you're withholding giving kudos on a fic until it's fully completed because you're terrified it might update and include something "problematic" that your "friends" will find using a kudos tracker. I'm withholding kudos on a fic because I thought I gave it already 13 chapters ago. we are not the same.
i think i’ve read every single ushijima x reader story tumblr has to offer me…..i’ve been using this app to help me get out of my cai addiction but i feel a relapse in the foreseeable future…if anyone has any recommendations, please share!!! i’m open to ao3/wattpad stories as well :3
ushijima’s self-assigned mission to see winter’s first snowfall with you.
Ever since Ushijima heard an old tale about couples who watched the first snowfall together, he made it his mission to see it with you. It was said that people who witnessed it would have a relationship that lasted forever. As silly as it sounded, Ushijima was incredibly intrigued by the idea.
He was never one to believe in superstitions, but the thought of doing something so romantic yet simple with you made the beating of his heart just a little more tender.
It began with him checking the weather forecast multiple times a day and saving the first predicted sighting of snow to his calendar. He kept this routine so diligently from the day winter started so much that his average screen time for the weather app had shot up to around thirty minutes per day.
Ushijima didn’t think he fully believed in the tale, but his anticipation for the day when fluffy flakes of frozen condensation would cascade from the sky said otherwise.
On a particular “high probability” day as Ushijima called it, training felt like it was growing longer and longer by the minute. Once it passed the time that his teammates usually retired for the night, Ushijima felt himself growing more and more restless.
The air outside was just that mix of dry yet cold, and the sun had long since taken refuge behind a blanket of clouds. Perfect conditions for the first few flurries of snow to begin their descent. It took about an hour more until his coach and teammates concluded their training session and bid each other farewell. Ushijima responded with his usual quiet greeting in return and reflexively whipped out his phone. His thumbs went through the motions of unlocking the device and opening the weather app, and his thoughts were confirmed.
A small message popped up under the number showing the current temperature, ‘Snow at 7pm today.’ Ushijima’s olive-coloured eyes widened a fraction. He quickly shoved his phone back into his pocket and gathered the rest of his belongings.
The journey back home felt like a blur. The cold air was harsh, nipping at his forehead and cheeks, making him nuzzle his face deeper into the scarf that you had knitted for him. His frost-nipped hand came up to stroke the fabric, a habit that he had picked up from you when you went on walks during winter.
The only thought on his mind was to get to you before the snow arrived. He was even considering keeping his eyes shut if the snow did decide to fall before he got home as it technically meant he had not yet seen the snowfall without you.
After what felt like years, Ushijima made it to your home, inserting his keys into the front door to open it. As he stepped in, he relaxed his shoulders, not even aware that they were so tense in the first place. It was warm, a feeling that reminded him so much of you, and it smelled exactly like your favourite air freshener that Ushijima had grown to like as well.
He hurriedly kicked off his shoes, ears instantly perking up to listen for the pattern of your footsteps or rustling from a book you might be reading. When he found you, you were on the sofa, a cup of warm tea in hand and cosied up in a fluffy sweater.
You placed the mug on the coffee table when you noticed Ushijima in the doorway looking a little winded. His scarf was shifted at an angle and the rise and fall of his chest came at a higher frequency and amplitude than normal.
“Welcome back.” A chill ran through you from the cold air that Ushijima carried with him.
“The snow,” he breathed. “It’s going to snow.”
“Ah, I saw the forecast this morning. I hope you weren’t too cold on your way back.” you stood up, hands finding his cheeks hidden under the wool scarf to warm them with your hands.
“It wasn’t too bad.” he hummed, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch, being carried away for a moment.
“I can make you some tea if you’d like.”
Ushijima nodded, then paused. His eyes flickered to the large window which the dark winter evening sky had filled like black coffee in a clear glass mug. Specks of white dotted the landscape outside, glistening like tiny jewels in the warm streetlights.
“It’s snowing.” he mumbled, making you follow his gaze.
“The first snow is always so pretty.” you mused.
You suddenly felt a pair of hands on your waist, still slightly cold from the prickly air outside. Ushijima pulled you to his chest, and you caught a smile on his lips before your vision was completely covered by his chest and shoulders.
“It’s snowing,” he repeated, this time sounding relieved, “And we’re watching it together.”
“I didn’t know you liked the snow so much,” you poked his side and he chuckled.
“Me neither.” The vibration of his voice transferred from his chest to your cheek. “I think I like this year’s snow the most out of all the ones I’ve seen.”
