pairing: terushima yuji x yamaguchi tadashi
wc: 1.7k
cw: slight angst, pining, miscommunication, yamaguchi is bad at feelings
a/n: it was not meant to be this long lol. i kind of got carried away (ᵕ—ᴗ—) enjoy! requested by @oligbia
the gym is loud. not just the squeak of shoes and the snap of serves — loud in the way johzenji always is. someone’s yelling across the court. someone’s already lost their jersey. and right in the middle of it all, terushima yuji is grinning like he runs the place.
yamaguchi doesn’t really know what to make of him.
he’s seen terushima before, in passing — at the interhigh semifinals, on livestreams. he remembers the bleach-blonde hair and the way he points after a spike like he’s calling his shot. too much, is what tsukki says. too loud, too dramatic.
yamaguchi kind of agrees. but only a little.
“karasuno, right?” terushima says, walking up like they’re already in the middle of a conversation. “you guys played against us last year. you got that really tall middle blocker — guy with the glasses.”
yamaguchi blinks. “…yeah. that’s tsukishima.”
“tsukishima,” terushima repeats, like he’s tasting it. “right. he glared at me the whole match. your team’s kind of intense.”
“yours is kind of chaotic,” yamaguchi replies before thinking, then winces.
terushima just laughs. “you’re not wrong.”
he has a towel slung over his shoulder, socks pushed down unevenly, and a bandage across one knuckle. yamaguchi thinks he looks like the kind of person who gets yelled at a lot by his coach.
“you play middle?” terushima asks.
“yeah. pinch server, too.”
“you’re the float serve guy!” teru snaps his fingers. “i remember you! you nailed us in the third set.”
“that was…one point.”
“yeah, but it was a sick serve. really clean. you’ve got great form.”
yamaguchi flushes slightly. he’s not used to praise outside of daichi or ukai, and especially not from cool people who have tongue piercings.
“uh. thanks.”
“you always this quiet?”
yamaguchi shrugs. “you’re just loud.”
terushima grins. “fair.”
they end up next to each other during cooldowns. some scheduling fluke. yamaguchi doesn’t mean to end up talking to him again, but terushima makes it easy. he doesn’t ask for too much. just tosses out questions and fills in the silence without expecting yamaguchi to carry anything.
by the time they’ve gone through stretching rotations, they’ve somehow moved from match stats to horror movies to weird cafeteria food rankings. yamaguchi’s not even sure how.
“you’re weird,” teru says cheerfully, lying flat on his back. “quiet, but like…snappy. i like it.”
“you’re exhausting,” yamaguchi replies. but there’s no bite in it.
teru lifts his phone. “you got snapchat?”
yamaguchi hesitates. then nods. “yeah.”
he doesn’t think much of it at the time. just a guy who’s louder than necessary, with too much hair gel and a good eye for serves.
they won’t see each other much. probably.
still, he smiles when the first text comes in two days later.
teru: tell tsukishima i said hi. and that he’s scary. also, i found a horror movie worse than the one we talked about. i’m sending it your way.
it’s dumb. it’s chaotic. but yamaguchi doesn’t leave him on read. not even once.
weeks pass.
not a lot, but enough that yamaguchi forgets how it started. how it became normal to get a message from terushima after long days. it’s not constant — not even often — but it’s consistent in its own weird way.
sometimes it’s a voice note. sometimes it’s a meme. sometimes it’s terushima ranting about a teammate or asking for advice on which shirt to wear to class. yamaguchi never knows what to expect. that’s half the charm.
then, somehow, they end up hanging out.
not at a game. not at a camp. tokyo. terushima sends a message with a time and place like it’s already been decided.
teru: i’m dragging you to get takoyaki. meet me or live with the regret.
yamaguchi stares at the screen longer than he means to. he goes.
it’s loud. always loud with terushima. even walking down the street. he talks with his hands and changes topics too fast. it should be annoying. yamaguchi finds himself smiling too much.
