#any race reader

[ilxfa]

Murasakibara x Fem!Reader! pt1

The Winter Cup gym was buzzing with noise, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, voices bouncing from wall to wall. Y/N had come with Seirin to support the team, holding a small tote bag filled with snacks she’d baked the night before. It was just something she liked to do—sharing food made her happy.

During halftime, she wandered near the vending machines, hoping to find something to drink. That’s when she noticed him.

He was impossible to miss. Towering well over everyone else, purple hair hanging lazily around his face, he leaned against the machine with a bored expression. In one hand, he held a lollipop, twirling it between his fingers like he didn’t have a care in the world. His presence was intimidating, but his droopy eyes made him look almost childlike.

Y/N hesitated for a second, then offered a polite smile. “Um… hi. Do you want a snack? I made too many.” She held out a small wrapped cookie, her sparkly eyes meeting his tired ones.

Murasakibara blinked slowly, clearly not used to strangers just giving him food. His height cast a huge shadow over her, but he leaned down slightly, curious. “…You made this?” His deep voice rumbled lazily.

She nodded, a little shy. “Yeah. It’s sweet, though. I hope you don’t mind.”

For the first time, the corner of his lips tugged upward. He took the cookie with surprising care for someone so large and popped it into his mouth. His expression softened instantly, eyes closing in satisfaction.

“Mm… it’s good,” he muttered, voice lower than before. Then he tilted his head, looking down at her. “You’re tiny. Kinda cute, though. Like a snack, too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed hot, and she laughed nervously, unsure if he was teasing or just blunt.

But from that moment on, Murasakibara remembered her face—and the taste of her cookies.

After that first exchange by the vending machine, Y/N figured it was just a one-time thing—she never expected Murasakibara to remember her. But she was wrong.

A few days later, during another Winter Cup match, she went to the same vending machine with her tote bag of snacks. She was rummaging inside, pulling out a granola bar for herself, when a massive shadow fell over her.

She looked up—and there he was.

Murasakibara stood there with that same droopy-eyed, unreadable expression, his purple hair slightly messy. But this time, he didn’t look bored. His eyes flickered straight to the bag she was holding.

“…You got more snacks?” he asked, voice casual but expectant, like he’d been waiting for this moment.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Um… yeah. I made some muffins today.” She carefully pulled one out, wrapped neatly, and offered it to him.

He took it without hesitation, biting into it with a soft hum. His tall frame relaxed immediately, and for the first time, Y/N noticed his lips curve into a small, genuine smile.

“You really make good stuff,” he said around a mouthful, his tone warm in its own lazy way. “I like it. You should always bring me snacks, okay?”

Y/N laughed softly, hugging the tote bag closer. “You make it sound like I’m your personal chef.”

Murasakibara tilted his head down at her, eyes half-lidded but sharp in their focus. “…I wouldn’t mind that.”

The words made her cheeks heat up, and she quickly looked away, but her shy smile gave her away.

From then on, it became a routine. Whenever Seirin and Yosen were in the same building, Murasakibara always found her. And every time, she had something sweet to share.

What started with a simple cookie was slowly turning into something more—though Y/N wasn’t sure if he was addicted to her baking, or to her.

[justheretop0st]

“I’ll always choose you. But I just have to do this.” Their eyes connected as her lips shaped themselves into a half-smile. She was trying to calm him. But even she couldn’t fully convince herself that this was the right decision.

“I know.” Was all he could say. Their time together had proven, to themselves and others, that they’d had an unbreakable bond countless times. But this seemed to cause a crack.

She just had to go. She just had to save these people who really didn’t care about her. Just what she did for them. Numerous times she’d save these people. She’d help them. She’d risk her life for the sake of others when she never needed to.

But that is the difference between you and me, my love.

He broke her eye contact by closing his eyes. No. He didn’t want to let her go. He’d rather live out the rest of their time together and live happily. But she would rather fight and possibly leave a world for everyone to enjoy.

He would rather stand here and hold her. Continue memorizing her face. Every wrinkle. Every pore. Every scar they’d accumulated together. The color of her eyes. They lines in her lips. He’d rather her stay. Just to continue building their love.

There was no doubt she was strong and capable. But Alduin was a terrifying legend. A reality on some occasions while they were exploring. They’d seen him and try to fight. But the coward would fly off. Perhaps Alduin knew that the Dragonborn would follow. And sure enough, she did. And he let her do it. He should have stopped her somewhere along the line.

But now it was to late. She was prepared with everything she could possibly need. Except him. He so desperately wanted to mount the dragon with her. They’d done everything together for so long, this felt like goodbye.

Before she did mount the beast, he grabbed her hand forcing her to turn back to him. In a last ditch effort to make her stay, he pressed his lips to hers. A passionate kiss with everything he could muster. He did not care who was looking. He needed her to know that this isn’t what he wanted.