You raised a confused eyebrow, still leaning into the warm embrace nonetheless and mentally adding snow to the list of random things he liked.
winter might just be my favourite season to write about
I don’t know if you write teacher x student, but if you don’t you could just ignore this request. Teacher! Ushijima x student! Reader college au
#12: thesis with wakatoshi ushijima
ofc i do!!! thanks for requesting and enjoy :)
pairing: professor!ushijima x fem student!reader
cw: MDNI, nsfw, college!au, age gap, power imbalance, size difference, oral sex (character receiving), deepthroat, light face-fucking, cum eating, a bit of praise and dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, backshots, physical restraint, spanking, everyone's 18+ obviously
the fluorescent hum of the department office was a constant companion, a dull drone that had become as familiar as the scent of old paper and the subtle, almost imperceptible, musk of your advisor. professor wakatoshi ushijima. even the name felt weighty, a solid block of granite in an academic world often too eager to embrace ephemeral trends. he was, as the whispers went, a phenomenon; the youngest tenured professor, his intellect as formidable as his physical presence. his reputation for unyielding precision and an almost unnerving calm preceded him, a stark contrast to your own fiery ambition and a mind that thrived on pushing boundaries.
you were the department's golden student, a bright star in a constellation of aspiring academics. your thesis, a daring reinterpretation of post-structuralist thought, was meant to be your magnum opus, your ticket to the top. and who better to guide you than the man who embodied intellectual rigor? you'd sought him out, drawn by the challenge he represented. you'd expected a mentor, a guide. you hadn't expected the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the air whenever you were alone in his office, the quiet tension that hummed beneath the surface of every clipped, analytical exchange.
"your argument for the deconstruction of the authorial voice in early 20th-century russian literature is… bold," he'd stated one evening, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet room. you'd been hunched over his large, oak desk, a sprawl of annotated texts and half-empty coffee cups surrounding you. he stood opposite, a towering figure framed by the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined his office, his arms crossed over his broad chest. his gaze, usually so direct and unblinking, lingered on your face for a fraction too long, a fleeting warmth in his usually cool eyes.
"bold is what this field needs, professor," you'd shot back, a confident smirk playing on your lips. you thrived on this, the intellectual sparring. you lived for the moments you could make him pause, make that unflappable composure crack, even just a little. "stagnation is the death of true scholarship."
a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. was that… amusement? you couldn't be sure. with ushijima, every expression was an exercise in minimalist interpretation. "indeed," he'd conceded, a single word that felt like a victory. "however, boldness without rigorous evidence is merely rhetoric. we need to solidify your methodology here." he gestured to a paragraph in your draft, his large finger, surprisingly gentle, tracing the lines.
these late nights had become the norm. the university campus, usually bustling, would fall silent, leaving only the distant drone of the city and the rhythmic tap of your keyboard, punctuated by ushijima's measured critiques. the hours blurred, and with them, the lines. the professionalism you both so meticulously maintained felt increasingly fragile, stretched taut over an unspoken current that grew stronger with each passing session.
you'd catch him watching you, a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your skin prickle. a glance held for a beat too long over the rim of his reading glasses. a hand brushing yours accidentally as you reached for the same document, the contact sending a jolt through your arm. he was a man of immense restraint, a fortress of calm, but you were a woman who thrived on finding the weak points, on pushing limits. and somewhere between academic rigor and the weight of that unspoken tension, something was beginning to give.
tonight, the air felt particularly thick. your thesis was nearing completion, the final edits a painstaking process that had kept you both in his office until well past midnight. you were exhausted, your mind buzzing with caffeine and the intricate arguments you'd been dissecting for hours. he was seated behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, his tie slightly loosened, the top button of his dress shirt undone. it was a rare glimpse of dishevelment, and it did strange things to your insides.
"this paragraph… it's still too vague," he stated, his voice deeper than usual in the quiet. he pushed a printed page across the desk towards you. "define socio-political ramifications more precisely. give me concrete examples."
you leaned forward, your eyes scanning the text, but your mind was elsewhere. the way the lamplight caught the dark strands of his hair, the powerful curve of his neck. the sheer size of him, even seated. "i thought i had," you murmured, your voice a little breathy. you looked up, meeting his gaze. there was something different in his eyes tonight, a molten heat that mirrored the sudden warmth spreading through your own body.
he didn't look away. "you can do better," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its professorial edge. it was a challenge, a dare. clearly not about the thesis anymore.
