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.
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.
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.
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.