“you ever shut up?” he mutters, sipping a soda through a straw.
“you’d be bored if i did,” teru grins.
he’s not wrong.
they wander after. no set plan. a bookstore with too many stairs. a convenience store where teru insists on finding the weirdest drink possible. they argue over flavors and impulse-buy matcha pocky. it’s dumb. it’s easy. it shouldn’t feel like anything.
but when yamaguchi checks his phone that night and sees another message waiting —
teru: you looked good today btw
dumb. still dumb. still terushima.
but yamaguchi saves the message anyway.
it’s not a dramatic moment.
there’s no music swelling. no sharp intake of breath. no shift in lighting.
just terushima, lying on his bed after practice, one arm thrown over his eyes, phone buzzing beside him.
yams: lol u survived?
he reads it three times. it’s a nothing message. a throwaway joke in response to the picture teru sent of a spilled protein shake and his ruined shoes.
but teru smiles. like an idiot. like he’s young and stupid and maybe a little in love.
it doesn’t hit all at once. it just settles in slow, the way some things do. like the soreness in his legs the morning after leg day. like the way he always types tadashi instead of yams now. like how he doesn’t double-text anyone else. doesn’t wait for their bitmoji to pop up on the screen. doesn’t care this much.
he starts drafting messages and deleting them. starts hovering over his camera roll, wondering which photo is funny-casual and which one is trying too hard.
he thinks about what yamaguchi would like. which songs. which drinks. which compliments wouldn’t make him uncomfortable.
teru’s not good at this. he’s never had to think this much before. never cared if he came off too strong.
but with yamaguchi it’s different.
he wants to do it right.
and that’s how he knows he’s in trouble.
he stares at the ceiling. types another dumb meaningless text.
teru: i hate my gym. it's so ugly it bullies me personally. also do you think ghosts can do pushups
he hits send before he can second-guess it. then turns off his phone like that’ll save him.
it won’t. he’s already doomed.
the distance isn’t dramatic either.
it’s just... there.
yamguchi starts answering slower. messages shrink. the edge in his sarcasm dulls — like he’s pulling back without meaning to, or maybe meaning to more than he wants to admit.
teru notices. of course he notices.
he tells himself not to care. tells himself yamaguchi’s busy, school’s stressful, maybe his coach is cracking down harder.
tells himself all kinds of things.
they still talk, sometimes. but the rhythm’s off. something in the timing, the tone, the way yamaguchi leaves messages hanging longer than he used to.
and teru, stupidly, keeps making it easier. keeps laughing at things that aren’t funny. keeps replying fast to messages that don’t need answers.
he sends memes like armor. voice notes like bait.
nothing really lands.
he tries not to spiral. he’s good at pretending things are fine. but he’s not used to wanting this bad. not used to feeling the ache when someone doesn’t show up the way they used to.
he almost texts something reckless. almost asks if he did something wrong.
instead:
teru: you good?
seen. no reply.
teru throws his phone across the bed and flops down after it.
he tells himself again — it’s fine.
he’s fine.
he’s not.
they see each other again during a practice match.
karasuno vs johzenji. nothing major. just a one-day scrimmage, meant to kill time between tournaments. the gym smells like sweat and floor polish. yamaguchi’s already stretching when teru walks in.
he doesn’t wave. doesn’t smile. just nods once, expression unreadable.
teru feels it in his stomach.
practice starts. the game runs. they’re on opposite sides. yamaguchi rotates in for serves. teru doesn’t get subbed out once. he’s loud, as always. grins too much. plays well. yells louder. it’s almost convincing.
when it’s over, they don’t talk right away.
people scatter. teams head to their respective corners to cool down. someone plays music too loud. teru finds yamaguchi near the bleachers, pretending to scroll through his phone.
“hey,” he says.
yamaguchi looks up. “hey.”
that’s it.
teru rocks back on his heels. thumbs tucked into the hem of his jersey.
