he sighs, and submits himself to a decision he’s certain that he’ll immediately curse himself for as he pulls out his cock and wraps his fist around it.

he hates himself for it, but it’s so easy for him to build a perfect fantasy of you. one where you’re sitting prettily on your knees and batting those doe-brown eyes up at him through your lashes. his hand squeezes softly around his erection and at first, he moves slowly, choking back each heavy breath of air that threatens to burst through tightly pursed lips. but god, he thinks of the way you’d tease him, slowly tracing your mouth over the tip and leaving a trail of saliva and strawberry flavoured lip-gloss while your manicured nails would trace tantalizingly lines down his thighs. his hips buck impatiently into his own fist and his chest heaves with soft grunts that become more uninhibited as he imagines you finally slipping him into your warm mouth and his very spirit crumbles on the lust that consumes him.

“does that feel good, mr. ushijima?” you’d beseech him, so eager to please as you’d trace your tongue across his leaking slit, collecting the drops of precum that poured out and smear it around your lips. and he’d be just as breathless as he feels in his fantasy, trying and failing to conceal each gasp that evades him as he nods, “yes.. yes, your mouth feels so fucking good.” he’d force you to swallow him whole, pushing your head down to the base until you’d choke and your eyes would water as he’d throw his head back — without his will, his hand moves faster around his cock and fills his dark bedroom with filthy, sloppy noises. “take every inch, don’t you fucking dare spit it out. that’s it, shit…just like that. swallow it all the way down.”

he thinks of how fleshy and warm the back of your throat would feel as you’d gag around him and dig your nails into his thigh, struggling to take even a single breath through your nostrils as he’d mercilessly fuck your face. he’d drag you off him suddenly and slap his cock against those messy lips, and he’d get to admire the way you’d fall apart as your mouth lolls open as if begging him to put it back in. “ohh, such a greedy little slut, aren’t you?” he’d taunt, and a particularly loud, wanton moan rises from his chest as he imagines the way you’d use your hands all while staring up at him. you’d be the very picture of salaciousnes as your hands wrap around his smeared length, teasing the underside of him with your tongue and groaning through your own arousal. he imagines how he’d wrap his hand around your throat as he’d tower over you; he’d have your face pressed right up to his stomach while he’d reach down and grab a handful of your breasts, reeling at how soft and squishy they’d feel pouring between his already large hands before he’d twist your nipples, and you’d whine like a helpless nymph from how sensitive your body would become. “go on, then.” he’d hum, and he wouldn’t give you even a second to prepare before he’d have you choking around his length, groaning as spit would bubble around his erection and pour from your nostrils. “use those pretty little lips of yours. mhm, let daddy feel your tongue on his dick while he fucks your throat.”

and its as he pictures the way your eyes would roll into the back of your head, cheeks puffed and stuffed full as you whine around him that, for the second time that night, wakatoshi cums into his fist. pleasure sears through his teeth and down his spine as spurts of semen explode from his slit and he forgets himself on the suddenness of his orgasm. “shit… ahh— aahhhh, shit!” the spots in his vision and the heat that consumes him from his bone and to his skin, it all coalescences on a pleasure he’d never once felt in his thirty-three years of living. his entire body trembles and his cock twitches against his abs, cum splashing against his sweat-sheened skin and dripping over his skin like hot, molten lava. the afterglow of pleasure is forsaken for the adrenaline that courses through his blood and turns the taste of his tongue to metals untold.

through his bliss, wakatoshi reaches clarity, and is overwhelmed by an intense wave of disgust and repulsion as he glares at his cock so feebly slapping against his stomach; it’s still hard, the damn thing, and every cell in his body craves ravenously for more, more, more…but he refuses. absolutely refuses to repeat what he’d just done. for christ’s sake, you are a mother — a wife to someone who you return to each night, who gets to hold you and touch you, to whom you may give your heart and gentle affections to. tonight had been a mistake, he tells himself; an irrational lapse in judgement, and come morning — he means it this time, really! truthfully! — he’ll forget all about this sin, and forget about you. you’ll be nothing more than a new neighbour who moved in with your family, and your interactions will be few and far between, enough that he’ll be forgiven for the immorality that he’d let himself fall to.

