Ship/Character: Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi Fandom: Haikyuu!! Major Tags: None Other Tags: minor depictions of violence, jumping from a height, a wet dream Word Count: 1014 Remix Permission: sure, but no sequels pls i'd like to expand this one in the future.
I initially wanted to go the gauzy ethereal route but uh, it Went The Way It Did. Hope u enjoy? :")
***
Theirs was a partnership borne out of initial misgivings and a well timed ploy.
Tooru had first encountered Ushijima at an antiques auction his client's target was attending, and as he stared at this hulk of a man who looked like he could blend right in with the haughty and the highbrow lounged about the appointed warehouse, Tooru felt the beginnings of a long buried grief swirl within, unleashed.
Ushijima's reputation in the dreamsharing trade was rife, after all, with constant successes; Shiratorizawa never failed in any of the missions its leader deigned to accept, no matter how impossible the odds were stacked against them.
This, with the surety of a death knell, meant that the majority of demand in the market were funneled towards Ushijima's interests first, before the remaining requests trickled through like scraps for the rest of them to pick up.
Tooru absolutely hated it. Competition was scathing enough as it was, and miring it with the condescension he faced every day from potential clients towards the abilities of his team in comparison to Shiratorizawa was nothing short of blatant disrespect.
Seijou could have been the most motley of all crews, but it was his, clawed from the ground up.
And he had the greatest pleasure of blazing through every glass ceiling placed before them.
Tooru was brought back to the present upon the bang of a gavel. Multiple voices rose in unison, deafening, all stating their intended prices for a half-crumbled vase set before them, claimed to be crafted during the Qing Dynasty.
He snorted. Anyone with two learned eyes could discern that the piece of pottery was fake: it did not bear the carvings of its master's signature.
Still, there was fun to be had from watching the filthily rich make fools of themselves, so he kept quiet and focused on his target, an elderly Diet member sipping sake in a corner, deep in conversation with a fellow enthusiast.
Every so often, glimpses of Ushijima's iron-set face would filter into sight.
Tooru gritted his teeth.
Another round by the gavel, then, he got up to leave.
He tapped once on the hidden mic under his sleeve.
It was time to make a move.
***
As it turned out, Ushijima wasn't there to poach his target from right under his nose.
In fact, if Tooru could have two moments of peace from fending off the projections swamping him and the other man, he'd be able to piece together a ruse, concocted by both Seijou and Shiratorizawa's supposed "clients", to simultaneously erase the two groups out of the business. How, admittably, deliciously insiduos.
Yet Tooru was having none of it. He whirled around, swiftly kicking a faceless bodyguard in the groin before slamming his back against Ushijima's, mutually providing cover. There was blood across his split knuckles and he knew that the pain was a mere figment of this dream, but it stung nonetheless. If they didn't find a way to regroup with their respective teams soon, there would be no hope of surviving.
Tooru snarled. "Is your reputation just for show or are you actually going to make yourself useful?!"
Despite grappling with a salaryman, whose errant tie kept flapping into Ushijima's face, Ushijima still had the gall to placidly raise an eyebrow. His tone was even when he replied, "Requests for assistance should be directed politely."
Tooru damn near choked at that. Finally at the last vestiges of his patience, he snapped his eyes shut, and dreamed.
The pavement below them splintered, caving open, engulfing every single car and person unlucky enough to be at its epicentre, and they, too, fell.
But he was not done yet; they abruptly landed upon a large expanse of coarse, scaly skin, and as it rose, they were lifted dizzyingly higher towards the poisonously blue sky.
Ushijima's eyes were wide, for once, when the breadth of what Tooru had conjured dawned on him, and he muttered wondrously under his breath, "Godzilla."
Yes, he'd resorted to creating the nationally beloved dinosaur out of desperation to escape their previous predicament and it was doing a marvellous job at squashing everything within sight. If Ushijima had a problem with this arrangement, he could very well go jump off and fly a kite.
"Any complaints?" He aired, tone dry.
"The dream's stability--"
"Can go fuck itself!" As if on cue, the creature stomped mightily, perhaps in tune with his vindication. "We're getting out of here anyway, there's no point covering our tracks since this was all a setup."
The other man nodded. Then, almost hesitantly: "Dinosaurs, you like them?"
Tooru nearly busted into incredulous laughter. Of all the things he'd expected Ushijima to inquire about, it definitely wasn't that. "Nah, Iwa-chan-- my vice captain, I mean, is the one crazy about it."
"I see."
"Yep. Anyway, it's your cue to go." Deeming there to be enough height for a kick to happen, he hauled Ushijima by the collar and promptly, shoved him off their perch. He noted the look of shock upon Ushijima's face with a great amount of satisfaction.
Then, he quickly followed suit for there was work to be done in the real world.
***
Once their teams had extricated themselves from the target's mansion and subsequently reconvened in Seijou's nearest safehouse, there was much talk to be held over future deliberations and possible vengeance.
Though that all grinded to a halt as Ushijima took one long smouldering look at Tooru and said: "You should have come to Shiratorizawa."
Tooru blinked.
And immediately kicked every Shiratorizawa member out; right before slamming the door in Ushijima and co's faces, he hissed, "Go fuck yourself."
"Your ears are red," Iwaizumi helpfully pointed out as he stormed back. Behind him Matsukawa and Hanamaki shared badly hidden snickers.
"You're all cancelled," Tooru grumbled tiredly and flopped onto a couch, ready to pass out.
(Tooru's never had a natural dream in ages but that night his mind wheeled images of large hands and flint-sharp gazes, and the front of his pants strained against his crotch when his eyes flew open.
