your husband thinks he knows you pretty well by now; the only grey zone was the first day of your period. somehow, you always managed to surprise him with something then.
now, as you’re lying in bed, curled up under the duvet and groaning as the pain rolls through you in unpleasant waves, your husband is tiptoeing around you and making sure you have everything you need.
until…
“you did this to me,” you mumbled, catching him off guard in the way you glared at him.
his jaw dropped, and he considered the pros and cons of just agreeing and taking the blame if that made you feel better. “I see…”
“if you got me pregnant, I wouldn’t have my period.”
his lips were now entirely pursed, a small squeak sounding from his throat. he sure would love to get you pregnant, but you both agreed to wait another year.
instead of speaking his thoughts, he came over to your side and stroked your arm comfortingly, urging you to relax so you could sleep it off. “I know, honey. how about I order your favourite pizza for dinner later?”
it might sound like he was talking to a child, but it worked as you scrunched your face up in pain and nodded at the suggestion. “you’re so good to me.”
he lifted his palms and shoulders, thinking to himself hell yes I am. “it’s easy when it’s you, my love.”
it is not. he loves you, but you're going to cause him a heart attack.
kōrai finds out that there’s still hope in his life, which is you who’s a lot shorter than him.
w/c: 2.3k, for story purposes reader is 5 flat, request
it started with a clipboard and a pair of sneakers that looked like they belonged in the toddler section of a department store.
hoshiumi wasn’t a man who lived in the realm of ‘average.’ his entire existence was a calculated middle finger to the laws of physics and the expectations of anyone with a measuring tape. he was the little giant; he was the white-haired whirlwind of the schweiden adlers; he was a man who spent approximately eighty percent of his day jumping high enough to look a giraffe in the eye just to prove he could. usually, he was the one looking up, or at least looking across. he was used to the looming shadows of kageyama’s irritatingly steady growth or ushijima’s literal mountain-range of a physique.
then you walked into the gym.
you weren’t a mountain. you weren’t even a hillock. you were a gentle, five-foot-flat incline of pure, unadulterated sunshine, and for the first time in his twenty-some-odd years of life, hoshiumi felt like he was a member of the monstars from space jam.
the air in the gym usually smelled like floor wax and the masculine desperation of professional athletes, but as you stood there, clutching a roster and looking up—and up, and up—at him, hoshiumi felt his soul leave his body through the top of his head. his heart performed a broadway-style tap dance against his ribs, loud enough that he was certain the entire team could hear the frantic rhythm of his sudden, violent adoration.
“you’re... hoshiumi kōrai, right?” you asked, your voice a melodic chime that bypassed his ears and went straight to his nervous system, setting off every alarm bell he owned. “the wing spiker? i’m the new assistant manager. i’m meant to take your vitals and check your vertical today.”
hoshiumi didn’t answer immediately. he couldn’t. his brain was busy processing the fact that your head topped out right at his chin. if he leaned forward just three inches, he could rest his face on top of your hair. the realization hit him like a spiked volleyball to the solar plexus. he was big. he was a titan. he was a literal god of height in comparison to the tiny, beautiful creature currently blinking up at him with eyes that held the entire universe.
“i’m... yeah. hoshiumi. that’s me. the one and only. the greatest,” he managed to bark out, his voice cracking slightly in a way that would usually make him want to crawl into a hole and die, but he was too busy vibrating with a strange, frantic energy.
𓏵
for the next two weeks, the adlers watched their star wing spiker descend into a state of absolute, pathetic madness.
it wasn’t that he was being a jerk; it was the opposite. he was hovering over you. hoshiumi, a man who usually moved with the speed of a heat-seeking missile, was now moving with the cautious grace of a man walking through a minefield of crystal porcelain. he was constantly ‘checking in.’ he was bringing you sports drinks you didn’t ask for. he was hovering over your shoulder while you did paperwork, his shadow completely engulfing you like a protective, spiky-haired eclipse.
one afternoon, the team was cooling down, and hoshiumi was doing what he did best: complaining. specifically, he was grumbling about a net touch that he swore was the result of the gym’s air conditioning blowing too hard.