Whenever they pulled away, their eyes met again. This time, her eyes were watered. “I’d choose you every time, my love. But I just have to do this.” Her voice cracked, though she spoke low enough for no one else to hear. He did not respond though. He only pushed their foreheads together, a motion they’d come to make their own.

He wanted her to promise she’d come back. But more than that, he wanted her to stay. They’d live the rest of their lives together. Doing as they pleased until the end. But she’d rather take the chance and sacrifice her life.

This was the difference between the two.

[ilxfa]

Murasakibara Atsushi x Thick!Reader pT1

Before I start, i'd lijke to say I sincerely CANNOT imagine Atsushi with a small gyal. Nevertheless if you're small/petite please feel free to read the story. I don't discriminate, even tho the description of Y/N will mainly be the one of a thick/ chubby/ fat/ slim thick/ bulky girl! Knowing Japanese beauty standards a regular sized girl would also be seen as "big".

Lots of love and please let me know if you have a request

Let's start!

Sweet enough

You always knew hanging around Murasakibara meant two things: snacks, and more snacks. The boy was basically a walking vending machine, crinkling candy wrappers faster than your eyes could track.

Today was no different. You were perched on the edge of Yosen’s gym bleachers, watching practice wind down while Atsushi trudged toward you with a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. His towel draped over his shoulders lazily, and despite his height, he slumped like he didn’t have a single bone in his body.

“Ne, (Y/N)-chin,” he mumbled, holding out a bag of chips like an offering. “You didn’t eat enough today. Wanna share?”

You rolled your eyes, though your stomach did betray you with a quiet growl. “You’re going to make me round like a basketball if you keep feeding me like this.”

Atsushi tilted his head, chewing lazily on the candy. “Round? You already look perfect, though.”

You choked on thin air. “…Excuse me?”

He blinked, like he couldn’t understand why you were shocked. “I mean, you’re soft. Comfy. Like a giant marshmallow. Marshmallows are my favorite.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Atsushi. People already think—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “People already think I’m too big to be cute.”

For once, the lazy amusement faded from his violet eyes. He crouched down in front of you, and suddenly it felt like the world had shrunk around his looming figure.

“Mm… I don’t like when you say that,” he murmured. His lollipop clattered onto the bench as he leaned closer, resting his huge hand on your knee with surprising gentleness. “You’re cute. And I like you like this. Don’t care what anyone else says.”

You blinked rapidly, the warmth creeping up your cheeks hotter than the Yosen heaters. “Atsushi—”

He huffed, pout tugging at his lips. “(Y/N)-chin… you’re sweet enough already. Stop worrying.”

Something in his voice made your chest ache in the best way—like caramel melting slow and sticky. Before you could lose your nerve, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Atsushi froze. Then his ears turned pink, his hands fidgeting like a giant caught off guard. “Ah… I-I wasn’t ready for that,” he muttered, lips twitching into the smallest, shyest smile you’d ever seen.

“Get used to it,” you teased, finally daring to grin. “You’re stuck with me now, marshmallow boy.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but the way he tucked you into his side—massive arm curling around you with a protective squeeze—said enough.

And just like that, your insecurities felt lighter. Because if Atsushi Murasakibara thought you were sweet enough, maybe you really were.

Couple of days later

The mall food court was crowded, trays clattering, kids running around, and the smell of fried chicken mixing with sugar from the bakery. You were balancing a soda and a snack when you heard it—two girls at a nearby table whispering, not quietly enough.

“Is that her? The one always with Murasakibara?” “She’s pretty, but… don’t you think she’s, like… kinda big next to him?” “Yeah, it looks weird. He could have anyone—why her?”

The words stung, even though you tried to brush them off. You shifted uncomfortably, looking down at yourself, fighting the urge to shrink into the crowd.

And then—two long arms draped over your shoulders. Atsushi had come up behind you, leaning his full height over you like a human shield. His voice was slow, lazy, but it cut through the chatter like thunder.

“Oi. Don’t talk about my (Y/N)-chin.”

The girls froze, wide-eyed, as Atsushi bent down enough to level his violet gaze at them. “She’s mine. She’s cute. Way cuter than any of you snacks.”

The girls turned beet red, grabbing their trays and bolting without another word.

You gawked at him, cheeks blazing. “Atsushi—!”

“What?” He looked down at you, feigning innocence. “They were being annoying. I don’t like when people say dumb stuff about you.”

Your heart squeezed. He wasn’t the type to get fired up often, but when it came to you, he didn’t hesitate. You set your soda down and tugged at his hoodie sleeve until he bent lower.

On tiptoe, you kissed his cheek, soft but deliberate. He blinked, then broke into a lopsided grin.

“See? Sweetest snack ever,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest right there in the middle of the food court. You squeaked, embarrassed, but his arms felt warm and safe around you.

The whispers around you no longer mattered.