but the devil, oh, the devil, bless his soul, he has his tricks, and he loves to play.

wakatoshi hasn’t at all forgotten about the previous night, but he pretends that he has. on the cusp of dawn, when the rising sun sinks her warm fingers through his tousled hair, he focuses on his beating heart and his laboured breath as he jogs through the park and back through his gated community. he pretends that he didn’t jerk off to his new neighbour and envision her doing the dirtiest things to him, and he almost succeeds.

almost.

he nearly swears when he walks out of his front door the next morning and bumps into you at the earliest hours of dawn. there you are, where you shouldn’t be — not this early in the morning before the sun had risen, when he’d made sure to leave early enough that he would’ve avoided this situation exactly. it’s summer, isn’t it? why, wakatoshi wonders, had you woken up so early? could he really be do unlucky? he sees you and your two children, and he’s now certain that they must be twins, and you’re too busy fixing their backpacks on their backs and fussing over their hair and faces to even notice him awkwardly frozen by his doorstep.

“you both have everything you need, right?” your voice reaches him on tones of faint worry and anxiousness as you lean down over your children, unwittingly showing off your rack for him to see between the button up blouse you wear. even from where he stands, it’s such a clear picture that he feels his head spin as his eyes remain glued there. “you’ve got your toothbrushes and toothpaste? lotion? shampoo and conditioner?”

your son, asahi, tries to escape your busy hands, though it doesn’t dissuade you very much it seems. “mama, we already have everything!” he grumbles with a slight pout, “we’ll be alright.”

a quiet sigh falls from your lips as, finally, you relent, kneeling down to hug your two children. “i know you will be, asahi,” you whisper softly before pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. “promise me you’ll both be good and have lots of fun, alright? can you send me a text when you get there safely?” both the twins nod their head yes before placing a kiss on either of your cheeks, and wakatoshi finds the sight endearing as he sees your smile brighten on tenderness and motherly affection. a part of him feels as if he’s intruding on what should be a family’s private and treasured moment, something precious that should only be seen by your husband and not the creepy neighbour next door. his stomach turns in on itself and, like a demon he can’t escape, guilt and shame crawl over his neck.

“bye mama!” makoto is the first one to hop on to her bike, waving her hand excitedly and full of energy despite the early morning, while her twin follows in a far less eager manner as he waves at you too. “i love you!”

“i love you mama..!”

“i love you both, you two!” now standing at full height, you wave both your hands as both asahi and makoto start to pedal away. “make sure to have lots of fun!”

before long, both your children have gone down the hill and you’re left alone with a wistful smile, and wakatoshi finds himself desperate to go before you have the chance to notice him standing. his normally sure feet fail him on a moment as he stumbles in his hurriedness, and in his attempt to steady himself, his hands fall slack and drop the very large, very metal he’d bottle been carrying with a loud clang! that causes your head to whip around. he meets your gaze, shame bubbling in his gut and he wishes that lightning would just fall from the sky and take him from his misery. what happened to avoiding you as best as he could? he wonders, what happened to leaving at the crack of dawn and being on his way before he’d need to lay eyes on you again so soon after last night?

wakatoshi is so embarrassed that he could die.

“ah! good morning, mr. ushijima.” you, oblivious to his plight, greet him politely, bowing your head. he notices the way you absentmindedly pull your cardigan over your sheer night dress, the chill from the morning mist having caused you to shiver a little. your nipples have turned hard and poke through the thin white material, and are very, very visible without him needing to try and see them. he purses his lips, sighs through his nostrils and averts his gaze, focusing instead on retrieving his traitorous waterbottle and praying that his grey slacks do well to hide the problem that now begins to grow beneath them.

“good morning, mrs. (l/n.)”

he tries to focus on his feet as he descends down his front steps, ensuring that he doesn’t lose his footing once more rather than looking at you. and yet, he can’t help the awkwardness that he feels as every muscle in his body seems to have tensed up despite him having gone jogging to warm himself up. you remain none the wiser, something he’s thankful for, as he hopes and prays that he can get past you and on his way before you notice his strange demeanour.