“you ignoring me for a reason?”
yamaguchi blinks. “what?”
“nothing. never mind.”
teru turns like he’s going to leave. then stops.
he exhales hard. presses a hand to his forehead.
“you know what? whatever. i just — i guess i thought i mattered a little more than this.”
yamaguchi goes still.
teru shrugs. laughs under his breath.
“guess i’m just good for when you’re bored.”
and before yamaguchi can say anything — or not say anything — teru’s already walking away.
he doesn’t look back.
it’s raining in tokyo.
barely. just enough to make the air heavy and the pavement slick. yamaguchi spots terushima across the street at a weekend popup — hood up, shoulder bag slung across his chest, fingers tapping against a canned coffee like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.
yamaguchi almost walks past him.
but he doesn’t.
teru looks up just as yamaguchi steps under the awning. his expression doesn’t change much, but his grip on the can tightens a little.
“didn’t think i’d see you here,” teru says.
yamaguchi shrugs, "didn't plan on coming. ended up here anyway."
a beat. then teru nods, like yeah, that makes sense.
there’s a pause. yamaguchi shifts his weight.
“i thought about what you said,” he offers, finally. “and about how quiet i got.”
teru doesn’t say anything.
“i didn’t mean to disappear. i just—” yamaguchi trails off, frustrated. “i don’t always know how to handle people who care that much. i’m not used to being on the receiving end.”
that gets a breath out of teru.
“you don’t have to do anything,” he says, voice low. “just don’t pretend it wasn’t something.”
yamaguchi looks at him.
the wind shifts. the rain starts up again, light but steady.
“i missed you,” yamaguchi says. quiet. sincere. “i like talking to you.”
teru looks down at his shoes. then back up. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
“okay,” teru says. soft, this time. “that’s enough.”
they walk the market side by side. yamaguchi nudges teru’s arm once when he almost trips on the curb. teru shoves him gently into a rack of socks in revenge.
it’s dumb. it’s easy. it's something.
taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @godhainerammsteiner @oligbia
011 | a kiss on the collarbone | allusions to smoking weed & terushima having an erection but otherwise safe for work
———
Terushima finds Yamaguchi to be surprisingly direct under the influence of good smoke, thick plumes of hazy cloud dispersing through the vicinity of his room lending to the way Yamaguchi’s hands inch up the denim expanse of his thighs. The sound of Semi’s electric guitar riffing along to some song Terushima doesn’t know bleeds through the thin walls of their apartment and Yamaguchi is pulling Terushima’s legs over his hips, fingers slipping beneath the soft, loose cotton of his shirt to drift along his sides.
His fingertips press keenly to the small of Terushima’s back, tilted head dipping the spare centimetres that differ their heights to catch Terushima’s bottom lip between his teeth and tug gently, a soft chase of his tongue soothing the unexpected sting. Terushima is still learning to be deferential, hands meekly settling at hips, fingers hooking through belt loops, allowing Yamaguchi the time he desires to slowly prise him open.
He follows Yamaguchi’s lead with diligence, trying not to push too much, too fast. Try being the operative word.
Yamaguchi is driving him crazy with the way he slowly, lazily mouths along his jaw, all wet kisses and teeth, his tongue curling around his earlobe before he sucks it lightly into his mouth. Terushima didn’t think he was particularly sensitive there, and maybe he’s not, maybe he’s just sensitive all over from the over exertion of patience that he’s not familiar with, but the feeling of Yamaguchi’s mouth very nearly lures a moan from his throat.
He can feel himself getting hard as Yamaguchi’s mouth travels down his neck, sucking in a neat little bruise over his pulse point that Terushima just knows will make Yamaguchi’s cheeks tinge pink when he sees it later, as his fingers fit into the spaces between his ribs.