“it’s like they don't even care about the physics of the game!” hoshiumi huffed, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest as you approached with a towel. “and my reach felt off. maybe it’s the shoes. or maybe i’m just getting smaller. i swear, kageyama looks two inches taller than he did this morning. it’s a conspiracy. i’m a midget in a world of redwoods.”
you stopped in front of him, your head tilting back so far your hair brushed your shoulder blades. you looked at him with a deadpan expression that was so cute he felt his knees turn into lukewarm pudding.
“kōrai,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “why are you complaining? you’re literally six-foot-seven.”
the gym went silent. kageyama, who was drinking water, actually choked. ushijima blinked slowly, processing the blatant mathematical error.
hoshiumi froze. his brain short-circuited. he was five-foot-seven. he had spent his entire life fighting for every millimeter, wearing his height like a badge of underdog honor. but to you—standing there at a proud five feet—he wasn’t short. he wasn't the ‘little’ giant.
to you, he was a colossus.
“i’m... what?” he breathed, his eyes wide, his pupils dilating until they were just ink-black pools of worship.
“you’re massive,” you continued, waving a hand vaguely toward his chest. “i have to crane my neck just to see if you’re smiling or scowling. from down here, you’re basically a skyscraper. so quit acting like you’re some tiny underdog. you’re huge, kōrai.”
hoshiumi felt a heat rise from his neck to the tips of his ears that could have easily powered a small metropolitan city for a decade. he felt dizzy. he felt powerful. he felt like he wanted to pick you up, put you in his pocket, and never let you see another human being over five-foot-seven ever again.
the sheer, unmitigated joy of being the ‘big one’ in your eyes was a drug, and he was officially an addict. he wanted to do something dramatic. he wanted to flip a table. he wanted to jump over the moon and bring it back for you because you were the only person in the world who looked at him and saw a giant.
“huge,” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave into a raspy, desperate whisper. “you think i'm... huge?”
“well, yeah,” you laughed, reaching out to pat his arm. your hand was small against his bicep—which he immediately flexed with the strength of a thousand suns. “you’re a big guy, hoshiumi. don’t let kageyama’s freakishness get to you.”
he was gone. he was a goner. he was a puddle of seagull-themed goo on the floor.
as you walked away to go help the coaches, hoshiumi stayed rooted to the spot, watching the way you moved. he was vibrating. his heart was hammering a frantic, “she thinks i’m tall, she thinks i’m tall, she thinks i’m tall” rhythm. he turned toward kageyama, his face contorted into a grin that looked borderline deranged.
“did you hear that, kageyama?” hoshiumi hissed, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying, ecstatic light. “she thinks i’m a titan. she looks at me and sees a god of the stratosphere.”
kageyama stared at him with his usual blank intensity. “she’s five feet tall, hoshiumi. a golden retriever is tall to her.”
“shut your mouth!” hoshiumi barked, though there was no real heat in it—he was too far gone in his own euphoria. “she’s perfect. she’s a literal fairy. a sprite. a tiny, precious masterpiece of a human being. and i’m her giant.”
from that moment on, hoshiumi’s devotion escalated from ‘attentive teammate’ to ‘full-time bodyguard and worshiper.’
he became obsessed with the logistics of your height. he started noticing things he’d never considered before. like the way you had to stand on your tiptoes to reach the clipboards on the high shelf in the storage room.
one evening, he caught you doing just that. you were straining, your fingers barely grazing the edge of the plastic board, your calves flexed, your whole body stretched out in a way that made hoshiumi’s throat go dry. he didn’t even think. he moved.
he was behind you in a second, his chest nearly brushing your back. he made a show of reaching for it, his long arm extending effortlessly to snag the clipboard. he stayed there for a beat longer than necessary, his presence looming over you, casting a shadow that made you look even smaller, even more delicate, even more his.
“here,” he said, his voice coming out much deeper than he intended, a low rumble that he hoped felt like thunder to you.
you turned around, your nose practically bumping his chest, and looked up. the sheer distance between your gazes made his head spin. he felt like a king. he felt like a monster. he felt like he would do anything to keep that look of mild awe on your face.