[ilxfa]

Kise Ryouta x fem!Reader

Win or Loose, You're mine

The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door. Too quiet. Normally Kise’s voice would bounce off every wall—singing some silly tune, calling for you, or just loudly existing. Tonight, the silence carried the weight of his loss.

You found him exactly as you expected: sprawled across the couch, still in his sweatpants and hoodie, golden hair sticking in messy tufts. His phone was face down on the coffee table, ignored for once. He stared at the ceiling like it had all the answers.

“Ryouta,” you said softly, putting the grocery bag on the counter.

He rolled his head to look at you, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, (Y/N)-cchi. Welcome home. Sorry, I’m kind of… dead weight tonight.”

Your chest pinched. He wasn’t dramatic—well, not this kind of dramatic—without reason.

You walked over, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. “You lost a game, Ryouta. Not the world.”

He sat up halfway, leaning his chin against the back of the couch. “But it feels like it.” His voice cracked a little, frustration pulling at the edges. “I worked so hard, and it still wasn’t enough. I’m supposed to be—”

“Human,” you interrupted gently. “You’re supposed to be human, Ryouta. You gave your all, and that’s amazing in itself.”

He blinked at you, lips parted like he wanted to argue, but your calm stopped him.

While he sat there, you busied yourself in the kitchen. The sound of bowls, sugar, eggs cracking filled the air. Soon, the smell of cookies baking started to push out the heavy quiet.

When you carried a warm plate over, his eyes softened instantly. “You baked?”

“I bake for my favorite people,” you teased, handing him one. “And right now my favorite person looks like he needs cookies more than anyone.”

The first bite almost broke him—he laughed through the crumbs, shoulders shaking, eyes glassy. “(Y/N)-cchi, you’re too much, you know that?”

You slid onto the couch beside him, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Nope. Just enough.”

He leaned into you, burying his face against your neck. His long arm curled around your waist, clinging tighter than usual. The façade of Kise Ryouta—the model, the prodigy, the player—fell away, and it was just him.

“You really think I’m amazing? Even if I lose?” His voice was muffled, almost childlike.

You stroked his hair. “Especially then. Because I see the boy who works until his body aches. The one who plays with all his heart. Winning or losing doesn’t change that.”

He pulled back, eyes shining with something vulnerable and pure. Then he kissed you—slow, grateful, full of quiet emotion.

When he broke away, he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled, pressing your forehead against his. “Guess what? You’re stuck with me anyway.”

Later, he dozed off with his head in your lap, crumbs on the table, your fingers combing through his golden hair. The cookies cooled, the night stretched on, and for the first time since the loss, Kise slept with peace on his face.

[ilxfa]

MAKOTO HANAMAYA oneshot

Y/N: as Seirin's nurse, Talents/ Specialty: ital Sight, Injury sense, Body reading.

Let's start..

The Winter Cup gym buzzed with noise, the echo of sneakers and the screech of whistles fading as the game came to a close. Seirin had won — but the victory came at a cost. Bruises, scrapes, swollen joints. And worst of all, Teppei Kiyoshi’s knee had taken yet another brutal blow.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of the locker room, her med bag open beside her. The boys filed in one by one, offering tired smiles. She checked each of them quickly, her hands steady, her voice calm as always. That calm was her armor; she couldn’t let them see how her chest burned with fury.

“Y/N-chan, it’s nothing—” Kagami started, but she fixed him with a look that silenced him instantly.

“You’re all playing like you’ve got something to prove,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “But proving yourselves doesn’t mean breaking yourselves.”

The last to sit was Teppei, lowering himself onto the bench with a small grin that didn’t fool her. His knee was already swelling. Y/N knelt in front of him, fingers working carefully as she massaged and pressed. His breath hitched once, but he didn’t complain.

“You took too many hits today,” she murmured, her hands gentle but her eyes sharp. “Hanamiya knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Teppei gave a rueful chuckle. “He always did. Dirty tricks are his specialty.”

Her jaw tightened. Once, Hanamiya Makoto had been her friend — someone she’d trusted. Now he was a stranger with a sneer, leaving trails of injuries in his wake.

When Teppei was stable, she packed her bag and left the locker room. The noise outside had dulled, but she didn’t head home with the others. She had unfinished business.

Hanamiya was waiting near the exit, leaning against the wall with that same crooked smile. His team loitered nearby, laughing and shoving each other. He straightened when he saw her.

“Well, if it isn’t Seirin’s little nurse. You looked busy today,” he drawled.

Her calm cracked. She walked right up to him, eyes blazing. “Busy because of you. Because you don’t play basketball, Hanamiya — you destroy it. Every injury, every cheap shot — you’re pathetic.”

His smirk faltered. For a moment, his old self flashed in his eyes — the boy she used to know. Then it hardened.

Hanamiya’s smirk widened as Y/N stepped into his space, the glow of the streetlight catching the sharp edge of his grin.