What really makes Yamaguchi blush however is the strangled groan of pleasure that Terushima can’t restrain when Yamaguchi’s teeth catch against his collarbone, his mouth sliding over the same spot in an open mouthed kiss that he chooses to labour more of his attention on. He sucks at the spot, relishing the way that he can hear Terushima’s breath catch in his throat, the airy tone of his voice as he curses blithely.
“Jeez Tadashi, you’re gonna be the death of me if you keep this up.”
Tadashi lifts his head, leans back slightly to meet Terushima’s half stoned, half fucked out expression and with some kind of audacity ask, “Do you want me to stop?”
Terushima’s cheeks flood with color and in a small voice he complains, “Don’t you dare.”
Tsukishima had warned him from the start. If only he had believed him… He wouldn’t be here, stuck in this situation. Six months. That was all it had take for Terushima to isolate him from everyone and everything. He didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. Now, it had been another six months without seeing his family and ten without his whole volleyball team in his life. Yamaguchi was missing them so much, imprisoned in his golden cage. Last time he had get out of Yuuji’s apartment, it was to get his boxes in actually. Nobody had came to visit, at least he didn’t know if it was the case.
“- You know I’m doing this ‘cause I love you, right ? I just want to protect you from the others. I’m the only one who truly loves you.”
Yuu would say these sentences three or more times a day. To which Tadashi always responded by some “I know, love you too”, but the truth was quite different. He was suffering from his loneliness, the love he felt for his lover started to flatten, replaced by hatred, sorrow and distrust.
Unfortunately, the more he tried to go away from the other man, the more this latter was putting restrictions. The green-headed was not allowed to have a phone anymore, to open mails, to open the door to anyone. The only thing he could do was to please Terushima in any ways possible, including in bed, and he hated it. Oh god, he hated it so much. If only he could go back to the life he had before he met him…
“- Hi sweetheart.”
The door closed. The blond walked to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. Just a little too strongly, but not enough for it to pass as a violent act.
“- Hi. Yuuji… I wanna-I wanna go outside, please. Yamaguchi blurted out, without even thinking.
- You don’t love me anymore huh ? the pierced man replied in a voice full of anger. After all I did for you ? That’s how you thank me !? What ? You’re gonna see some of your old friends that treated you like the little slut you were ? Missing that Tsuki’s dick already !?”
A hand caught the younger’s throat, expelling the air out of his lungs. Oh yeah, that was why he didn’t stand against his lover before.
“- No, no, please, I’m sorry ! Stop, no ! I love you, there’s only you I swear...”
The former Johzenji’s captain let the hand he had risen fall back to his side. His face softened as he came closer to the Karasuno’s ex-player.
“- I love you too, Tadashi. You know that, right ? I just want what’s good for you. he whispered, his smile spreading a little too widely.
- I-I know...”
The hand didn’t move from his throat as its owner bent down for a rough kiss. Yamaguchi could already tell it was gonna be a long and painful night.
Today’s a perfect day for naked cuddling. I don’t even care what day it is. Every day is perfect. (I’m gonna spend it with you.) - YamaTeru ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
I tried? :D
Yuuji piles the blankets on the bed, lines the wall and headboard with pillows, makes it as comfortable as he possibly can. Luckily they have a lot of pillows, and their blankets are the comfiest that Yuuji’s ever laid on. He stretches out on the bed and waits, warm and comfortable. It’s not long until Yamaguchi enters the bedroom, slight smile on his lips and laughter in his eyes as he gazes at Yuuji on the bed.
“Today’s a perfect day for naked cuddling.”
Yamaguchi tilts his head. “Tuesday is perfect for naked cuddling?”
“I don’t even care what day it is. Every day is perfect.” Yuuji grins at the slight blush on Yamaguchi’s face, reaches out a hand toward him. “I’m gonna spend it with you.”
Yuuji scoots to the edge of the bed, pulls Yamaguchi closer by their entwined hands, and helps him disrobe. It doesn’t take long before Yuuji’s peppering tiny kisses along the expanse of freckles that trail down Yamaguchi’s chest to his hip, and after that it’s easy to coax him into laying flat on the bed. Yuuji takes his time going over every inch of Yamaguchi he can reach, fingers and lips tracing over freckles and moles and curves.
