al

#sixfanarts 6/6: ushiwaka ft. tendou!
#haikyuu #ushiwaka #ushiten

#ushiten / soft fluff

“I don’t know why you look at me like that,” tendou whispers from underneath his lover, their noses pressed together.

“like what?” ushijima questions, brows furrowing.

olive eyes stare into amber, only inches apart.

“like… like I’m special.”

우시텐도 낙서
#牛天 #ushiten

thunderball

✧ #kawagata #山川
✧ english, M (for violence), 5.2k words
✧ part 4 of the espionage au
✧ written as a late submission for taichi days day 3 – spy

archiveofourown.org/works/65148109

bsky.app/profile/gojo...

bsky.app/profile/gojo...

also cross-posted on ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/64465735

In the stands, a carmine-haired woman, with the captain’s match-worn jersey hanging off her frame, wears the same design on her fingers, this time in all green.

— end.

This time, Wakatoshi leans in for a kiss. She doesn’t see any reason not to.

—

At the 2024 Olympic, Japan’s national team captain Ushijima Wakatoshi sports a manicure for her final match against Italy, short-trimmed nails adorned with intricate patterns in blazing crimson.

But then Satori exhales a quiet laugh, bright, and the tension breaks, a sunshine streaming down on a cloudy day.

“Okay, Waka-chan.” She looks up at Wakatoshi from underneath her lashes and searches her gaze for a beat, delightfully shy. “That’s a promise.”

That this separation is just a prelude to quiet reunions, chocolate-stained kisses and painted fingernails.

There’s a pause, one too long, and Wakatoshi worries she has said the wrong thing. Pushed too far, asked for something Satori can’t promise, doesn't even want to promise.

It’s the closest Wakatoshi can come to asking Satori to stay without actually saying the words. A hope, built on shared tomorrows and hours of future flights, that what they have is strong enough to overcome their distance.

“When you aren’t here, I would like to have my nails bare.” Wakatoshi’s voice is hopeful as she explains. “But, in the off-seasons, you can paint them for me when I visit.”

Yet it does not make it any easier, doesn’t stop the quiet, selfish part of her from wishing Satori would stay.

“No.”

Satori blinks, freezes. “No?”

It was a plan Satori had had for as long as Wakatoshi had known her. And what exactly could she say to that? Of course she’ll let her go. Wakatoshi loves her enough to watch her leave, wings soaring to follow her dreams, no matter how far France seems to be.

They’d talked about it before, of course. Over midnight snacks, under shared blankets, Satori had told her she wouldn’t continue playing volleyball and wanted to pursue culinary arts.

Where else would be better than Paris?

“All done, Waka-chan, the prettiest!” Satori preens, pleased with the result. “What do you think? It’s simple, isn’t it? You can do it on your own when I’m gone, I’m sure!”

Gone. The word lands like a punch, knocking the breath out of her lungs.

Wakatoshi minutely shrugs, not even a drop of shame after being admonished. When it’s all done, Satori guides her hands to rest over a pillow to let the polish dry.

Satori lets out a tiny gasp, face flushed, and leans into the touch before she tries to recover some composure.

“You can’t do that while I’m working,” she scolds softly, even as her voice wavers with affection, unexpectedly bashful. “You’ll mess up my hard work, Waka.”

But what Wakatoshi does, instead, is reach out to brush the wisps of hair out of Satori’s eyes. Her touch lingers, hooking the strands behind her ears before coming down to caress her cheek, thumb grazing over her prominent cheekbone.

“Your hair seems to bother you.”

Hands steady, wide eyes sharpening in single-mindedness, pink tongue peeking out in utmost concentration.

It wouldn’t take much to lean in for a kiss.

One thing about Tendou Satori, one Wakatoshi has learned and most people ignore, is that she is meticulous in everything she does.

Watching it on court is an experience, but this up close, it’s a blessing.

There is something fleeting on Satori’s face, raw and vulnerable, but she does not say anything and sets out to work. She buffs Wakatoshi’s nails then wipes them clean, her grip gentle.

“See, Waka-chan, base coat first, so the color has something nice to stick onto!”

Vermillion, venetian, burgundy, different undertones, different finishes. Some have glitters, the colors shifting from different angles. Her head spins with possibilities. In the end, though, she picks up an exact match to Satori’s eyes and sets it between them.

“This one.”

Shivering, drenched to the bones, Satori took her hands to warm them up, and Wakatoshi knew she had wanted her then.

“I would like to use red polish.”

“Oh, a bold choice!” Satori exclaims, eyebrows raised. “As expected from our ace! I have a lot of reds here, come take a look.”

Sue her for wanting to keep Satori all to herself. From their first practice as opponents (where Satori’s perfectly timed blocks killed nearly all of her spikes), friendship blossomed, but it wasn’t until their second year, caught in the rain together, that everything shifted.

The crease between Wakatoshi’s brows deepens. It is uncomfortable, she realizes, when the image of Satori holding Semi’s hand like this when they paint their nails together comes to her mind unbidden. Their palms slotting together, faces close enough to feel each other’s breath—

She steers her away from the grays and purples Eita prefers. Too gloomy, she tuts.

“Semi also uses these?” Wakatoshi asks.

Satori nods, her focus dedicated to unraveling the knot of muscle inside Wakatoshi’s palm. “Some are hers, actually! This is, like, our shared stash.”

Satori then excitedly gives Wakatoshi a hand massage and tells her to pick a color, recommending some she thinks will look great on her. She leans more towards an olive green, a shade lighter than her hair, and a rich deep brown that would suit the golden hue of her skin.