"is that so, professor?" you whispered, your own voice laced with a dangerous edge. you pushed your chair back, the scrape of wood against the carpet unnaturally loud in the silence. you stood, slowly, deliberately, and walked around the desk. your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet hum of the room.
he watched you, unmoving, his eyes tracking your every step. the air crackled. you stopped directly in front of him, your hand resting on the edge of his desk, your body close enough that you could feel the radiating warmth of his. your eyes locked.
"what exactly do you think i can do better, professor?" you asked, your voice a low purr.
his jaw tightened. a muscle in his neck flexed. "you know exactly what i mean," he breathed, his gaze dropping to your lips.
you leaned in, your breath mingling with his. the scent of him, clean and masculine, filled your senses. "maybe i need a demonstration," you challenged, your hand reaching out, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. his skin was warm, firm.
he caught your wrist, his grip strong but not painful. his thumb brushed over the pulse point on your inner wrist, a fleeting, electrifying touch. "are you certain you want to cross that line, y/n?" he asked, his voice rough, a tremor running through it. the use of your first name, so rare, sent a shiver down your spine.
you met his gaze, unflinching. "more than anything," you confessed, the words a raw confession ripped from your gut.
his eyes darkened, a predatory glint appearing in their depths. he pulled you closer, his hand still on your wrist, until your hips were pressed against the edge of his desk, your crotch almost brushing his lap. you could feel the rigid heat pressing against his trousers.
he released your wrist, his large hands reaching for the hem of your skirt. with a practiced motion, he pushed it up, his calloused fingers brushing against your bare thighs. you wore no stockings, just a thin pair of lace panties. he hooked his thumbs under the elastic, pulling them down slowly, until they pooled around your ankles. you stepped out of them, kicking them away, your breath catching in your throat.
"kneel," he commanded, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through you.
you obeyed, dropping to your knees on the old, rough carpet between his spread legs. your eyes remained fixed on his, a silent challenge, a hungry anticipation. he reached down, his fingers fumbling slightly with the buckle of his belt, then the zipper of his trousers. the fabric gave way, and his enormous dick sprang free, thick and engorged, pulsing with a life of its own.
a gasp escaped your lips. you knew he was a big man, but seeing it, truly seeing it, was something else entirely. it was a beast, dark and veined, impossibly long and thick. it stood proudly, dripping a bead of pre-cum that glistened in the office light.
he watched your reaction, a flicker of something akin to satisfaction in his eyes. "well?" he prompted, his voice hoarse. "you wanted a demonstration."
you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wrapped them around his shaft. the heat of it, the velvety texture, the sheer girth… it was overwhelming. you ran your thumb over the crown, feeling the slickness, the promise.
you lowered your head, opening your mouth, and took him in. slowly, carefully, you let your lips close around the head, tasting him, the musky, salty flavor filling your mouth. you sucked gently, running your tongue over the tip, eliciting a low groan from deep in his chest.
"that's it," he murmured, his hands reaching to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. he guided you, pushing you deeper, slow at first, then with more insistence.
you tried to take more, pushing your throat to accommodate him, but he was just too big. your gag reflex kicked in, and you pulled back, gasping for air, tears pricking your eyes.
"fuck," he swore, his voice raw. "you can take it. try again." he pushed your head forward, his grip firm. "breathe, y/n."
you gritted your teeth, determined. you opened your mouth wider, consciously relaxing your throat, and let him push. he plunged, slow at first, then deeper, until the base of his shaft was pressing against your chin, and you could feel the full length of him filling your throat. it was a suffocating, overwhelming sensation, but the pleasure was undeniable, a searing heat that spread through your core. your eyes watered, but you held it, sucking and bobbing your head, trying your best to take all of him.
he groaned, a guttural sound that vibrated through your skull. his hips began to thrust, a slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing into your throat, pulling back, pushing again. you could feel the force of him, the power. he pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, then slammed back in, eliciting a choked sound from you.
he kept up the rhythm, his breathing ragged, his hand still gripping your hair, guiding you, controlling you. you could feel the pressure building, the throbbing intensity against the back of your throat. he was close.