“thanks, kōrai,” you chirped, taking the board. “it’s a bit of a climb for me.”
“don't worry about it,” he said, his hand lingering on the shelf next to your head, effectively pinning you in his space. “i’m always here. i’m tall enough for both of us, remember?”
you giggled—a sound that hoshiumi decided was better than any stadium roar he’d ever heard—and patted his chest. “my hero.”
hoshiumi almost died. right there. in the storage room. amidst the smell of stale air and volleyballs. he wanted to scoop you up and hold you against his heart until the end of time. he was so down bad it was pathetic; he was so devoted it was scary. he spent his nights researching the best ergonomic stools for people of your height, only to delete the tabs because he realized if you had a stool, you wouldn't need him to reach things for you.
romero started calling him ‘the shadow’ because he was never more than three feet away from you. if someone talked to you, he was there, looming, looking as intimidating as a five-foot-seven man could possibly look (which, to be fair, was quite intimidating when that man could jump like a kangaroo on steroids).
he lived for the moments when you’d ask for help.
“kōrai, can you help me adjust the net? it’s a bit high.”
“on it!” he’d do it with one hand, looking as effortless as possible.
“kōrai, i can’t see the scoreboard from behind the bench, can you tell me the stats?”
“anything for you!” he’d lean down, his face inches from yours, whispering the numbers like they were sacred secrets.
it was a tuesday when things finally reached a breaking point of sweetness. it was raining outside, the rhythmic drumming against the gym roof creating a cozy, isolated world. the rest of the team had filtered out, leaving just you and hoshiumi to finish tidying up.
you were sitting on the bench, rubbing your ankles, looking tired but content. hoshiumi was busy putting away the last of the balls, but his eyes were glued to you. he saw the way you sighed, the way a loose strand of hair fell over your eyes.
he walked over, his heart doing that frantic, desperate thudding again. he sat down next to you, and the bench dipped significantly under his weight. you looked so small next to him—your feet didn’t even fully touch the floor when you sat back, they’re just dangling.
hoshiumi felt a surge of protectiveness so strong it made his teeth ache.
“you okay?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
“just tired,” you admitted, leaning your head back against the wall. “being a manager is a lot of running around for someone with short legs.”
hoshiumi reached out and took your hand in his. his hand was significantly larger, his fingers long and calloused from years of hitting the ball, your hand looking like a porcelain doll’s nestled in his palm. he stared at the contrast, his breath hitching.
“you’re not that short,” he whispered, his eyes burning with a terrifyingly sincere intensity. “you’re perfect. you’re the most perfect thing i’ve ever seen. and i like... i like being big for you. i like that you look at me and see someone who can reach the stars.”
you looked at him, your eyes softening, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “kōrai... are you blushing?”
“no!” he barked, his face turning a shade of red that shouldn't be biologically possible. “i’m... i’m just warm! the gym is hot!”
you laughed, and before he could protest, you leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder. hoshiumi froze. he felt like a statue. he felt like a bomb that was about to explode into a million pieces of pure, unadulterated love.
“you’re a good giant, kōrai,” you murmured, closing your eyes.
hoshiumi looked down at you, his heart overflowing with a devotion so fierce it was almost painful. he moved his arm, tentatively wrapping it around your shoulders, drawing you closer until you were tucked firmly against his side. you fit perfectly. like you were made to be right there, protected by his height, shielded by his strength.
he didn’t care about kageyama being taller. he didn’t care about the world seeing him as small. because in this gym, in this moment, he was the biggest man alive, and he had the only person who mattered right where she belonged.
he leaned down, his lips brushing the top of your hair, his voice a mere vibration against your skin.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered, his eyes wide and glowing with a desperate, beautiful hunger. “i’ve always got you.”
the rain continued to pour, the gym grew darker, and hoshiumi sat there, a titan in his own right, refusing to move even a centimeter for fear of waking the girl who had turned his entire world upside down. he was whipped, he was gone, and as he watched you breathe, he realized he never wanted to be found.
n: AGQHQGQYQG SIX SEVEEENNN
i’m sorry. i had to hold back so many times in saying ‘that’s what she said’ 😔
they are the type of person to get on their knees to take off your heels after you say your feet hurt (just to then put them on themselves, try to run and jump around).