“do you normally get up this early?” you ask in a polite attempt at making small talk, to which wakatoshi offers you a slight nod as he gives you just enough of his attention.

“yes,” and, admittedly, he’s also curious, and he returns a question against his better judgement. “do you?”

laughter bubbles up from your lips as you shake your head. “goodness, no!” you chime playfully, lifting your watch to see the hour; 5:39. “it’s too early for me, but asahi and makoto are about to start summer camp for their club — i’d only been seeing them off today.”

he offers an understanding nod, similarly recalling the days of his youth where he’d also attended summer camps during elementary through high school. right now, he considers would be a perfect time to end this conversation and see himself away now that he’s heard what he wanted from you, but something in him urges him to stay, to talk to you more and spend some time with you. he knows he’s not the best at small talk, is all too aware that his social skills are terrible, at their worst, incredibly abysmal, but he wants to try — against his better moment, and he’s reminding himself all the while that you’re a mother and a married woman, but despite that, he wants to talk more with you. perhaps, and it’s a delusion that he forces himself to believe, he’d want to be friendly with you. it’ll certainly be easier than perpetually avoiding you when you’d done nothing wrong to him, after all.

“are you—” fuck, his voice sounds scratchy as he clears his throat, blush creeping over his cheeks. “are you um… headed back to bed then?”

as you ponder his question, he gets to take in your morning appearance. your hair’s been brushed and tied back with a little white bow, and your lips look air brushed and as soft as rose petals. hugging your sides beneath your cardigan, you shiver, and wakatoshi notices the way you slightly lean back and forth on your heels. “i guess it’d be a waste to try and sleep again now,” you hum with your gaze turned towards the horizon, where the sun begins to peak over the far off mountain on soft blue touched by golden hues. “i’ll need to be ready for work in a few hours.” you turn your gaze to him with a cheekish grin, and his heart skips a beat. “why not start my morning now, right?”

oh. oh, this is bad. for the second time, waktoshi tries to clear his throat with a hand covering his mouth and averts his eyes from your beaming face. “i’ll let you get to it then,” he says, his voice sounding so small and timid to him that he feels his mind reeling and his tongue turning heavy. “enjoy the rest of your morning, ms. (l/n).”

“thank you, ushijima-san! you do the same, okay?” for a second, he lets his eyes find yours, and they dazzle him within just that moment that he has to look away. he leaves as you re-enter your home, and it’s the only thing he can do to squeeze the straps of his bag to rid himself of the jittery feeling racking through his spine. his heart beats too loudly and he feels dazed, as if he walks on clouds and forgets how to even breathe.

he doesn’t— no, he can’t be; his feet break from the slow pace as he breaks into a jog, each muscle within him burning cold and begging for release from the thoughts in his mind. there’s no way… he doesn’t like you, does he? why else would he have dreamt of you the way he had? why else would he feel so nervous and timid when you stand face to face? the morning dew tastes like liquid mercury and sets through his veins on a violent rush as he runs, as far away from you as he can get, hoping to immediately expel you from his thoughts, to escape this hold that you seem to have locked around him.

he laughs at himself, helpless and bewildered; is he really nothing more than a foolish boy? at thirty-something years old, ushijima wakatoshi is developing a crush on his married neighbour — even the mere notion to him is so adamantly ridiculous that he could throw himself off a bridge. he feels embarrassed, utterly and completely mortified, and it’s for his sake that he tries to push the notion far, far away, so that, at least for the day, he wouldn’t have to think about it. he suppresses these budding epiphanies in the face of his teammates, who tease him for being seven minutes later than he usually is and tries to ignore the fact that it’s all because he’d stayed and talked with you. he tries to forget about you through the drills and practice rounds, lets the heavy beating of his heart turn its turmoil into adrenaline and sweat that seeps through his thin shirt. wakatoshi falls into routine and this time, certainly, this time, he’s moved on. the feelings that soaked through his core on the early morning’s dawn have disappeared and melted away on summer’s blistering heat, and he thinks that finally, he can let go of that ghost that’s haunted him from the night until morn.

