Shoot the Ball Pt.2 (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader) Ko-fi request
Hi. Could I get a ushiwaka trying to hopelessly flirt with a clueless OC? I requested Shoot the Ball and I am in love with what you did (and basically everything else you wrote and will write) thanks!!! ❤️❤️❤️
Aaaaa I love your writing!! Would it be possible to get a part two of the Shoot the Ball (Ushijima x Reader) fic?? That story is so fucking adorable and Id love to see more of Ushijima and the readers relationship (maybe throw in a confession or something in there)?
It’s here on AO3 if that makes for easier reading too! More to come!
Shoot the Ball Pt. 2
“Um, senpai, are you alright?”
You laughed, almost a bit haughtily. “Alright? Of course I’m alright, what are you talking about?”
You hardly looked up from your kneeling position on the wooden boards of the humble kyudo hall, bow laid across your lap as you worked on tightening the new string. It wasn’t the best time to readjust to a new one, given your still aching wrist, but you couldn’t have your old one breaking on you with the first round of tournaments coming up.
The hall itself was in impeccable condition, thanks to the hard efforts of yourself and your team. The lot of you spend hours toiling to make sure the grass is cut, the range is kept clean, and the hall itself shines in case you receive curious faculty visits or sponsors otherwise. Shiratorizawa Academy may be a wealthy one, but not all the wealth was concentrated kindly to each part of the school. It was up to you, the captain, and your members to keep the hall shining as though it were just as good—especially because it was —so new visitors would only continue to be impressed.
But instead of shooting rounds like your younger members should be doing, a small huddle of the closer second and first years were shooting you worried glances. You were the only third year still spear-heading the entire campaign since the rest had left for studies or quit beforehand. Your vice-captain was a second year and close confidant and currently running around campus like a fool because you sent her on an errand so you could get more practice in before she chased you out.
“(L/n)-san you’re good at kyudo, so of course you’d stay. We just did it for fun.”
You can be good at it and have fun. You thought tirelessly, remembering watching the third years leave the hall, standing alone in the waning sunlight across wooden floorboards. You’re just giving up.
It wasn’t as though you were born gifted. They can joke you were born with a bow in your hand, but it was pure luck that your mother turned the television on to that channel that day, showcasing the national kyudo archery performance at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. It was luck that you fell in love with that sound and the way the bow bent and the arrow flew.
And it was hard work to follow through with the luck that brought you here.
They all told you you only had one thing on the brain—kyudo, and they also said it’d probably be the end of you. Even your parents had been dropping light hints as of late that perhaps you should finally peel off the sport and bunker down for your studies. “What about college? Kyudo might not get you there, you know.”
“Are you going to do it forever?”
What else were you going to do? Die? Of course you were going to do kyudo forever. If it didn’t get you into college then you just wouldn’t go.
There was nothing you loved more than this sight, this bow, this.
Nothing.
N-o-t-h-i-n-g.
Your juniors shot each other more nervous looks. One brave young first year who you secretly planned to have join the five-team shoot finally took a step forward, hesitantly pointing to your lap.
“Senpai,” she said nervously, “…your string is…”
“Impeccable,” you said simply, holding up your bow like a sword, a sharp glint in your eye. “Now get back to the range. I’m shooting rounds right after you guys before—”
“You put it on… wrong…”
You calmly stared at your junior for several seconds, the other archers looking frightful behind her. You glanced down to your bow, staring at where your string was, sure enough, notched to absolutely nothing instead of the other end.
You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, cheeks flushing as you did the only reasonable thing and blamed the one person who had shoulders big enough to shoulder the brunt of all your problems.
Ushijima!
—– —- —–
Shiratorizawa Nurse’s Office, One Week Ago
“You watch kyudo ?” you spluttered, scrambling off the floor and grabbing your stool in disbelief. Ushijima considered you with a cool sort of calm, staring almost blankly back at you.
He stared at your sprawled form on the ground and offered a hand. You slapped it away but it barely moved. The stupid tree of a teenager.
You watch my kyudo?
“Yes,” Ushijima said. You almost jumped, realizing what you’d thought. He set his hands back onto his lap, returning to his solid posture. “My grandmother was well-acquainted with a friend who performed for the national ceremonial procedures. We often have the kyudo channel on within my household.”
Each sentence leaving Ushijima’s lip with frightening ease was punching holes into your gut. His grandma was pals with someone who shot for the national ceremonies? He watches kyudo? He knew what a kaichu was and —
“It is a graceful sport,” Ushijima continued, meeting your gaze evenly. “I have long admired the poise. I watched your debut on the national stage when they broadcasted your first-year tournament. You performed admirably.”
Your brain short circuited, snapping like a bowstring. Ushijima, merciless, continued matter-of-factly, “They also had a small segment on your performance in the prefectural collegates. It is a shame there isn’t talk of scouting, but it does not seem kyudo works the same way our volleyball season does. My grandmother is familiar with your accomplishments and noticed we attend the same academy.”
