oya oya oya? | haikyu! one shots [ongoing]

futakuchi kenji: proud

on the couch, as you sat next to your husband, a wide and proud smile spread across your face as your daughter twirled in front of the two of you, a satisfied expression hanging off her face as she showed off her volleyball uniform.

being a first-year in middle school usually meant it was harder to get into the main team on the school's volleyball team especially having to compete with the second and third-years for a spot in a powerhouse school.

but having a father who was previously an ace from a powerhouse school in the prefecture also meant she had a headstart when it came to private coaching and practice. with the well-polished skills she already had, it was easy for her to earn a spot as a regular player on her school's volleyball team.

"you look amazing, sweetheart," you complimented and applauded as she struck a pose. she blushed and giggled, her hands finding their way to the ends of her jersey and fiddling with the fabric.

"what do you think, dad?" she looks over to her father, eyes filled with hope.

you looked over to futakuchi with anticipation as well, he must be over the moon — those early weekend mornings he gave up sleeping in just to teach his dear daughter all the tricks he had picked up from his volleyball days.

other fathers can only envy him for the close-knit relationship he shared with his daughter.

"i don't like it," he pursued his lips, frowning as he pointed at her shorts, those black, high-waisted training shorts, "it's too short."

your daughter's expression turned into a sour one as she looked towards the ground and pouted.

you tried your best to not to slap yourself on the forehead for your husband's antics. instead, you detached your hand that was intertwined with his and elbowed him in the gut, making him wince in pain.

"are you an idiot?! you made her sad!" you frustratedly whispered at him, "redeem your ass before she ignores you for a whole month again!"

you groaned inwardly as you recalled the last time the father-daughter pair had a cold war that lasted a whole month because the ever-so-stubborn-futakuchi refused to drive her to uncle aone's house to practice with his old teammates simply because he was too tired from a single day of spring cleaning.

he flashes a faux expression of hurt at you before walking over to his daughter and ruffled her hair with his calloused hands, "i'm just kidding, pumpkin. i'm really proud of you for getting on the team."

her face instantly lights up again, "really?"

it was rare hearing futakuchi say anything like that, it was a refreshing change for both you and your daughter.

"yes, really," he spins her around to get a glimpse of his daughter in her jersey, a jersey that proudly displayed the same number as his old one, the number 'six'. "shall we get you in bed now? so we can go shopping early tomorrow for some new court shoes for ya' to celebrate?"

"can we get ice cream too?"

"of course."

futakuchi was smiling.

perhaps 'smile' wasn't the right word for it — the top row of his teeth was showing, and there was a faint curve to the lips, but there was no crease below the eyes, no movement of the cheeks. on anyone else, it would be a grimace, at best. on this face, however, it was a sign of bliss alongside an expression any proud father would have.

right after he tucks her in, he lets out a yawn as he appeared next to you in the bed you shared, crawling into your arms, mumbling into your shirt, "can you pay for the ice cream, tomorrow? i lost a bet with my high school senpais and have to pay for drinks next week."

you stifled a laugh and snickered at his silliness, "sure thing, pumpkin," mocking the tone he uses when he's with his daughter.

"oh, shut up, you."