retriever²
— wakatoshi’s old teammates accidentally expose the truth about the “retriever zone” on national tv, and now the internet won’t shut up about how he used volleyballs as guided missiles to protect his fiancée.
ts!ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader | fluff | request
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
there were three people you could always count on to ruin ushijima’s carefully cultivated “calm, professional athlete” reputation: tendō, semi, and shirabu.
and unfortunately, all three of them were invited to the same live interview.
you’d been watching from the couch, freshly showered and wrapped in ushijima’s ridiculously oversized adlers hoodie, sipping tea like a woman awaiting the explosion of a nuclear bomb she personally helped design.
the host smiled brightly at the trio. “so, gentlemen—what was ushijima like back in high school?”
the camera zoomed in on tendō’s grin, a grin that screamed oh i’m about to cause problems.
“well,” tendō began, “he was… protective.”
“protective,” semi repeated, snickering.
shirabu adjusted his mic. “that’s an understatement.”
“protective how?” the host asked, curious.
the three exchanged glances. tendō leaned forward like he was sharing a dark secret. “have you ever heard of the retriever zone?”
the host blinked. “the what?”
“the retriever zone,” semi said ominously, like it was a war crime.
the studio went silent.
and somewhere across tokyo, you groaned into your hands.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
tendō, of course, went on to explain the entire saga in painstaking, dramatic detail.
“he declared y/n his ‘official ball retriever,’ right?” tendō said, waving his hands. “but then he—get this—wouldn’t let her actually retrieve anything!”
“he used volleyballs as weapons,” semi added. “like actual missiles. anyone who went near her got sniped.”
“and i mean sniped,” shirabu emphasized, looking directly at the camera. “like, you could feel the wind from the spike before you even saw the ball.”
the host’s eyes widened. “you’re joking.”
“oh no,” tendō said solemnly. “we have footage.”
“FOOTAGE?!”
and before anyone could stop them, tendō was holding up his phone to the camera like a proud mother showing baby pictures.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
cut to: grainy old video from shiratorizawa’s gym, timestamped 2012.
you were standing by the bench, handing ushijima a towel, smiling.
goshiki dashed past in the background.
WHAM.
the volleyball blurred through the frame like a bullet, goshiki dove to the floor, and tendō’s voice from behind the camera yelled, “THE RETRIEVER ZONE CLAIMS ANOTHER VICTIM!”
the studio burst into chaos.
the host covered her mouth, laughing so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.
“this can’t be real!” she gasped.
“oh, it’s real,” semi said smugly. “the retriever zone was law. you entered, you died.”
“wakatoshi had zero chill,” tendō added fondly. “man was more trigger-happy than a sniper in an action movie.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by the end of the segment, the internet had exploded.
clips flooded every platform within minutes.
#RetrieverZone trended number one in japan.
people were editing dramatic music over the slow-motion footage of ushijima’s spikes like it was a national geographic documentary about territorial animals.
tweets like:
@ creamatoes: “imagine getting body-checked by a volleyball just for standing near ushijima’s gf.”
@ teelovr: “he’s not blocking balls, he’s blocking competition.”
@ beetwos:“y/n is living every wattpad girl’s dream and every bystander’s nightmare.”
the adlers’ social media manager, poor soul, was having a meltdown.
you, however, couldn’t stop laughing.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
“wakatoshi,” you wheezed, scrolling through your feed. “someone edited your spikes to the avengers soundtrack.”
he blinked at you, freshly home from practice, hair still damp. “which one?”
“the dramatic one. with violins. every time you hit the ball, it goes dun dun DUNNNN—”
he didn’t even flinch. “that’s accurate.”
“accurate?! baby, they’re making memes of you. there’s fanart. there’s a subreddit called ‘men who would die in the retriever zone.’”
“that seems correct.”
you threw a pillow at him, giggling. “you’re unbelievable.”
he caught it effortlessly. “you’re laughing.”
“i’m dying!”
“you’re smiling.”
“because you’re ridiculous.”
“because i love you.”
and that shut you right up.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the second interview—because of course there was a second interview—was even worse.
the network had smelled gold and decided to run a live “proof special.”
tendō, semi, and shirabu stood in a studio gym, grinning like villains, with a literal net set up behind them. ushijima, already there for a press event, had been tricked into participating.
you sat in the front row beside the announcer, heart doing somersaults.