Huh?
Huh?
HUH?
“I hope you perform well this season as well—”
“Wait one second!” you blurted, flying across the stool and slapping a hand over his mouth. “Wait one damn second!”
Ushijima seemed only mildly surprised that your hand was now plastered over his lips. He blinked once, calmly back at you and you pointed aggressively at him with your other hand, nearly towering over him except even when he was sitting, he seemed to match your height.
“….are you trying to mess with me?” you said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. Ushijima blinked once more, calm. “You’re—you’re just some star volleyball player! And you’re a high schooler! It doesn’t even make any sense! How do you know about all of that, huh? No one even watches that channel on their own unless they’re real—”
You stopped yourself. You blinked rapidly. Real… fans… no, no, no, there’s no way! Ushijima Wakatoshi could not be a kyudo buff—volleyball and kyudo were about on the farthest ends of the spectrum as you could get! It didn’t make any sense.
This strangely nonchalant, weird classmate of yours was supposed to be nothing more than some poster-boy with tried and true skills in volleyball who stole the spotlight from the other sports at Shiratorizawa Academy, who was nice enough to pick up your flyers and greet you in the morning and say hello in that low, rumbling way of his when you spotted him and he made eye contact with you—
I don’t get this guy! You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, tempting to fist the collar of his uniform and really show him what for—all due to your unjust frustration—if this hard-to-read volleyball jock was just messing around—but, well, Ushijima didn’t really seem like the type for that either.
You blinked stupidly at Ushijima when his hand calmly came up, holding your wrist and lowering your hand down so he could speak. “I watch.”
He seemed to think for a moment before continuing, as though answering a question asked by the teacher, “You’re on channel KNJ most Thursday nights. Some Sunday mornings. I often record the broadcasts when there seems to be something notable.”
You felt something stab through your entire being, ripping into your existence on this universe, turning the world around you upside on your head.
Mr. All-Youth-Japan tuned into broadcasts that featured your kyudo accomplishments and—
“I watch,” Ushijima repeated, never breaking contact with your gaze. His large fingers circled easily around your wrist, holding them loosely against the calloused heat of his palm. “As I said, I am a fan of your archery.”
Something incoherent left your lips. A croak of some sorts. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “Yes?”
“L-Let me get this straight,” you said shakily. “My… my archery… you watch it?”
“Yes,” Ushijima said.
“You… like it?”
“Quite,” Ushijima said.
The faint smell of salonpas tickled your nose. The light hint of sweat and fabric softener. Up close, you suddenly realized that Ushijima had more complex eyes than you thought, hinting a little bit of gold. Lighter than his hair. He smells different from what I’d expect too.
Wait, what the hell were you expecting in the first place?
Ushijima frowned briefly, eyes suddenly leaving your face and turning to your wrist. He considered where his fingers touched your skin, feverishly warm. His thumb lightly pressed the inside of your wrist and he turned his gaze back to you. “(L/n)-san, is your wrist swollen—”
“W-Well, it only makes sense, I guess!” you said loudly, yanking your hand entirely out of his grasp and tossing them both into the air. Ushijima looked up at you with furrowed brows as you laughed, nervous and sweating bullets with your fingers waggling. “ The Ushijima Wakatoshi? A fan of my archery? Hah! Haha… hah! Of course you’d be! Y-You have good taste! I’ll give you that, Ushijima-san! I’ll give you that! But that doesn’t mean anything else in the grand scheme of all this—y-you’re still nothing but a competitor for the sponsorships of this school!”
Ushijima apparead mildly confused, brows furrowed in a touch of a heavy set over his normally stern features. “Sponsorship?”
“That’s right!” you blurted, pointing right at his face. Your eyes were spinning, head twisting in circles. “All anyone cares about is your stupid volleyball!” Ushijima’s frown deepened. “Your team gets the spotlight even though we’ve got plenty of great achievements—you’re flattery won’t get you anywhere! My club is still going to come out on top and all anyone’s going to be talking about is kyudo and—and more kyudo!”
“Volleyball isn’t stupid,” Ushijima said calmly. “But I did not realize that others in our student body were not watching kyudo—”
“I’m going to go shoot right now!” you declared, almost delirious as you hurriedly grabbed your bag. Ushijima stood up from his stool, looking after you. “G-Gotta get those results—bye!”
Before Ushijima could say anything otherwise, you were sprinting out the door, nearly tripping over your feet and covering your face in your hands as you still tried to process the fact that Ushijima Wakatoshi was your first and probably only fan.
You probably fainted somewhere in the kyudo hall. This had to be a dream. A weird, warped dream caused by delirious induced hallucinations of Ushijima’s volleyball posters.