Yamaguchi giggles lightly, and his stomach shakes under Yuuji’s palm. “I thought you wanted to cuddle?”
“I do.” Yuuji kisses his way back up to Yamaguchi’s face, brushes gentle kisses over his cheeks, and then snuggles as close as he can get, dragging the blankets over them both as he does. “Naked cuddling.”
A giggle, echoing melodically in Yuuji’s ear, happy and content. “Naked cuddling. On Tuesday.”
“Every day.”
“Maybe.” Yamaguchi looks at Yuuji pouting, and Yuuji can see the fondness in his beautiful eyes. “If you’re good.”
“I’m always good.” Yuuji can’t keep the grin off his face.
“To me, you are. Too good.”
Yuuji smothers Yamaguchi in kisses then, until they’re both laughing too hard to do anything but stop and try to breathe, and then they cuddle until their stomachs demand food, lazy and content to be in each other’s presence.
Terushima catches sight of him through the crowd by chance, takes a sip of his drink, bides his time, considering. He’s optimistic by disposition, sees this opportunity as a second chance, and he’s never been known to squander opportunities that align with his more or less romantic pursuits. This one, Terushima considers, would be one of the more romantic, the years it’s spanned lending a rose coloured tint to it that he finds novel as his warm eyes follow the former volleyball player across the room.
Yamaguchi looks only a little different than he had the last time they had seen one another; his hair is a little longer, he maybe just a bit taller, broader, and he’s holding himself a little straighter, a bit more confidence exuding from him than Terushima remembers. All of which is only to say that Terushima has no intention of letting his second chance slip by, particularly when the object of his now focused attentions scours the party with curiosity and their gazes align.
Terushima can see the flustered blush leaking into his cheeks from where he stands, barely listening to Semi go on about whatever girl he’s seeing at the moment. Yamaguchi may exude more confidence generally, but Terushima isn’t at all disappointed to see that Yamaguchi’s reaction to him is an echo of what it was three years ago, right down to the way his head ducks and his hand rubs at the back of his neck.
When his gaze slips back to Terushima only a moment later, Terushima is holding strong, confronting Yamaguchi’s shy pass of acknowledgement with a slow curve of his lips. Terushima lifts the bottle in his hand, tilts the neck in Yamaguchi’s direction as a form of long distance greeting. Yamaguchi returns his gesture with a small, bashful smile.
To his side Semi remarks, “You’re not listening to me, are you?”
Terushima gives him a sheepish smile, confessing, “Nope,” with zero qualms about it. His eyes are still on Yamaguchi, who by now has returned his attention to his former teammate and the small group they’ve acquainted themselves with. He turns back to Semi, flippantly saying, “Something about Daidouji-san, right?”
He loses track of Yamaguchi eventually, though that’s not entirely a mistake. He’s trying to play it cool, for now. Establishing mutual recognition was a good start, and by the time they cross paths again Terushima has at least half of a game plan in mind and isn’t running purely on instinct.
They pass one another some half hour later, entering and exiting the kitchen respectively, close quarters and scattered crowds providing enough of an excuse for Terushima to let his shoulder brush against Yamaguchi’s chest on the way past. He eyes Yamaguchi with a tilt of his lips, smoothly uttering “Hey freckles,” and “come find me at some stage, okay?”
After that it’s a waiting game.
Truthfully Terushima doesn’t know if Yamaguchi will seek him out or not, but he feels good about his chances. He feels good about the soft nod Yamaguchi had responded with when he made his request, and he felt even better about the way his friend had rolled his eyes at their exchange and Yamaguchi had paid no notice. If that was any indication Terushima felt pretty secure that things were going his way.
Forty five minutes later, admittedly, he’s not feeling as confident.