“You’ve always had a sharp tongue,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “But words don’t mean much, do they?”

His hand moved fast — a snap of motion toward her face.

But she was faster.

Her hand shot up, fingers closing around his wrist before he could touch her. The air crackled as the two of them stood there, eye to eye, neither backing down.

“Try it,” Y/N said evenly, her voice like ice. “Lay one hand on me, Hanamiya, and I’ll show you exactly how strong I am. You won’t forget it.”

For a heartbeat, silence pressed in. His smirk faltered, the surprise in his eyes betraying him before he sneered again, yanking his wrist back.

“You’ve changed,” he muttered.

“No,” she said, stepping closer so her words cut like a blade. “I just stopped tolerating your crap. You don’t scare me anymore — and you’ll never touch my team again.”

The sound of footsteps echoed, and Teppei appeared just in time to see Hanamiya retreat a step. He quickly closed the distance, his large hand clamping onto Hanamiya’s shoulder, pushing him back firmly.

“Game’s over,” Teppei said, calm but unyielding. “Get lost.”

Hanamiya clicked his tongue, glaring between them before stalking off with his team.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her hands finally dropping to her sides. Teppei’s eyes softened as he looked at her.

“You didn’t need me just now,” he said, impressed. “You had him cornered.”

Y/N gave a small smile, fire still flickering behind her calm gaze. “Maybe. But I’m glad you came anyway.”

YAS, Y/N'S THAT GIRL, THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY A MAN WILL BE ABLE TO LAY HIS HANDS ON HER. One thing about as women we don't play okay!? we rock disrespectful men's shit!!

[ilxfa]

Hyuga Junpei x fem!Reader

Oneshot?

Practice had gone late again, the sound of basketballs bouncing echoing faintly down the hall even as most of Seirin’s team had already packed up. You lingered outside the gym doors, waiting for Hyūga like always.

When he finally emerged, his hair damp and his glasses slightly crooked, he looked every bit the serious captain—except for the way his expression softened the second he saw you.

“You didn’t have to wait,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could’ve gone home.”

You smirked. “And miss watching you limp out like an old man? Not a chance.”

His jaw dropped. “H-Hey! I’m not that bad!”

“Junpei, you’re clutching your lower back like someone’s grandpa.”

He groaned dramatically but let you fall into step beside him, muttering something about “disrespectful brats.” His complaints didn’t fool you—his hand brushed yours every few steps, like he couldn’t quite stop himself.

By the time you both reached the school gates, the streetlights had flickered on, bathing everything in a soft glow. You stopped walking, turning to face him.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the fence, “you act all tough in practice, barking orders at everyone. But the second we’re alone? You’re just…” You tilted your head, teasing smile tugging at your lips. “…Junpei.”

His cheeks flared pink instantly. “W-What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means I like both sides of you.”

He froze, staring at you like you’d just hit him with a three-pointer from half-court. Then, in a voice much quieter than his usual bark, he muttered, “…You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—!” He broke off, groaning again, before suddenly leaning down. His lips brushed yours, clumsy and quick but warm all the same.

Your eyes widened, then softened as you reached up to steady his crooked glasses with one hand. “That all you’ve got, Captain?”

Hyūga’s ears turned scarlet, but he kissed you again, this time longer, more certain. When he finally pulled back, he was still flustered, but there was pride in his voice.

“Don’t underestimate your captain,” he said, a little breathless.

You laughed, tucking your hand into his. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The following week

Seirin’s gym was its usual whirlwind of noise—balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, Kagami yelling about dunks he was about to land. You’d stopped by to drop off something Hyūga had forgotten (his notebook, of course), but somehow ended up sitting on the bleachers, watching practice unfold.

It didn’t take long for the others to notice.

“Oi, Captain,” Kagami called, dribbling lazily. “Why do you keep looking over there?”

“I—shut up!” Hyūga barked, fumbling his whistle. “Focus on the game!”

Koganei smirked. “You’ve been staring at Y/N like a middle schooler with his first crush.”

“That’s not—don’t say things like that in front of the team!” Hyūga’s voice cracked, glasses slipping down his nose as his ears turned red.

Izuki chimed in smoothly, “Guess we’ve finally found our captain’s weak point. Not his knees, not his stamina, but…” He shot a pointed glance at you. “…Y/N.”

The entire gym erupted into laughter. Even Riko, standing with her clipboard, raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why you’ve been extra fired up lately. Explains a lot.”

“Coach!” Hyūga squawked. “You too?!”

You pressed a hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to hide your grin.

Kagami, ever blunt, tilted his head. “So, you two dating or what?”

The ball slipped out of Hyūga’s hands with a loud thud. “Kagami!” he roared, face practically glowing red now.

Unable to resist, you leaned forward from the bleachers and said sweetly, “Only if your captain admits it.”