"yes, fuck," he gasped, his voice thick with lust. "take it all, pretty girl." his hips bucked, a final, powerful thrust, and then a hot, thick gush filled your mouth, pouring down your throat. you choked, gagged, but swallowed, forcing yourself to take every drop, the taste of him filling your senses, a primal victory. he held you there, still pumping, until his cum was fully spent, his body trembling.
he pulled out, leaving you gasping, your face slick with his cum, your lips tingling. he looked down at you, his eyes blazing, a triumphant, almost feral glint in them. "good girl," he rasped, his voice still hoarse.
he stood, pulling you up with him, his hands grabbing your waist. he spun you around, pushing you forward until your hands were flat on the cool, polished surface of his desk. you braced yourself, your ass jutting out, a perfect target.
he pulled down his trousers completely, letting them fall to his ankles, and then kicked them away. you heard the rustle of his underwear following suit. you could feel the heat radiating from his large body behind you, the hard press of his cock against your ass.
"spread your legs," he commanded, his voice dark and demanding.
you obeyed, pushing your hips back, opening yourself up to him. he grabbed your ass cheeks, pulling them apart, and then, without warning, he plunged into you.
a loud moan tore from your throat as he filled you, stretched you, his enormous dick burying itself deep inside. it was a brutal, glorious invasion, a tearing pleasure that made your vision swim. you gasped, clutching the desk, your knuckles white.
"too loud, y/n," he growled, his voice right by your ear, a possessive rumble. he started to thrust, hard and fast, a relentless pounding that rocked your body. the desk creaked under the force of his movements. he gripped your hips, slamming into you, pulling out almost completely, then driving back in, deeper, harder, with a primal force that left you breathless.
"ah, fuck," you whimpered, your hips bucking to meet his thrusts, your body arching into him. you were a mess of gasps and moans, completely undone by the sheer size and power of him.
he pulled one of your hands off the desk, then the other, and with a single, powerful hand, he clasped both your wrists together behind your back, his fingers easily encircling them. you were utterly helpless, at his mercy. and then, with his free hand, he slammed it down on your ass.
smack!
the sound echoed in the office, sharp and stinging. you cried out, a mix of pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure. he spanked you again, and again, the rhythmic smacks against your ass intensifying the already overwhelming sensations as he continued to pound into you from behind. your ass cheeks reddened, a fiery contrast to the pale skin of your thighs.
"you like that, don’t you, little one?" he grunted, his breath hot against your neck. smack! "being put in your place?" smack!
"yes!" you screamed, your voice raw, your head thrown back. "fuck, yes, professor!"
he paused his spanking, his fingers digging into your wrists. "still too loud," he muttered, a dangerous edge to his voice. you felt him reach down, and then something soft and silky was shoved roughly into your mouth, gagging you. your own lace panties. the taste of your own arousal, mixed with the fabric, was surprisingly intoxicating.
muffled moans escaped you as he resumed his relentless pounding, his hand returning to your ass, delivering another stinging slap. you could only whimper around the fabric in your mouth, your body a slave to his rhythm. he was merciless, driving into you with a ferocity that left no room for thought, only sensation. your pussy clenched around him, milking him with every thrust, desperate for release.
you felt the familiar tightening in your core, the delicious build-up of an orgasm. you bucked harder against him, your muffled cries becoming more frantic. he was almost there too, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat.
"professor… i'm…" you tried to say, but the panties choked the words.
he pulled out.
the sudden emptiness was a shock, a cold wave after the searing heat. you cried out, a frustrated, muffled sound. you turned your head, trying to see him, to understand.
he stood behind you, his massive dick, still hard and dripping, pulled free from your body. he watched you, his eyes burning, and then, with deliberate slowness, he began to jack himself off, his large hand gripping his shaft, stroking it with a practiced rhythm.
your eyes widened as you realized his intent.
he looked at your ass, red and glistening from his spanking, and gave a low growl. his strokes became faster, more urgent. his face was a mask of raw pleasure, his jaw clenched, his eyes half-lidded.