but noon, as it always does, succeeds the dawn, and there you are.

the burn in his muscles turns to a seething fire that he fears will consume him right where he stands, amidst the people around him going about their days while he remains glued in place. his heart, oh the poor thing, it beats on the fallings of a thousand horses and threatens to rip right from between his rips and spill itself out on the pavement. wakatoshi wants to run, he wants to take flight and escape into the burning sun, but his feet fail him on the jolts that run through his aching muscles when your eyes, oh, he imagines he sees the world in them, find his amidst the sea that threatens to swallow him whole.

“ah? mr. ushjimima!” your voice calls out to him a surprise he thinks he feels on tenfold as you approach the man. god, how many hours has it been, even? he’d only just seen you this morning, isn’t it too soon for him to be put through this never-ending crisis? he doesn’t feel as if he’s ready, as if he can look you in the eyes while trying to force away the memories of last night, or the turbulent mess that dances and ties red knots around his throbbing heart. “i didn’t expect to see you here too.”

neither did i, he thinks helplessly, though he offers a single words that sounds choked up in his throat, “practice.”

“oh!” you chime, your eyes gazing behind him to where the large sports gym stays only so many paces behind — if he really wants, wakatoshi could easily pretend that he has to return if only to escape from you, but he doesn’t — for some incomprehensible reason, his tongue betrays him with the phantom taste of you.

“well,” you smile, and laughter spills from your lips as you tuck your hair behind your ear and meet his eyes from behind your lashes. “i didn’t think i’d see you again so soon — and at my place of work, no less.”

i didn’t think i would, either, wakatoshi thinks to himself, and then your words rewind in his mind and everything halts. your place of work? the question spills from his lips before he can even think to stop it. “you work here?”

you nod with a hum, gesturing with your palm to the academic buildings that span the expansive lot. “i teach vocal composition and contemporary piano courses here.”

“ah.” of course. wakatoshi is bewildered; how unlucky could he be? for the married woman he fantasized about to be working at the very same university that his team frequents for volleyball practice? he takes a moment to curse the heavens and the cruel gods within them because certainly, they must find humour in his agony.

like lasers, wakatoshi’s eyes become too hyperfocused on you all at once. there’s sweat gleaming down your neck and dipping between your breasts and trailing wet marks down your v-line as you, absentmindedly, fan at yourself. he takes in the way your eyes scrunch together and your lips part with a heavy breath, a sigh that, to his ears, sounds lewd and filthy, and on that single breath, his world runs like a viscous furnace. he’s like a moth drawn to each and every detail about you that swells on the summer’s heat and as he stands here, everything consumes him — the slight pout of your full, puffy lips, the display of your breasts that look so big that they could pop out of your low button up dress at any second, those big, doe-like eyes of yours that are so close to rolling back beneath the agonizing heat — every bit of you accords into a vision of immeasurable pleasure and lust, and then you look at him, head tilted back and panting ever so slightly, and it’s enough and too much all at the same time.

“it’s awfully hot today, isn’t it, mr. ushijima?”

wakatoshi thinks he’ll lose his mind.

something breaks like a faucet and pours scalding water all over himself as he feels his grey sweats becoming too tight, too confining, just like the situation he finds himself in and he decides that now would be the perfect time to leave. “i have to head back.” he nearly stutters over his abrupt sentence, and he sees the slightly startled look that comes over your sun kissed face. again, he feels guilty for fooling you, for lying straight to those innocently pure eyes that are none the wiser of the effects you have on him. in a pathetic attempt that he doubts you’ll even believe, he tries to dissuade you with a simple, yet suffocated, “practice is gonna start soon.”

“oh, of course!” his lie seems to work, and wakatoshi hopes that the relief that locks inside his throat isn’t too obvious as you turn your feet to the opposite direction. “i didn’t mean to hold you up, i’m so sorry!”

