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˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰wakatoshi ushijima x reader꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄
The first thing you notice about Wakatoshi Ushijima is that he doesn’t hesitate.
Not in the way most people do there’s no visible pause, no flicker of uncertainty before he speaks or acts. He moves with a kind of quiet certainty, as if the world has already arranged itself into something understandable, something steady.
It’s… grounding.
And, occasionally, a little intimidating.
“You’re staring again.”
You blink, pulled from your thoughts as Ushijima’s voice cuts through the quiet of the campus gym. He stands across from you, volleyball in hand, posture as composed as ever.
“I’m not staring,” you say.
“You are,” he replies.
“…Observing,” you correct.
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
He considers that for a moment just long enough to acknowledge it, not long enough to argue.
Then, simply “Continue.”
You huff a quiet breath, shaking your head slightly.
Evenings in the gym feel different when it’s just the two of you.
Without the noise of a full team, everything sharpens the echo of the ball against the floor, the steady rhythm of movement, the quiet exchanges that don’t need to be filled with anything more than presence.
You toss the ball toward him.
Ushijima receives it effortlessly, the motion precise, controlled. When he returns it, it lands exactly where you expect it to like he’s already anticipated your position before you’ve fully settled into it.
“You’re improving,” he says.
You catch the ball, raising an eyebrow. “That sounded like a compliment.”
“It was.”
“I’m surprised.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
You smile slightly. “I usually have to work harder for those.”
“You’ve been working,” he says. “So I acknowledged it.”
Simple.
Direct.
Entirely him.
Being around Ushijima means learning to trust what he says.
He doesn’t exaggerate. Doesn’t soften things unnecessarily or dress them up in language meant to reassure without meaning it. When he speaks, it’s because he believes what he’s saying.
Which makes moments like this
“I thought about you today.”
You blink.
“…Okay.”
It’s not that the statement is unusual.
It’s the way he says it.
Calm.
Certain.
Like it’s as ordinary as mentioning the weather.
“You say that like you’re telling me the time,” you add.
“I am informing you,” he replies.
“That’s not how most people”
“I am not most people.”
You pause.
“…That’s true.”
Ushijima nods once, as if the matter is settled.
You sit together after practice, the air in the gym cooling as the evening deepens outside. The windows catch the last traces of sunlight, casting long shadows across the floor.
Ushijima sits beside you—not close enough to crowd, but near enough that his presence is unmistakable.
“I noticed something,” he says after a moment.
You glance at him. “Should I be concerned?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“You tend to hesitate before responding to personal questions.”
You stare at him.
“That sounds like an observation you’ve been holding onto.”
“I have,” he confirms.
“…Why?”
“I wanted to confirm it was consistent.”
You exhale softly, somewhere between amused and incredulous.
“And?”
“It is.”
You shake your head slightly. “You really do analyze everything, don’t you?”
“Not everything,” he says. “Just what matters.”
The words settle quietly between you.
You don’t respond right away.
Because you’re not entirely sure what to do with that.
“What made you think about me?” you ask instead.
Ushijima doesn’t hesitate.
“You weren’t there.”
You blink. “That’s your answer?”
“Yes.”
“That’s… vague.”
“It is accurate.”
You wait, sensing there’s more.
After a moment, he continues.
“I am accustomed to your presence,” he says. “When it is absent, I notice.”
Your chest feels unexpectedly tight.
“That sounds like something you should have said sooner,” you murmur.
“I am saying it now.”
Again simple. Direct.
No apology for the timing. No hesitation in the delivery.
Just truth.
You lean back slightly, resting your hands against the floor.
“You’re not very subtle,” you say.
“I am not attempting to be.”
“That’s obvious.”
He glances at you, expression unchanged but attention focused.
“Would you prefer subtlety?”
You consider that.
Then shake your head.
“No.”
“Then this is sufficient.”
It shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is.
But it is.
The silence that follows isn’t empty.
It’s steady.
Comfortable in a way that feels unfamiliar at first like you’re used to filling quiet spaces with words, with movement, with something to keep things from feeling incomplete.
But here
It doesn’t feel incomplete.
It feels… enough.
After a moment, Ushijima speaks again.
“I will be away this weekend.”
You glance at him. “For a match?”
“Yes.”
You nod. “You’ll win.”
“That is the intention.”
You smile faintly. “You sound very confident.”
“I am prepared.”
A pause.
“I will think about you again,” he adds.
The words are quiet.
Not dramatic.
Not embellished.
Just… certain.
You look at him.
“…You say things like that so easily,” you say.
“They are easy to say.”
“Most people would struggle with that.”
“I do not see the benefit in withholding accurate statements.”
You huff a soft laugh.
“Of course you don’t.”
You stand after a while, brushing your hands off lightly as you gather your things. Ushijima follows, movements just as composed as ever.
“I’ll walk you,” he says.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
There’s no room to argue with that.
Not really.
So you don’t.
The campus is quieter now, the evening settling into something softer, more subdued. Streetlights flicker on one by one, casting a gentle glow along the path.
You walk side by side, your steps naturally falling into sync.
After a moment, you speak.
“You really mean it, don’t you?”
He glances at you. “Mean what?”
“Everything you say.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
You nod slowly, taking that in.
“…That’s rare.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“Maybe not,” you admit. “But it is.”
Another pause.
“I like that you think about me,” you say, a little quieter now.
Ushijima’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual.
“I do more than think about you,” he says.
Your breath catches.
“…Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate immediately.
Doesn’t rush to fill the space.
He simply continues walking beside you, presence steady, attention unwavering.
And somehow
That says more than anything else could.
When you reach the point where your paths split, you slow.
“This is me,” you say.
He nods.
“I know.”
Of course he does.
You hesitate just briefly.
“I’ll miss you this weekend.”
The words feel small compared to everything he’s said.
But they’re honest.
And that seems to matter.
Ushijima studies you for a moment, something softer settling into his expression not obvious, not exaggerated, but there.
“I will return,” he says.
“I know.”
A pause.
Then, quieter
“And I will come find you.”
Your chest tightens again, but this time it’s warmer.
Lighter.
“…Okay.”
He nods once.
Satisfied.
And as you turn to leave, the quiet of the evening wrapping around you once more, there’s a certainty that lingers
Not loud.
Not overwhelming.
Just steady.
Just sure.
Like him.
Like this.
Like something that doesn’t need to be questioned
Only felt.