"look at what you do to me," he rasped, his voice strained. "you make me lose control."
he let out a final, guttural cry, his body tensing, and then, with a powerful spurt, he shot his cum all over your ass, a thick, hot spray that coated your skin, running down your thighs. it was a primal, incredibly arousing act. you shuddered, your own climax tearing through your body in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that left you weak-kneed and trembling just from watching him come.
he watched until the last drop had fallen, his chest heaving. he slowly lowered his hand, his eyes still fixed on your cum-streaked ass. he released your wrists, and you almost collapsed, your legs shaking uncontrollably. he reached down, pulling the panties from your mouth, letting them drop to the floor.
you turned, slowly, your eyes meeting his. he was still hard, though softening, his face flushed, his hair disheveled. the calm, stoic professor was gone, replaced by a man whose raw desires had been laid bare.
you stood there, breathing heavily, your body tingling, your mind a whirlwind of shock, arousal, and a strange, exhilarating sense of triumph. you had pushed him, and he had broken, revealing a depth of passion you hadn't dared to imagine.
he took a step closer, his eyes still holding that intense, possessive glint. he reached out, his finger tracing a line of cum down your ass cheek. "now," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, yet still holding that underlying command. "let's talk about that thesis."
Ushijima Wakatoshi isn’t the kind of person who asks questions lightly.
That’s something you learn over time — the way he watches instead of speaks, the way his silence feels deliberate rather than empty. So when he stops walking beside you outside the gym and turns to face you, his shoulders squared like he’s about to receive a serve, you know whatever he’s about to say matters.
The evening air is cool. The sky is already darkening, lights from the school flickering on behind you. Practice had ended later than usual, and you’d stayed — not because you had to, but because you always do. You sit in the stands, finish homework, watch him hit until your hands ache from clapping.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
It’s formal. Careful.
You nod immediately. “Of course.”
He studies your face, jaw tight, eyes sharp in that intense way that makes people nervous — but you’ve never been scared of it. Not really.
“If I ask you something,” he continues, slower now, “promise you’ll answer honestly.”
That gives you pause.
You blink. “Okay… I promise.”
Ushijima exhales, just barely. Like he’s been holding it in longer than he meant to.
“You come to every practice,” he says. “Even when you’re tired. Even when it’s late.”
Your mouth opens, but he raises a hand slightly — not to silence you, just… to finish.
“You bring water. You sit through drills. You watch matches you already know the outcome of.” His eyes narrow, not suspicious — searching. “Why?”
Your heart stutters.
You’ve asked yourself that question before. Late at night. On walks home. Sitting alone in the stands while he packs up, pretending not to notice you watching him the way you do.
“Because I want to,” you say quietly.
He nods once, like he expected that answer. But it isn’t enough.
“That’s not specific,” he says. “I don’t understand vague reasons.”
You almost smile.
Typical Ushijima.
You shift your weight, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, how the space between you feels charged instead of empty.
“I come because… I like being here,” you admit. “I like watching you play.”
That makes his breath hitch.
Barely. But you see it.
“You don’t look away,” he says. “Even when others do.”
You swallow. “You notice that?”
“Yes.” His voice is steady, but his eyes soften just a fraction. “I notice most things about you.”
That sends a warm, dangerous feeling straight through your chest.
He hesitates again — and this time, it’s unmistakable.
“Do you see me as… just a player? A friend?” he asks. “Or something else.”
Your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
You step closer before you can talk yourself out of it.
“I see you,” you say. “Not just what you do on the court. I see how you carry responsibility like it’s a physical weight. How you don’t complain even when you should. How you care more than you let people know.”
Ushijima’s throat moves as he swallows.
“That’s not an answer,” he says, but there’s no reprimand in it. Just nerves.
You take a breath.
“I like you,” you say. “As a person. As… you.”
The world seems to still.
Ushijima doesn’t respond right away. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t look away. He just… processes. Like he does with everything important.
Then he nods.
“Thank you for answering honestly,” he says.
Your chest tightens — disappointment flickering before you can stop it.
“So that’s it?” you ask softly.
“No.” He steps closer — close enough that you can feel his warmth, solid and grounding. “That’s not it.”
He looks down at you, expression serious in a way that feels different now. Vulnerable.
“I don’t understand feelings easily,” he admits. “They don’t come naturally to me. But when you aren’t here… I perform worse.”
You blink. “Wait—”
“I’ve tested it,” he says, utterly serious. “When you miss practice, my focus drops. My timing is off. I look for you in the stands without meaning to.”
Your breath catches.
“I don’t like uncertainty,” he continues. “But I like you being there. I like when you look at me like I’m more than an athlete.”
His hand lifts, hovering — asking permission without words.
You nod, heart in your throat.
He rests his hand gently over yours. Large. Warm. Steady.
“So I’ll ask again,” he says quietly. “And this time, it’s important.”
You squeeze his hand.
“Okay.”
“If I asked you to stay,” he says. “Not just at practice. But with me — through matches, through life — would you?”
Your eyes burn.