FILL: Team Grandstand
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: minor depictions of violence, jumping from a height, a wet dream
Word Count: 1014
Remix Permission: sure, but no sequels pls i'd like to expand this one in the future.
I initially wanted to go the gauzy ethereal route but uh, it Went The Way It Did. Hope u enjoy? :")
***
Theirs was a partnership borne out of initial misgivings and a well timed ploy.
Tooru had first encountered Ushijima at an antiques auction his client's target was attending, and as he stared at this hulk of a man who looked like he could blend right in with the haughty and the highbrow lounged about the appointed warehouse, Tooru felt the beginnings of a long buried grief swirl within, unleashed.
Ushijima's reputation in the dreamsharing trade was rife, after all, with constant successes; Shiratorizawa never failed in any of the missions its leader deigned to accept, no matter how impossible the odds were stacked against them.
This, with the surety of a death knell, meant that the majority of demand in the market were funneled towards Ushijima's interests first, before the remaining requests trickled through like scraps for the rest of them to pick up.
Tooru absolutely hated it. Competition was scathing enough as it was, and miring it with the condescension he faced every day from potential clients towards the abilities of his team in comparison to Shiratorizawa was nothing short of blatant disrespect.
Seijou could have been the most motley of all crews, but it was his, clawed from the ground up.
And he had the greatest pleasure of blazing through every glass ceiling placed before them.
Tooru was brought back to the present upon the bang of a gavel. Multiple voices rose in unison, deafening, all stating their intended prices for a half-crumbled vase set before them, claimed to be crafted during the Qing Dynasty.
He snorted. Anyone with two learned eyes could discern that the piece of pottery was fake: it did not bear the carvings of its master's signature.
Still, there was fun to be had from watching the filthily rich make fools of themselves, so he kept quiet and focused on his target, an elderly Diet member sipping sake in a corner, deep in conversation with a fellow enthusiast.
Every so often, glimpses of Ushijima's iron-set face would filter into sight.
Tooru gritted his teeth.
Another round by the gavel, then, he got up to leave.
He tapped once on the hidden mic under his sleeve.
It was time to make a move.
***
As it turned out, Ushijima wasn't there to poach his target from right under his nose.
In fact, if Tooru could have two moments of peace from fending off the projections swamping him and the other man, he'd be able to piece together a ruse, concocted by both Seijou and Shiratorizawa's supposed "clients", to simultaneously erase the two groups out of the business. How, admittably, deliciously insiduos.
Yet Tooru was having none of it. He whirled around, swiftly kicking a faceless bodyguard in the groin before slamming his back against Ushijima's, mutually providing cover. There was blood across his split knuckles and he knew that the pain was a mere figment of this dream, but it stung nonetheless. If they didn't find a way to regroup with their respective teams soon, there would be no hope of surviving.
Tooru snarled. "Is your reputation just for show or are you actually going to make yourself useful?!"
Despite grappling with a salaryman, whose errant tie kept flapping into Ushijima's face, Ushijima still had the gall to placidly raise an eyebrow. His tone was even when he replied, "Requests for assistance should be directed politely."
Tooru damn near choked at that. Finally at the last vestiges of his patience, he snapped his eyes shut, and dreamed.
The pavement below them splintered, caving open, engulfing every single car and person unlucky enough to be at its epicentre, and they, too, fell.
But he was not done yet; they abruptly landed upon a large expanse of coarse, scaly skin, and as it rose, they were lifted dizzyingly higher towards the poisonously blue sky.
Ushijima's eyes were wide, for once, when the breadth of what Tooru had conjured dawned on him, and he muttered wondrously under his breath, "Godzilla."
Yes, he'd resorted to creating the nationally beloved dinosaur out of desperation to escape their previous predicament and it was doing a marvellous job at squashing everything within sight. If Ushijima had a problem with this arrangement, he could very well go jump off and fly a kite.
"Any complaints?" He aired, tone dry.
"The dream's stability--"
"Can go fuck itself!" As if on cue, the creature stomped mightily, perhaps in tune with his vindication. "We're getting out of here anyway, there's no point covering our tracks since this was all a setup."
The other man nodded. Then, almost hesitantly: "Dinosaurs, you like them?"
Tooru nearly busted into incredulous laughter. Of all the things he'd expected Ushijima to inquire about, it definitely wasn't that. "Nah, Iwa-chan-- my vice captain, I mean, is the one crazy about it."
"I see."
"Yep. Anyway, it's your cue to go." Deeming there to be enough height for a kick to happen, he hauled Ushijima by the collar and promptly, shoved him off their perch. He noted the look of shock upon Ushijima's face with a great amount of satisfaction.
Then, he quickly followed suit for there was work to be done in the real world.
***
Once their teams had extricated themselves from the target's mansion and subsequently reconvened in Seijou's nearest safehouse, there was much talk to be held over future deliberations and possible vengeance.
Though that all grinded to a halt as Ushijima took one long smouldering look at Tooru and said: "You should have come to Shiratorizawa."
Tooru blinked.
And immediately kicked every Shiratorizawa member out; right before slamming the door in Ushijima and co's faces, he hissed, "Go fuck yourself."
"Your ears are red," Iwaizumi helpfully pointed out as he stormed back. Behind him Matsukawa and Hanamaki shared badly hidden snickers.
"You're all cancelled," Tooru grumbled tiredly and flopped onto a couch, ready to pass out.
(Tooru's never had a natural dream in ages but that night his mind wheeled images of large hands and flint-sharp gazes, and the front of his pants strained against his crotch when his eyes flew open.
He cursed.)