NISHINOYA YUU, atsumu miya, tendou satori, bokuto koutaro, LEV HAIBA, hoshiumi kourai, kanji koganegawa
poppy says: my husband made a joke about Last Podcast Network and Haikyuu and then i couldn't unsee it. go listen to/watch last podcast on the left if you're into true crime!
content warnings: (serious) a couple of food mentions; (unserious) wakatoshi's unseasoned chicken
alternate universe notes: just a fun little piece i wanted to write with the adlers trio hosting a true crime podcast!
The Umiwakayama True Crime Podcast (more affectionately known as Umiwakayama) is a mouthful to say, but KORAI, WAKATOSHI, and TOBIO have over half a million listeners now, so it's way too late to change the name. That, and Korai always gets a kick out of yelling "UMIWAKAYAMAAA!" in as many silly voices as he can.
It's a hell of a time listening — whether that be Wakatoshi a good four decades behind on the times (it's a running joke within the fandom he's a clueless vampire), Korai getting so worked up about something that you swear you can see him squatting crab style in his chair while he's yelling into the mic, or Tobio pausing from reading his gruesome script yet again to tell the audience how important a normal sleep schedule is.
Yes, three best friends who still can't believe they've made it this far. Because getting paid to learn about the most horrific true crime cases, with a touch of dark humor in the mix? They're living the dream! That drunken night when they decided to put Tobio’s meticulous research skills, Wakatoshi’s dreadful dad jokes, and Korai’s excessively loud voice to use could have easily been a terrible decision, but they're glad it all worked out for the best.
And then here comes you, the new little assistant producer, who brings their life to a screeching halt.
No, now it's no longer fun and games, and boys will be boys. Now it's "Oh my god, did I forget to put on deodorant today? Do I smell? Oh, fuck, I have to detail my car in case I offer them a ride. I can't let them see all that garbage in the back seat. What kind of music do they listen to? I should make a playlist. WAIT! I HAVE TO BUY AIR FRESHENER FOR THE BATHROOMS! THEY CAN'T WALK IN THE BATHROOM AFTER I'VE SHIT!"
But are you aware of this? Oh no. They’re very good at hiding it.
Well. Some better than others.
In the first week of work, you were pretty sure WAKATOSHI hated your guts. He would barely say two words to you whenever you asked him a question, and those two words (more like three) were always "Ask Korai" or "Ask Tobio" and he’d walk away. After the fifth time this happened, you straight-up cornered Korai in the hallway and asked him what Wakatoshi's deal was. What was so horrible about you that Wakatoshi couldn't even bother looking you in the eyes? Were you really that insignificant to him?
When you told Korai this, he only barked out a laugh.
"Welllll. . . I mean . . . It's not my place to say, but I think he's got a liiiiiittle bit of a crush on you."
When you had firmly responded that this could most certainly not be the case - the man acted as if you were the scum of the earth and not worth the time of day - Korai only laughed again.
"Trust me. He doesn't shut up about you whenever you aren't around. He’s always like, 'Does this outfit look stupid? Satori picked it out and said it was sexy. Does this shirt look sexy to you?'"
You then recalled Wakatoshi walking around the office for an entire week, swapping his typical white tee and jeans — which you had believed was his entire wardrobe — for short-sleeved collared shirts featuring loud, quirky designs.
Huh.
So that’s what that was about.
More often than not, you will find TOBIO trying to get his script finished, long after the others have gone home for the day. He'll be sitting on the floor of the shared lounge, his laptop perched on top of his legs, with loose-leaf papers, research books, and empty juice boxes surrounding him, muttering to himself as if he's trying to cast some sort of productivity spell. For all the lectures he gives Korai and the listeners about properly taking care of themselves, he sure is bad at taking his own advice.