“Yes,” you whisper. “I would.”
Ushijima exhales, relief finally breaking through his composure. His thumb presses lightly against your hand, grounding both of you.
“Then,” he says, voice low and certain, “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”
You smile, stepping closer until your shoulder brushes his chest.
“I don’t think you could,” you say.
And for the first time, Ushijima Wakatoshi smiles — small, genuine, and only for you.
In another life, they were best friends who had a secret crush on each other since elementary school and confessed their feelings upon graduating from high school.
“I’m too pretty for academics.”, you whined and slumped dramatically over your textbook, chubby cheek smooshed into the paper. The words on the page stopped having any meaning long ago and with a pout, you turned your head to look at your friend (and longtime hopeless crush) Ushijima.
“Don’t you think I would make a great sugar baby?”
“Absolutely.”, Semi piped up from across the table, “You’re just cute enough to forget all your annoying whining.”
“Oh! - Oh! Is that how it is, Mr “I forgot my hairdryer and so I cried in the showers after practice”?”
“I can’t believe you still bring that up.”
“It was like… three weeks ago.”, Tendou noted, eyes hooded with mischief.
Ushijima looked from one to the other and raised his pen as if in class, waiting for the teacher to call on him.
“Apologies. But what does a sugar baby do?”
You shot up and searched his eyes trying to figure out if he was serious or if it was one of his rare deadpan jokes that went over most people’s heads.
This seemed to be a sincere question, but Semi and Tendou were still buffering, frowning, trying to determine how they should react.
Ushijima went on: “I know a sugar baby gets money from a sugar parent and they get spoiled with gifts and things alike. I know this, because Satori refers to me as his “sugar daddy” whenever I get him a soda from the vending machines. But then what?”
Tendou bit his lips to stop from snorting and Semi apparently tried to jumpstart the one brain cell he borrowed from Shirabu earlier. Since no one said anything, Ushijima asked, “What does the sugar parent get in return?”
Tendou cleared his throat “Well, in some cases - not in ours, though -“, at this point he wagged his finger between himself and Ushijima to make it very clear, “whatever the… sugar parent wants in return varies. Some want arm candy for events, some want saucy favors - intimate favors… sex”, he clarified at last because his friend still seemed lost, “and some just want a feet pic every once in a while.”, he ended with a shrug.
“And anyone can be a sugar parent, right?”, Ushijima asked.
“Please stop calling it that.”, Semi pleaded under his breath.
You and Tendou nodded and confirmed.
“Then… I guess I can also be your sugar daddy, y/n.”
Your face turned boiling hot and you scrunched your hands in your lap to stop from screeching. How did he always say the most unhinged things with the blankest stares?
Even though you turned his offer down, he would still keep coins in his pocket for whenever you wanted a drink, just in case.
a/n: based on a conversation with @haikyu-mp4. Thank you so much for adding the perfect final line.
the moment ushijima first presses into you is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. his body hovers tensely above yours. one hand fisting his cock as he lines himself up. his breath stuck in his lungs, only to be released in a hot, damp puff against your cheeks once his head pops inside of you.
your eyes are glued to his face. the deep furrow of his brow. the near frown of his lips as he keeps pushing. his shoulders tense. almost to his ears as he continues to embed himself in your warmth.
and you swallow the whine the begs to wheeze out of your throat. instead you cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb between his eyebrows. smoothing out the wrinkles there until he sighs. visibly relaxes in your touch. head resting in the palm of your hand as he meets your eyes with gratitude. a silent thank you written across his stern features.
only when his hips become flush with yours do you allow your pleasure to be on full display for him. only when he settles himself deeply within you do you moan for him. a broken whisper of his name as you rediscover your breath. and his entire body shudders in response. hopelessly under your spell. any instinct, primal or otherwise, that he has rendered useless as you flutter around him.
ushijima’s first movements are slow. exploratory. as he rolls his hips. every rocking motion drenched in restraint. it’s obvious in the way his hand fists the pillow beside your head. the other barely holding him up.
your ankles lock around his hips as you urge him forward. granting him quiet permission to let go. to fuck you like he so terribly wants. that desire is woven into to the fabric of his taut muscles. and you can practically hear the seam of his self control rip right down the center as his hips surge forward. as he allows his pleasure to take over.
he collapses on top of you. hands suddenly clinging to your soft body that lays right beneath his. gripping the flesh of your thighs, the plushness of your waist. and only at the first whimper that sounds from your lips does ushijima fuck you like he really means it. like he’s dreamt of. relentless, unforgiving, and selfish.