“no, it’s alright.” it’s not, but what is he supposed to say? “i’m sure you’ll need to prepare for your next class soon.”

you giggle, hiding your smile behind your hand, and your eyes crinkle at the corners. “you’re right. it was a very nice surprise to see you again, mr. ushijima!”

as he makes his pathetic escape, wakatoshi prays that you don’t find him weird after this, but perhaps if you’d have any inclination of what he’d done, what he’s about to do, would you look at him in disgust? of course you would — he asks himself, how could you not? his feet can’t take him to the secluded gym fast enough as he forsakes everything about himself, purely fueled now by this burning desire that’s carnal in its awakening. the bathroom door locks and the bolt slams with a loud click, the ac languidly blowing through this confined area not nearly enough to quell the fire blazing across his skin. it’s immoral and utterly deprived what he considers doing, and the shame he feels is bound to be an eternal scar. yet in this moment, with his cock so painfully hard and pressing uncomfortably against his thigh, leaking so much precum that it stains through the thick material of his shorts, wakatoshi doesn’t care — not for the ungodliness of the act he’ll commit, nor for the consequences that could follow him. not now, at least. as he releases his throbbing member from its binds and wraps his fists around it, it’s the farthest thing from his mind as he thinks about you. again, it’s you.

the wind in his lungs is knocked out from his mouth as he rapidly pumps his dick. in an instant, the empty bathroom is filled with the squelching noises that bounce and echo off the tiled walls, only contested by his laboured breaths and groans. his knees threaten to lose their ground, and he desperately clutches the cold edge of the sink, the chill consuming his palm almost jarring to the aggressive heat that pours all through him. the image of you with your head tilted towards the sky, of your lips hanging open on salacious cries of his name as he envisions you on top of him, it all drives him to the brink of insanity.

wakatoshi thinks of your body in that tight button up dress blue dress. he thinks of how elegant and put together you looked, the picture perfect woman, and how he wants to tear apart only the top pins open and let your breasts fall out so that he could take them between his lips. how would you sound, he wondered, if he rolled your nipples between his teeth, sucked on them with his tongue until they’d turn hard and perky? would you cry out his name just like you always do? would that sweet voice of yours sing out on torrential pleasure as you’d call out to him, your thighs squeezing around his waist while your hips buck and wriggle over his cock? that innocent façade you wear, how quickly could he make you abandon all reason for desire, until you begged him with your words of honey for him to destroy you?

his fantasy falls apart and rips through him like a comet as cum explodes from his throbbing member and spills through his fingers, ever so narrowly missing his pants and spurting out on the tiled floors. it’s non-stop, this horrible, horrible mess that keeps on growing, his body jolting and knees feeling weak and he struggles to hold himself up because he can’t stop coming, so consumed in his fantasy that the moans he fought so hard to contain now ring freely inside the empty bathroom as his hand continues to milk every drop that jolts out of him. you’re the only thing in his mind, consuming him with hellfire as pleasure winds him up and tears him apart over and over again, and he knows he needs to stop, he’s being too loud, too careless, he could get caught, but god, does this taboo feel so good that he loses control. his depraved mind wonders on you catching him, cumming all over his hands like a depraved beast, all because of you?

there’s a daze that overcomes wakatoshi, heat fading to a warmth that fights for some kind of structure to hold on to as he, breathlessly, leans over the sink. his eyes look down between his legs, the length of his cock still twitching in his palm and cum smeared around it and webbing along his fingers. it doesn’t yet come to him, the reality of what he’s done, and its awakening is slow and steady, until it crashes all around him with the last wisps of adrenaline trickling out of his system. for a long time, he stares at his hands, at the mess smeared in his palm and all over his pants, and he meets his stare in his reflection. he stares, but doesn’t comprehend as a minute becomes two, and then five, and when it’s been far beyond ten, his body flushes over with red-hot embarrassment as he clenches his teeth and drops his head.

wakatoshi, filled with shame, wishes he could throw himself into the sun.