One night after you had finished up your work and were locking up, the only reason you knew Tobio was there at all was that he had shouted "WHAT THE HELL?" from his office, almost giving you a heart attack. Leaving him be was an option you’d considered, but you also knew he was under immense stress, attempting to cram three episodes into one week before the holiday vacation. It wouldn't hurt to check in on him.
It did, in fact, hurt to check in on him - because the half-hearted wave and full-chested grunt he gave you when you asked him if he needed any help did hurt your feelings, if you were going to be completely honest. Through some verbal poking and prodding, though, it became obvious he was only grumpy because he hadn't eaten in a while, and it took you closing his laptop to get him to look at you. And after much hesitation (and a bit of light-hearted lecturing from you about what a hypocrite he was), he finally decided to join you for a late-night meal and pinky promised he would work on not overworking himself.
Listeners will tell you - and they don't even know how it's possible - that KORAI has gotten even more chaotic in recent episodes. A little joke machine, cranking them out non-stop on episodes and live streams. And yes, while it's true that Korai is good at making people laugh, there's one laugh in particular he's after each time he makes a fool of himself.
He’s always aiming to beat his previous record of making you laugh, which he achieved by climbing into an inflatable T-Rex costume during a live stream, a feat that clearly outdid Wakatoshi and Tobio’s coordinated ketchup and mustard bottle act. You were fighting for your life during that stream, trying not to be an auditory distraction, and he loved every second. Flailing in his oversized T-Rex costume, he’d poke Wakatoshi with his little arms every time Wakatoshi missed a pop culture reference. His big, bulbous head would bang against the microphone every time he attempted to whisper into it. Every one of your laughs made the struggle worthwhile. Every wide smile from you — he could feel it — was quietly reflected by him, concealed beneath his polyester layers.
It’s not until they’re all talking in the studio's kitchen one day that they realize having you on board has become a problem they can no longer ignore. It needs to be settled. And it needs to be settled now.
It’s Korai’s idea to play Rock Paper Scissors to see who gets to date you, and Tobio scoffs, calling it the stupidest way to decide. He has nothing else to offer, though, when Korai asks him for a better idea. And Wakatoshi’s suggestion is even worse than Korai’s.
“Why not just ask them who they like?” Wakatoshi says, unzipping his lunch box with a soft zip, then carefully placing the assorted Tupperware containers on the table in front of him.
“TO THEIR FACE?” Korai shouts, lifting the table’s edge and causing Wakatoshi’s Tupperware to careen across the surface and crash against the adjacent wall.
Wakatoshi turns to his lunch, now several feet away from him, and then to Korai.
“Is there somewhere else we’re supposed to ask them?” Wakatoshi says, his voice devoid of emotion.
With a swift palm strike, he effortlessly shoves the table back into its original position, easily overpowering Korai. Korai jolts forward and then glares at Wakatoshi in response, but Wakatoshi is too busy gathering his Tupperware back together to see it.
“Oh yeah! That’ll go over real well!” Korai goes on, standing upright. “’Hey there, producer, which one of us do you wanna take back to your place and fuck?’ They’ll loooove that!”
Tobio sighs heavily, leaning back against the kitchen counter and looking deeply into his tumbler of juice. “Please don’t make me call HR. I have too much to do already.”
“So, what’s the plan then? I’m expected to just come into work and have a crush every day for the rest of my life?!” Korai cries out, throwing his arms into the air, prompting Tobio to arch an eyebrow in response.
“I’m not even going to respond to that,” Tobio grunts, the fruity taste of juice a minor distraction as he lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes a sip.
“He’s right, though.” Wakatoshi says, opening a container of cottage cheese, and Korai’s nose wrinkles at the pungent smell. “This is going to tear us apart if we don’t find a solution.”
“And I’m saying there’s no solution that doesn’t involve HR getting heavily involved!” Tobio stresses to both of them, slamming his tumbler down next to him on the counter. “Just leave it be!”