Warnings: Angel!Reader, Sacrilegious Themes, Smut (18+ only), Oral Sex (fem receiving), Unprotected Sex, Choking, Brief Descriptions of Graphic Violence, Minor Bloodplay, Minor Cumplay
Word Count: 3.8k
a/n: Firstly, thank you to the beautiful @chiwhorei for hosting this collab, I love you oh so much. The masterlist can be found here. Another special thanks to the lovely @mindninjax for betaing this for me, I always appreciate the feedback. I had a great time writing this out, and while late, I still hope you enjoy it.
The ocean was ruthless in it’s wrath to pull you under. The water was crystal clear, the heavy sun burning your exposed skin. The tide was merciless in it’s determination to draw you deeper. Your wings stretched out beside you, feathers becoming dense and traitorous in their inability to take flight.
So there you floated, lulling with every wave that relieved your scorching skin, cursing the heaven that cast you out. And with every eternal minute that drifted you further into fiery resentment, you swore that your wings would never belong to Him again. A swollen promise etched into your sternum, settling deep between your shoulder blades.
You’re standing outside the gym where the Olympics team is practicing when you see Iwaizumi walk by, hand in hand with a clumsily waddling toddler. Iwaizumi nods at you and the toddler waves a chubby arm at you. You giggle and wave back.
“Did you want to wait inside?” Iwaizumi asks.
You’re about to decline when the toddler tugs on your fingers.
“Come in?” he asks.
You agree, letting him lead you by his grip around your ring finger and pinky. Inside the gym, Iwaizumi asks you to watch his son as he finishes up with the team. The child quickly settles into your lap, his babbling trailing off as he dozes away. You’re fiddling with a loose thread in his little sweater when Wakatoshi comes up behind you, freshly showered. He greets you with a brief kiss on the head and sits quietly next to you when he sees the sleeping kid in your arms.
“Who’s this?”
“Iwaizumi’s son,” you respond distractedly.
Ushijima stares intently at you as you gently rock the small child in your arms. He continues to watch in silence as you double-knot his shoelaces, straighten the sleeves on his sweater, and swat away the drool at the corner of his open mouth. He notices when you laugh quietly at his little snores.
His eyes are still on you when you finally look up at him.
“What,” you laugh. “What are you looking at?”
Before he can answer, Iwaizumi comes to relieve you of childcare duties. He thanks you and you assure him that his son was wonderful.
“You’re in a good mood,” Ushijima states.
You only smile at him, swinging your clasped hands in wide arcs and skipping a bit.
Later that night, with your back nestled into his broad chest, he rubs a warm, large palm on your tummy. The gesture is innocent and gentle, but the circles get slowly wider.
“You like kids, huh?” As he talks, the palm slides up to cup your breasts.
“Is that what this is about?”
“What do you think,” he asks, hands not stopping. “About having kids.”
You push him onto his back and roll on top of his chest, eye to eye with him. He gazes at you lovingly and you’ll never get tired of it.
“I want a girl,” you say. “I really want to see your big muscly arms holding a pink blanket with our little daughter in it.”
He gives you a confused look, “if that’s what you want.”
He flips the two of you over, hands back on your body.
“What are you doing!” you laugh.
“Starting now,” he says simply, as his hands continue their trail down your body.
Ushijima Wakatoshi does not like to repeat himself.
“What did you have for dinner?”
Your words come out slightly slurred by the alcohol running through your veins and the fellow clubbers chattering around you.
Ushijima looks down at the dishes he’s currently washing then back to where his phone rests on the counter.
“The leftover grilled fish from yesterday, steamed tofu with some soy sauce, and miso soup with egg.”
“Oh!” you exclaim, voice staticy from your spiked volume and speakerphone. “That sounds good. Was it good?”
“Yes. Are you having fun with your friends?”
You giggle and he smiles a little, now turning back to the dishes. He listens to you ramble as he scrubs and rinses, humming acknowledgements as appropriate.
“How about you, Toshi? Did’ja eat dinner yet?”
Ushijima is familiar with your habit of asking the same questions over and over when you’re tipsy. He’s often the primary victim.
Unphased, he responds. “Yes.”
“What did you have?”
“Fish, tofu, and soup.”
“Ooooh sounds healthy. Did you count your macros and calories? Meet your protein goals?”