Terushima turns his head from side to side, scanning the masses for a glimpse of Yamaguchi and coming up short. He takes a sip of his beer. There’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking around now though the voice that comes from over his shoulder is blessedly nonjudgmental sounding when it reaches his ears.
“Are you looking for me?”
Terushima turns to the source of the sound and feels the anxiety that was seeping into his skin ease away, Yamaguchi’s body a palpable presence just inches behind him. He half expected to see Semi, Yamaguchi is preferable.
Admittedly he’s not thrilled to have been caught in the act, but he’s not about to look embarrassed by the fact, turning to face the younger boy with an unbothered expression and a coy tone of voice when he dismissively claims, “I might have been.” He’s quick to tack on, “took you long enough to come find me. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to leave me hanging for a second time.”
Terushima raises a brow in a note of challenge and he notices Yamaguchi immediately defer to the action, his line of sight dipping toward the floor, or what can be seen of it in amongst all the feet.
When he looks back at Terushima he does so with an embarrassed softness in his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he intones, and his hand is rubbing against the back of his neck once more. Terushima wonders just what nerve he touched upon that Yamaguchi looks so affected but Yamaguchi offers no explanation and Terushima has no desire to drag one out of him, so he changes tactics.
He turns to face Yamaguchi more completely and gives a dismissive wave of his hand, insisting, “Forget about it,” with an easy smile. The relatively harmless gesture seems to go a way in easing his worries and Yamaguchi’s features relax, he takes a sip of his beer in lieu of having anything to say.
Terushima follows the action, watches the muscles in his neck move as he swallows. He’s tipsy enough that the movement of Yamaguchi’s throat has his thoughts getting far too ahead of themselves and he bemoans his own impulses, attempting to catch the two of them up to his, admittedly, lurid constitution in bypassing pretences to ask, “Would I be wasting my time shooting another shot?” Terushima doesn’t blush, though the back of his neck feels distinctly warm despite how evenly he manages to convey himself.
He is graced with Yamaguchi’s bashful smile before he turns his head and tries to smooth his features out more impassively. He does a poor job, of which Terushima is quietly pleased, all the more so when Yamaguchi shakes his head no and infers “I don’t think so.”
It’s not entirely encouraging, but he’s worked with less before and after a few more drinks and small talk that Terushima realises isn’t mind numbingly dull Yamaguchi provides him with more than enough inadvertent encouragement to feel fairly secure that his efforts aren’t in vain.
He seizes his opportunity more boldly when someone inadvertently bumps Yamaguchi’s shoulder mid drink, the graceless move causing a small drop of beer to leak from the corner of his mouth. Terushima isn’t even thinking when he reaches out, those damn impulses of his switched on full. One moment Yamaguchi’s mouth is shaping a surprised ‘oh,’ and the next Terushima’s thumb is wiping the edge of his bottom lip.
Terushima thinks little of it, sucks his thumb into his mouth to wipe it clean as if it is the obvious and most natural course of action, and only realises how forward the action was when Yamaguchi makes a strangled noise that he immediately looks horrified with himself for.
Terushima grins, counts his lucky stars and downs the last of his drink. He does not make any comment on Yamaguchi’s reaction though the instinct to tease is pulling at every waning modicum of self control he has.
He does not run his thumbs over the freckled arches of Yamaguchi’s cheeks and pull their mouths together like all of his instincts are dying to.
Terushima considers the fact that he’s never had to be this careful before. He’s never been so aware of someone’s limits, and Yamaguchi strikes him as the type who scares easy.
If he wasn’t, he’d have called him three years ago, right?
Despite all this, he is who he is at the end of the day and Terushima can’t quite help himself, can’t stop himself from confessing, “Damn, I really want to kiss you.” He breathes it out, so quietly Yamaguchi could have missed it but he knows he hasn’t, can feel his cheeks burning some because the way it sounded surprised even him.
Yamaguchi surprises him more, his body language shy but his words bold.