Every pair of eyes turned to him. The silence was suffocating. Hyūga rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath like a man facing his doom. Finally, he shouted, “F-Fine! Yes! Happy now?!”

The gym exploded with cheers, whistles, and teasing. Kagami whooped. Koganei pretended to faint. Even Izuki threw out a pun about “scoring off the court.”

Hyūga groaned, covering his face with both hands. “I hate all of you.”

You couldn’t help laughing as you hopped down from the bleachers, slipping your hand into his. “They’re not wrong, though,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers.

Despite his embarrassment, he squeezed back.

Practice finally ended, and Seirin’s gym emptied out with the usual chaos—Kagami yelling about food, Koganei and Izuki still laughing at their captain’s expense, Riko barking at them to run extra laps next time.

Hyūga, however, stayed behind, sulking on the bench with his head in his hands.

You padded over, towel draped around your neck. “Junpei?”

He groaned. “Don’t. I’m never showing my face in this gym again. My whole reputation’s ruined. Captain of Seirin, feared for his three-pointers… taken down in one day by his girlfriend.”

You bit back a laugh. “I mean, they weren’t wrong. You were staring a lot.”

He peeked up at you through his fingers, glasses crooked, cheeks tinged pink. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” you said softly, sitting beside him. “I actually think it was kind of cute.”

“Cute?!” he yelped, voice cracking again. “I’m the captain! I’m supposed to be respected, not—”

You leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He froze instantly, mid-rant.

“—not…” His words trailed off into silence.

Smirking, you added, “See? You’re respected. You’re strong. You’re a great captain. But you’re also mine, Junpei. And there’s nothing wrong with them knowing that.”

He sat there, stunned, before sighing dramatically and dropping his head against your shoulder. “…You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Mm, but you like it,” you teased, threading your fingers through his.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, almost too low for you to hear. “I really do.”

The faintest smile tugged at his lips as you leaned against him, the sound of bouncing balls in the distance fading away. For once, the captain let his guard down—just for you.

[ilxfa]

Imayoshi Shoichi x Y/N (fem!Reader) Finale

The evening air was crisp, the kind of chill that made me grateful for my jacket. I had no plans other than grabbing a snack at the station’s convenience store before heading home. But then, of course, I heard that familiar, smooth, teasing voice.

“Well, well… if it isn’t Japan's favorite model.”

I froze mid-step, already rolling my eyes. Leaning lazily against the vending machine was Imayoshi Shōichi—captain of Tōō’s basketball team, master of teasing, and apparently, everywhere I went.

“Don’t call me that,” I muttered, grabbing a canned coffee. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be practicing?”

He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “Practice, convenience store—same thing. Both important for survival. And what’s in that bag? Fuel or junk food?”

“A sandwich and a drink. Not that it’s any of your business,” I said flatly.

“Everything’s my business if I decide it is,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “Besides, shouldn’t I know what my future rival’s nurse is eating?”

I blinked. “Rival’s nurse?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “You take care of Seirin. I take care of Aomine. That makes us… coworkers? Enemies? Friends with snacks?”

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, though a small smile tugged at my lips.

When we stepped outside, I expected him to wave and leave. Instead, he stretched, casual as ever.

“You heading home?”

“…Obviously.”

“Good. Me too. Same direction.”

I frowned. “You don’t even know where I live.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” he countered. “Besides, I’ve got snacks at my place. Real ones. Not sandwiches. You should come by.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But only because I don’t trust you not to eat everything yourself.”

And just like that, I was following him into the night, heart oddly fluttering.

His apartment was neat. Shelves lined neatly with books and magazines, shoes stacked properly by the door, a faint scent of green tea lingering in the air.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he drawled. “I do know how to clean up after myself.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d be messy.”

“Chaotic? Only on the court. Off it… I like order. Makes people underestimate me.”

He pulled out snacks from the cupboard: chips, cookies, pocky, and some cold sodas. “Better than that sad little sandwich you had,” he said, handing me a drink. “Besides, it’s not what you eat—it’s who you eat with.”

I sat down, trying not to notice the casual closeness, his shoulder brushing mine.

For a while, we just snacked, letting the TV hum in the background. But then my math textbook caught his eye.

“Don’t tell me you were planning to study tonight.”

“I was,” I admitted.

“Then I’ll just have to distract you.”

Our banter continued, playful, sharp—but here, in his space, it felt softer. I noticed little things: how his hair curled slightly, neat stacks of strategy notes, a framed photo of his team. Imayoshi was more disciplined, more thoughtful than he let on.

The laughter faded, leaving silence. He leaned back, one arm draped across the couch, dangerously close.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked, heart pounding.

“Just trying to figure something out.”

“How?”

“How someone like you ends up tangled with Seirin when you’d fit in just fine with us.”

“Us?”