“so, ushijima,” the host said, microphone in hand. “rumor has it you used to, uh, ‘defend your girlfriend’s honor’ with volleyballs. care to comment?”
he stared into the camera, deadly serious. “she is my fiancée now.”
the audience screamed.
tendō hollered, “AND HE’S STILL JUST AS SCARY!”
semi yelled, “RETELL THE LEGEND, CAPTAIN!”
shirabu muttered under his breath, “this is going to end in a lawsuit.”
the host, losing it, pointed toward you. “would you like to see the retriever zone in action?”
you buried your face in your hands. “oh my god.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the demonstration
tendō and semi decided to “test the perimeter.”
“for science,” tendō said.
“for trauma,” shirabu muttered.
tendō took one step toward you—
SMACK.
the ball whizzed past his shoulder, brushing a strand of his hair.
the audience gasped.
semi tried next—
WHAM.
the volleyball ricocheted off the wall behind him, bounced off the floor, and landed neatly in ushijima’s hand again like it was trained.
the host nearly fainted.
the audience went feral.
tendō lay on the floor, cackling. “HE’S STILL GOT IT! THE ZONE LIVES ON!”
“of course it does,” ushijima said, walking over to you, calm and collected despite the hysteria. “some things don’t change.”
you could practically hear the collective swoon of a million viewers as he pressed a kiss to your temple right there, live on national tv.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
within hours, the internet combusted again.
the clip of him catching the ball one-handed and kissing you afterward had gone viral in thirty countries.
people were editing fake movie trailers titled “the retriever zone: based on a true love story.”
there were fancams of you and ushijima set to love songs. someone made fanart of tendō wearing a helmet labeled retriever survivor.
and under every post, thousands of comments:
@ unih8r: “he’s not just serving balls, he’s serving loyalty.”
@ baldby30: “this man’s reflexes are powered by devotion.”
@ ynfanclub: “every spike says ‘touch my girl and perish.’”
ushijima, completely unfazed, read one aloud. “this one says i have sniper instincts.”
“that’s because you do!” you laughed. “you’re like if cupid joined the military.”
he tilted his head, thinking. “that’s accurate.”
“no, baby, it’s not—”
“you were my target,” he said simply, “and i never missed.”
your brain short-circuited. “you can’t just say things like that on a thursday afternoon.”
“why not? it’s true.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next day, adlers practice was delayed because ushijima’s locker had been covered in heart-shaped post-it notes from fans reading things like ‘please spike me next’ and ‘retriever zone me, daddy.’ (these are my tweets, sorry y’all)
tendō sent you a photo. “look what you’ve unleashed.”
semi texted: “he’s trending higher than the olympics.”
shirabu just sent: “i hate it here.”
you, meanwhile, were curled up in ushijima’s hoodie again, scrolling through memes and trying not to scream every time someone called you ‘mrs. retriever zone’.
ushijima sat beside you, quiet, steady warmth radiating off him.
when he noticed you grinning at a compilation titled “reasons ushijima wakatoshi is the final boss of love,” he leaned over, curious. “what are they saying now?”
you turned the phone so he could see.
the video flashed through clips of him spiking, glaring, standing in front of you, kissing your forehead—and the final caption read:
“he doesn’t block volleyballs. he blocks the entire population from touching his girl.”
he hummed softly, wrapping an arm around you. “accurate.”
you laughed, half-exasperated, half-in-love. “you’re impossible.”
he smiled against your hair. “and you’re mine.”
and that—between the memes, the interviews, and the chaos of it all—was still the truest thing of all.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
when ushijima kissed you that night, soft and slow, his hand cradling your jaw like you were made of glass, you thought about how the world saw him now—this quiet storm of a man who launched volleyballs like bullets, who turned protection into poetry, who could make a stadium scream and still look at you like you were the only thing that ever mattered.
and you realized: they could meme him all they wanted, turn him into a joke, a legend, a trending tag—
but no one would ever understand that when he said safe,
what he really meant was mine, always mine, in every lifetime.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: i barely get any sleep these days. i got 2 hours today.
<taglist>
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© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
iloveu