235 notes · View notes

cherxyx · 11 days ago

Text

Window: Mafia AU Series

4. Potato Soup

Warnings: crying, screaming, reader tries fighting back, starvation (not to harm oneself but to get something out of the others), reader gets fed food by one of the MCs, a chapter about what Y/N is going through before it gets good. Author Note: Please note that this is based on the mafia. A genre that is inherently romantic, but we should still look at real factors. As this is a love story but I am still adding real elements to this story. The reader is a curly-haired head. Please recognize that not everyone in this station would be able to think properly. Trust you probably wouldn't know what to do if the mafia kidnaped you, as I wouldn't know either. You were warned. Song: Pretty Little Devil by Shaya Zamora Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

It starts with a water droplet.

A soft and slow drip...drip...drip.

You’re aware of it before you’re aware of your body. Your eyes snap open. Facing a light too bright, so it took you a minute to get accustomed to it. Your head throbs with a dull, pulsing ache, and your mouth tastes dry. You try to move, but your limbs respond slowly, as if your body were a second behind you.

You take a slow, shaky breath.

Lying there for a couple of minutes to calm yourself down and regulate your body. Since you weren't ready to sit up, you gathered the strength to move your hands and scan your surroundings for anything. From what you could see, you were in a room with silky sheets. There were only a few pictures and perhaps a desk, and it wasn't particularly embellished.

You sat up slowly and painfully, taking another breath. You noticed two doors in front of you as you inspected the space—"possibly a bathroom and a closet". No one was in the room with you, and it was eerily quiet. Could hear anything from outside. It was just you and this blank room. When you tried moving your legs, you looked down to see that your left leg had been chained to the bedpost. Moving it around a bit to see if there was a way you could break it or remove it.

"Fuck. Ok, Y/N, think."

The last thing you remember is… what? A voice? A hand? The sharp pain of the glass? It’s all foggy now; memories from last night were just now memories too small to piece together. You didn't have much time to think before you heard a noise from outside the door. Then you heard heels clacking against the floor before they stopped. You moved across the bed as much as you could to see the shadow of someone's feet outside the door.

Then the door opened, and a maid walked in. She had the classical white and black dress on with loafers. She looked at you for a quick second before pulling in a cart that had food on it. "Hello. My name is Y/N. I-I'm sorry, but where am I?". She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t glance in your direction. Just walks across the room and sets the tray on a small table, within your reach.

"H-Hello ma'am. I know you hear me. Please, I need some help or at least some type of information." She doesn't say anything. instead of opening your trays and tidying up the room. Well, what she could tidy at least. "Listen, do you speak another language?" You said, trying to move your body the best you could to get her attention. You don't miss the side-eye she gives you. "Omg, you can't even speak. I'm asking for something." You said, getting louder this time.

As you watched her move around. You started thinking of the events. The people, the shooting, and him coming to your apartment.

Perhaps it was the ache in your brain, the chain around your leg, the events of the previous night, the faint echo of Jack's words, or the exhaustion of the previous week. However, you were becoming irritated.

*BANG*

*CLINK*

You had thrown the food and the trays across the room. You watched as the food went flying and the trays made a loud clink-clank noise as they died out before becoming still. You let a out a breath before making contact with the maid.

She pauses. She speeds up and walks back to the door. Her hand was on the doorframe. Her back is still to you.

“You’re not even going to look or make a face at me?” you snap. “What the hell is this place? And where the fuck am I?.”

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t speak.

“Say something...anything!” you yell. “Tell me why I’m here. Tell me what you people want.”

Her head tilts, just slightly, like she heard you. But then she steps out. The door shuts behind her with a heavy, final thud.

Silence again.

You sat back in your position with a sigh. When you realized you were stuck, your eyes filled with tears. There was no one around to help you. Your own belief was even more agonizing.

Would anyone even notice that you had left?

*KEY'S RUMBLING*

You slowly blinked your eyes open. You could smell the delicious food as whoever had walked in with it. Once you realized that you had cried yourself to sleep, you sat up. Looking at another maid. Only it felt the same as before.

Same steps. Same cold, stone-face.

You notice that someone came in here to clean. The mess you once made was gone.

She doesn’t look at you as she enters. Doesn’t speak. Just carries in another tray. Carries a plate and a bowl of potato soup. A slice of bread with butter melting into it. The smell hits your nose and makes your stomach jump.