“Tōō,” he said, eyes lingering. “You’ve got that edge. Calm, but fierce. Interesting.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. Not teasing. Genuine.

I tried to laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Imayoshi.”

But he didn’t look away. Our eyes locked, and the room felt smaller. I should’ve broken the moment—but didn’t.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

His phone buzzed, shattering the fragile tension. He grabbed it, smirk returning. “Guess I’m popular tonight.”

I forced a laugh. “Figures. Perfect timing.”

He leaned back, sighing. “If you insist. Though I can’t say I’m thrilled you’re leaving.”

I stood. “Thanks for the snacks… and for not being as chaotic as I thought.”

His laugh was quiet, low. “Careful, Y/N. Keep complimenting me, I might start thinking you like me.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was racing.

A few steps down the hallway, I stopped, daring him.

“Hey, Imayoshi. I dare you to wear one of my bikini sets next time.”

His smug mask cracked. “You’re… what?”

“You heard me,” I said, smirking. “Since you’re confident and teasing, imagine you, captain of Tōō, strutting around in—”

He held up both hands. “Stop right there before I lose my legendary composure. You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s a no, then?”

“That’s a hell no,” he stammered, flustered, pink dusting his ears. Then, softer: “But the fact you’d even dare me… says a lot about how comfortable you are around me.”

The air shifted, warm. Genuine.

He stepped closer. “Truth is… I don’t need to wear your bikini to prove anything. What I want is simpler.”

“And what’s that?”

“You. As my girlfriend. Officially.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You pick the worst moments to be serious.”

“Maybe. But I’m serious all the same.”

I smiled, heart full. “Fine. Yes. You win.”

His grin was a perfect mix of sly and relieved. We laughed, side by side, and for the first time, I knew exactly where we stood.

The weeks after that night at his apartment felt like a gentle shift in my life. Being Imayoshi’s girlfriend wasn’t flashy or dramatic—it was quiet, comfortable, and somehow thrilling all at once.

We started spending more time together whenever our schedules aligned. After school, I’d swing by his place, and we’d share snacks, textbooks open on the coffee table, laughter bouncing off the walls. He was still teasing, of course—never missing a chance to make me laugh or roll my eyes—but there was a softness now in his glances, a warmth in his voice that made my chest flutter.

“Do you really have to eat that entire chocolate bar by yourself?” I asked one afternoon, nudging the wrapper closer to him.

“I couldn’t possibly let it go to waste,” he said, eyes twinkling, and offered me a bite. His hand brushed mine briefly, and I pretended not to notice, though my heart stuttered.

Some nights, we’d stay after practice, sprawled on the couch with homework between us. He’d lean back, glasses slipping down his nose, and I’d find myself tracing the line of his jaw absentmindedly while he muttered math formulas. He was patient, surprisingly gentle, explaining concepts in a way that made me understand—and laugh—at the same time.

Little routines formed without effort: walking home together, shared umbrellas during rain, playful nudges when one of us was teasing the other, quiet conversations about everything and nothing.

One evening, we ended up at his place after a late practice. The city lights spilled through the windows, painting his apartment in gold. He handed me a cup of tea and sat down next to me on the couch.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice low. I looked up, curious.

“About?”

“About us.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “About how… I don’t want this to just be weeks, or months. I want you in my life. Properly. Seriously.”

My chest tightened in the best way. “Properly?” I asked, a smile creeping onto my lips.

He nodded, eyes earnest, holding mine. “Yeah. I want to be the one you come to after a bad day. I want to make you laugh when you don’t feel like it. I want… us. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

My heart skipped. I hadn’t expected this level of vulnerability, the raw honesty behind his usual smoothness.

“I… want that too,” I whispered, leaning closer.

He reached for my hand, fingers intertwining with mine. “Then… will you be my girlfriend, officially? Not just casual, not just fun… me and you, for real?”

I laughed softly, a little breathless. “You really know how to pick your moments, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he said, smirking—but the warmth in his eyes made it clear he was serious. “But I mean every word.”

I nodded, pressing my hand into his. “Yes. For real. Let’s do this.”

He grinned, relief and happiness washing over him, then tugged me gently toward him. “Good. Because I was planning on asking anyway… just didn’t know how you’d react.”

We leaned into each other, the city humming around us, and for the first time, it felt like everything had fallen perfectly into place. Quiet, simple, and ours.

End!

[ilxfa]

shoichi imayoshi x fem reader 1

POV: Aomine, who is constantly teased for his dirty magazine obsession, knows Y/N through the modeling world (she once modeled swimsuits for a brand he recognized and appeared in some of his fav magazine brands). He brags to his teammates about knowing her but insists they’re just friends. Y/N sees him as a little brother type and brushes off his antics.

The winter sun was weak, its pale rays filtering through the windows of the Touou Academy gym. The echo of basketballs hitting the polished floor reverberated loudly, punctuated by Wakamatsu’s voice yelling at Aomine to take practice seriously.