“I’ll do it then.” Korai beats a fist against his chest once. “I’ll take one for the team and get in trouble. I’ll ask.”
With lightning speed, Tobio is up and seizes Korai by the forearm; their bodies a blur of motion as they spin and Tobio pins him against the counter to keep him from leaving.
“Are you insane?!” Tobio hisses, leaning into Korai, gripping his arm so hard it’s forming marks now. “What part of HR involvement do you not understand?”
Korai rips his arm away and massages the tender flesh. “Then HOW are we going to SOLVE THIS?!”
“Knock knock!”
As you step into the kitchen, the three men abruptly stop talking, their eyes fixed on you while the hum of the coffeemaker awaits your touch. The quiet, broken only by Wakatoshi munching on his lunch, feels unsettling. You’ve never heard them so silent.
“What happened?” You ask, getting a mug from the cupboard and pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “Did someone die?” You joke.
When you turn back around, though, the three men are just staring at you as you take your first sip of coffee.
“Sorry,” You say sheepishly. “Lame joke for a true crime podcast. You guys have probably heard that dozens of times before, huh?”
“How do you feel about Korai?” Wakatoshi asks you point blank, and he points a speared cherry tomato in Korai’s direction.
The coffee machine gurgles away as you look at Wakatoshi, then at Korai, then at Tobio.
“I don’t — I don’t understand the question.” You finally say, your grip tightening around your mug.
“You don’t have to answer that!” Korai leaps in front of you, the sudden movement making you press yourself back against the cold kitchen counter. “You really don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. He’s just trying to be funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.” Wakatoshi grumbles before piercing more cherry tomatoes with his fork and shoving them into his mouth.
You look over to Tobio for any sort of clarity, but he’s too busy trying to glare a hole into the side of Wakatoshi’s head, so he’s no help. Korai is no help either, because even though he said you don’t have to answer, his eyes are practically begging you to.
“I mean, you’re . . . enthusiastic?” You finally say.
“The word you’re looking for is loud.” Tobio responds, looking over at you, and now it’s Korai’s turn to glare.
“The word you’re looking for is annoying.” Wakatoshi adds.
Korai stomps up to the table and swipes Wakatoshi’s cottage cheese container off it.
“I’M GOING TO DUMP THIS SHIT ON YOU!” Korai threatens Wakatoshi, holding the container level with Wakatoshi’s head, but Wakatoshi remains unbothered, chewing on his unseasoned chicken breast.
With cottage cheese still in hand, Korai swivels to face you and says, “Sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Just forget we said anything.”
“No, it’s fine!” You shake your head. “I mean, I have nothing against you. I like you, you know, like you would a brother.”
The only sound to cut through the uncomfortable quiet is Wakatoshi snorting into his Tupperware.
“Oh, a brother?” Tobio finally speaks, his face breaking out into the biggest shit-eating grin. “Did you hear them, Korai? Like a sibling.”
“Can I get back to work?” You interrupt them, nodding towards the kitchen entryway. “Sorry. I just have a lot of catching up to do. I’m not trying to be rude.”
Korai waves you away with his occupied hand, cottage cheese dangerously close to spilling onto the floor. “Of course! Please! Sorry we bothered you!”
Tobio’s smile is irrepressible, his eyes still fixed on Korai as you walk by the trio and out of the kitchen. Korai stares intently at the cottage cheese in his hands, as if its creamy curds hold the key to unlocking the mysteries of time travel if he looks hard enough, while Wakatoshi calmly continues to eat.
“Like a brother.” Tobio says to himself, rubbing more salt into Korai’s giant gaping wound.
“So he’s out of the running.” Wakatoshi says, matter-of-fact, before taking another bite of chicken.
“SHUT UP!” Korai shrieks at him. “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!” He slams the cottage cheese container down onto the table. “ENJOY YOUR CURDLED GARBAGE!”
Korai stomps out of the kitchen, ranting about how they just hate him because he’s funnier than both of them combined, leaving Tobio and Wakatoshi to stare at the table, wall, and what’s left of Wakatoshi’s lunch now sprinkled with cottage cheese bits.