Maybe not eating earlier was a bad decision. But you needed to be strong. If you could get one of them to crack, then it would work.

You stare as she sets it down, again just within reach.

She turns to leave. Silent. Robotic.

“I’m not doing this again. You drop food like I’m some chained-up dog, and I’m just supposed to take it?”

She pauses, hand on the doorknob.

Still no answer.

"Don't have the decency to tell me hi or what's going on. I am the one in chains, not you." You yelled before she could walk out.

Your hand shoots out. With a swift, angry swipe of the tray, you yank it toward you and hurl it across the room.

The plate clatters off the nearest dresser. Food splatters against the dresser and the floor. A smear of potato juice lands on the maid’s dress. A piece of meat rolls to her feet. Finally, she looks at you.

Not startled. Not angry. Just a cold, assessing stare as if she’s looking through you.

“You all want to ignore me?” you shout. “Fine. But you’re not going to treat me like I don’t exist. I’m not some animal you toss scraps to. I want answers."

She brushes a bit of potato off her apron. Then walks over to the mess, picks up the plate, and sets it back on the tray, calmly. She doesn’t clean the floor. Doesn’t reply. Just turns and walks out.

The door shuts.

And you’re left with the sound of your own furious breathing in the silence.

This went on for another day.

It seems like you had been dissociating for years. Considering the homeless man, your mother, school, and job. In fact, you had more time to consider Jack. The one person you don't want to think about.

After cleaning and providing more meals, a second maid had arrived. You let the food sit there and get cold, but you didn't toss it at the wall. You had to defend yourself and at least get someone to tell you something.

You waited and waited before you heard someone else coming. This time it wasn't heels, but a man's footsteps. You felt anxiety flowing through your veins. "Maybe they sent someone to get a little rougher." You thought. As you watched, they stopped in front of the door and made their way in.

You were shocked to see a handsome man walk in. He had a muscular build to him, tall around 6 ft, with dark olive hair and matching eye color. All he did was stare at you, then at the food, then back at you. He let out a sigh that seemed like irritation?

"How is he irritated. I'm the one they kidnapped."

He stalks closer to you. The more he moved, the more you scurried back as far as your chain would let you. He stopped once get got closer to the food.

"Not going to throw it at me, are you?"

Silence.

He tilted his head to the side, waiting for a response.

All you did was shake your head no.

"Good cause, starving yourself. It isn't going to help the situation. Got it?"

You shook your head yes. "Girl, stand the hell up."

"Every bite you take. I'll give you more information."

He sat down on the bed, scooting closer to you and the food. He took the spoon of the same damn potato soup. Scooping up a spoonful and grabbing your jaw so you could open your mouth and eat. "My name is Wakatoshi Ushijima. You're in a guest room as of right now. Till we move back to the safe house." He said, grabbing another spoonful.

Every time he fed you, to made sure you were not going to throw the food. he watched intently to make sure you swallowed. "We both know what you saw that night. And the one who came into your house was Kenma Kozume. Little sneak and tech of the group."

He brought another bite to your mouth, but you moved away. Indicating that you were done.

He dropped the spoon back into the bowl and moved the food to the desk. He got up and began walking to the door. "Wait," you said, moving towards the edge of the bed. He paused and turned to look at you. "H-how many are there of you and what do you guys plan to do with me?".

"Look-"

"When can I get out of this chain. You guys can't keep me in here forever," you said in a quickness. Not letting him finish his sentence.

"We can do what we want to do. I'm not the one who is throwing food all over the place like a child. The maid has strict orders not to talk. Maybe next time you will get more if they weren't so nervous that you were going to throw a pan at them."

You froze at his wording. Frustration building up in your throat.

"I'm not the one who said to kidnap me and force me to be chained to a bed. And I did not throw pans at them. I would be nice if they could talk or at least smile," you yelled at him. Tears pricking your waterline.

"Good night, Y/N. You will see us shortly." He said before leaving and locking the door.

You sat back into a sleeping position and cried when he left. The only question ringing in your head.

"What does he mean by us?".

Hehe the slow build up is killing me

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