Y/N leaned back against the cool wall, her duffel bag at her feet. Aomine had dragged her here, insisting she had to “see how he carried the team.” She rolled her eyes at the memory of his lazy grin.

“I swear, if you’re just gonna nap again, Aomine, don’t waste my time,” she had told him earlier. “Tch, don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll put on a show for you. You’ll be begging to come back.”

Now, watching him half-heartedly dribble before throwing up a lazy shot, she snorted. Some show.

Beside her, Momoi Satsuki sat cross-legged, clipboard balanced on her knees, pink hair tied in a high ponytail. She’d latched onto Y/N the second she arrived, practically glowing at the idea of “another girl around the team.”

“So, you and Dai-chan are…?” Momoi tilted her head, curiosity written all over her face.

“Friends,” Y/N said quickly, chuckling. “Just friends. He’s like an annoying little brother who won’t stop stealing food out of my fridge.”

Momoi’s eyes widened. “Really? He never mentioned you before.”

“That’s Aomine for you,” Y/N muttered. “He only talks about basketball and—” She stopped, smirking. “—his dirty magazines.”

Momoi groaned loudly, hiding her face in her clipboard. “Don’t remind me! I keep finding them under his bed. It’s so embarrassing.”

Y/N laughed, the sound carrying across the gym. It was warm and unguarded, drawing a few curious glances from the players on court.

One of those glances lingered.

Imayoshi Shōichi adjusted his glasses, eyes narrowing slightly behind the reflective lenses. Their manager’s friend — or was it Aomine’s? She didn’t fit here, not in their sweaty, competitive bubble. She carried herself differently, with a casual confidence that didn’t try too hard. And that laugh… it wasn’t forced.

Interesting.

He smirked faintly, dribbling the ball past Sakurai before passing it off. Y/N noticed him looking, though, and when their eyes met, she froze for a second. His smirk widened almost imperceptibly. She quickly turned back to Momoi, but the faint heat on her cheeks betrayed her.

“Oi, Aomine!” Wakamatsu barked. “Stop slacking off and play properly!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Aomine muttered, clearly uninterested. He glanced at Y/N on the sidelines, shrugged, and took a half-court shot just to show off. The ball swished clean through the hoop.

“See that?” he called, grinning. “Easy.”

Y/N clapped politely, deadpan expression making Momoi giggle. “Wow. One shot. Amazing. Should I be honored?”

Aomine groaned dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

From across the court, Imayoshi chuckled under his breath. Impossible, huh? That sounded like fun.

Practice eventually wound down, and Momoi tugged Y/N by the hand toward the group huddle.

“Guys, this is Y/N!” she announced cheerfully. “She’s Dai-chan’s friend. Isn’t it great? Now I won’t be the only girl stuck with you idiots all the time.”

“Oi, don’t call us idiots!” Wakamatsu snapped, already flushed from practice.

Sakurai bowed nervously, stammering, “S-sorry for intruding! I mean, nice to meet you! S-sorry!”

Y/N blinked, amused. “You’re apologizing for saying nice to meet you?”

Sakurai’s face turned crimson. “S-sorry!”

Imayoshi stepped forward then, towel draped lazily around his neck. His smirk was small but unmistakable. “So you’re the famous Y/N Aomine never shuts up about.”

Her brows shot up. “Famous?” She shot Aomine a look, and he immediately flailed.

“I don’t shut up about you!” Aomine protested. “I just… mentioned you a few times.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled, amused. Then she turned to Imayoshi, meeting his gaze fully this time. “And you are…?”

“Imayoshi Shōichi,” he said smoothly, adjusting his glasses. “Captain. Resident babysitter. Professional liar, according to some people.”

Her lips twitched. “At least you’re honest about the lying part.”

He chuckled, eyes glinting. “Touché.”

The spark lingered in the air between them, subtle but unmistakable.

Later, as the team packed up, Momoi looped her arm through Y/N’s. “You’re coming with us tonight, right? We’re grabbing food!”

Y/N hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude—”

“Nonsense!” Momoi beamed. “You’re family now.”

Before she could protest further, Aomine grinned and slung an arm over her shoulder. “Yeah, come on. You’ll love it. We’ll eat until Wakamatsu explodes.”

“Hey!” Wakamatsu yelled from across the gym.

Y/N sighed, but a smile tugged at her lips. Maybe one dinner wouldn’t hurt.

From the corner, Imayoshi watched the exchange, smirk tugging at his mouth. Family, huh? He adjusted his glasses again, gaze flicking briefly to Y/N.

He wasn’t so sure about that.

The restaurant Momoi dragged everyone to was warm and noisy, a small ramen place tucked away near the station. The windows fogged up from steam, and the smell of broth and pork filled the air.

“Everyone cram in!” Momoi chirped, pushing tables together so they could all sit side by side.

“Oi, don’t shove me, Sakurai!” Wakamatsu barked, already elbowing his way to the bench.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up and sit down,” Aomine grumbled, dropping lazily into a chair with all the grace of a cat collapsing on the floor.

Y/N slid into the seat across from him, laughing quietly as the chaos unfolded. “Is it always like this?” she whispered to Momoi.

“Every. Single. Time,” Momoi groaned, but her eyes sparkled with affection.

Menus were passed around, but Y/N didn’t get far before Aomine leaned over, snatching it from her hands.

“You always order the boring stuff,” he teased. “Go big, Y/N. Get the spicy miso.”

She raised a brow. “Last time I had the spicy miso, you stole half my bowl and nearly cried.”

Aomine choked. “D-don’t tell them that!”

“Wait—you cried?” Wakamatsu asked, smirking.

“I didn’t cry!” Aomine yelled, turning red. “I was sweating!”

The entire table erupted in laughter, even Sakurai chuckling nervously. Y/N leaned back, amused.

Only one person wasn’t caught up in the noise.

Imayoshi, seated diagonally across from her, leaned his chin on his hand, glasses slipping down his nose just slightly. He watched her with mild curiosity, the way she fit so easily into their mess despite not being part of their world. She didn’t look out of place at all. If anything, she grounded them, the calm eye in Touou’s perpetual storm.

She caught him staring. Again.

He didn’t look away this time. His lips quirked into that same sly, unreadable smirk.

Y/N blinked, then rolled her eyes, deliberately turning her attention back to Momoi. But her pulse betrayed her, quickening under the weight of his gaze.

Food arrived. Steam curled up from the bowls, chopsticks clicked, and the noise level doubled as the boys argued over side dishes.

“Oi, Wakamatsu, pass the gyoza—” “No way, these are mine!” “You already ate half the plate, don’t be greedy!”

Momoi sighed, muttering about children.

Y/N, caught in the middle of the tug-of-war, picked up a dumpling with her chopsticks and dropped it calmly into Aomine’s bowl. “Here. Now shut up.”

Aomine grinned like he’d won the lottery. “Knew I brought you for a reason.”

From across the table, Imayoshi chuckled lowly. “You really have him whipped.”

Y/N glanced up sharply, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly, sipping his broth. “I meant it as a compliment.”

Somehow, that didn’t make her blush any less.

By the time dinner ended, everyone was groaning and holding their stomachs, except Aomine who declared he was “still hungry.”

“You’re a bottomless pit,” Y/N muttered as they spilled out into the chilly night air.

“Better than being boring,” he shot back, nudging her shoulder.

Momoi was already organizing everyone’s trip home when Y/N checked her phone. Her eyes widened. “Shoot, I forgot—I’ve got an early call tomorrow. Photoshoot.”

“Photoshoot?” Sakurai repeated nervously. “W-what for?”

“Swimwear modeling,” she said casually, tugging her coat tighter around herself.

Half the team sputtered at once.

Aomine groaned. “Don’t get weird, guys. She’s a professional. Don’t make me kick your asses.”

Momoi giggled, linking her arm with Y/N’s. “See? She’s amazing!”

But when Y/N looked around for her car, her smile faltered. “Great. I parked miles away.”

“Want me to walk with you?” Aomine offered, though his tone suggested he’d rather go home and nap.

Before she could answer, a voice cut in smoothly.

“I’ll take you.”

Y/N turned. Imayoshi leaned casually against a lamppost, hands in his pockets. His expression was unreadable, but his tone left no room for argument.

“You sure?” she asked, surprised.

“Positive,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Wouldn’t want Aomine’s famous friend wandering the streets alone.”

Her brows rose, but she nodded slowly. “Alright then. Thanks.”

Momoi clapped her hands together, practically glowing. “Perfect! Shoichi, you’re a gentleman.”

He chuckled softly. “Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

The walk was quiet at first. The city buzzed faintly around them, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. Y/N kept her hands tucked in her pockets, glancing sideways at the tall captain beside her.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said eventually.

“I wanted to,” Imayoshi replied simply.

Something about the way he said it made her throat tighten. Not teasing, not sly — just honest.

She cleared her throat, searching for something to say. “So… what’s your deal? You don’t strike me as the typical high school basketball player.”

He smirked faintly. “And what do I strike you as?”

“Trouble,” she said without hesitation.

His chuckle was low and warm. “You’re not wrong.”

They reached her car, parked under a flickering streetlight. Y/N turned to face him, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he stood.

“Well… thanks. For walking me.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting behind his glasses. “You’re welcome.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was charged, subtle but undeniable. Then he stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets again.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

She exhaled, steadying herself. “Goodnight, Imayoshi.”

As she slid into her car, she couldn’t help but glance at him one last time. He was already walking away, shoulders relaxed, smirk tugging at his lips as though he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d left behind.