The last dish is placed on the drying rack. He considers drying the dishes since it’s an easy, mindless task that would allow him to continue talking to you. He grabs a dish towel.
“Yes. Where are your friends?”
“Oh, here and there. Bathroom? Dunno…”
He stays on the line as he hears you yell your friends’ names, having a full, only somewhat incoherent conversation with them, having seemingly forgotten him on the line.
He listens to you make plans for one more drink, decline an invite to the next bar, and wonder aloud where you could flag a taxi.
“Want me to come pick you up?” he asks.
“Nope! I just flagged a taxi. On my way home!”
“Okay. Be safe. See you soon, love.”
“Wait Toshi! I wanna keep talking to you.”
“Okay, what about?”
“Hmmm… Oh! What did you have for dinner?”
Ushijima Wakatoshi does not like to repeat himself.
But, when it comes to you, his lip curves up and warmth floods his chest as he responds, certainly not for the last time tonight, “Fish, tofu, soup.”
Ushijima who falls hard for you. He loves quietly and observingly. With a small frown on his face he watches you from across the cafeteria. Wondering what you liked to eat, what you were thinking about, what did you like to talk about.
Ushijima who, when you’re around, blushes like an idiot. His brows pulled together and arms crossed. He mostly never makes eye contact with you just because his heart practically beats out of his chest.
Ushijima who finally talks to you and thinks he’s fallen all over again because of how beautiful your voice is. He never wants you to stop he’ll listen to you for hours, for days.
Tendou notices almost immediately and tells practically everyone on the team. It’s a little funny how he’ll openly admit that he has feelings for you except to you in general.
“You guys really haven’t noticed the way he looks at her hmmm?” Tendou teases
“I don’t see a problem. I like her.” He says blindly.
However he always refuses to actually confess his feelings. He’s scared of rejection and that’s what he tells Tendou when he asks.
“Really? That’s it? I mean, yea you’re probably unfamiliar with the feeling.” Tendou deadpans
Ushijima blinks.
“It’s not entirely that. It’s not like my ego would be hurt. I just…don’t want to know that she doesn’t feel the way I do.”
“Because you like her a lot?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
The whole team made a bet with him that if they beat Karasuno, he’d have to ask you out. Which to them would be the easiest way. However they lost and even Ushijima is a little sad they lost the bet.
But here you come strutting up to him, a pout on your pretty lips.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” You rub his arm.
And even though his whole body is warming up and buzzing he can’t help the little chuckle that spills out. You look at him a little confused but he waves it off.
“You’re making it sound like someone has passed. We’ll just have to beat them next time. And I know we will.”
You smile, enjoying the way he sees the bright side of things. Of course this wouldn’t bring him down.
“Yes you will.” You laugh and he lets a small smile grace his lips.
“May I ask you something?” He gulps, his throat suddenly feeling dry.
“What’s up?” You rock back and forth on your feet.
“Would you like to go out sometime?” He avoids your gaze, his lips pursed.
You gush at the sight. The red in his cheeks. This man was a giant but right now he looks like a child being scolded.
“I’d like that a lot. Ushijima.”
He perks up, his eyes gleaming.
“Really?” He blinks.
“Yes.” You laugh and honestly this feels better than winning a match.
“Wakatoshi is fine.” He says.
“My apologies Wakatoshi. I’d love to go out with you.”
c: Husband! Wakatoshi comes home after a very late night of training and much more in-gym interviews than he’d like, only to find you cowered up in some corner of the house, eyes wet and tired, cradling a screaming baby in your arms.
The front door clicks open quietly, the still air of the night creeping into your heated home. Wakatoshi slips his volleyball shoes off at the entryway, eyebrows already narrowing in concern as his ears register the faint crying of his newborn echoing from a far room in the house.
He immediately drops his training bags, feet softly thudding across the floors with a rare sense of worried urgency. The two of you should have been long asleep by now, tucked up and safe in your warm covers, resting you tired bodies.
But you weren’t.
Instead you were sitting on your bedroom floor with your back to your shared bed, body hunched over and cradling a screaming little bundle. Both of your faces streaked with tears, looking completely and utterly drained. Wakatoshi guessed that you must’ve been here for hours, desperately pleading for your little one to close her eyes.
Your voice hitches, tired, helpless eyes looking up to find your husband. “She just won’t stop, I’ve t-tried everything.”
The reddened baby lets out a shrill cry, so high-pitched you're afraid it hurts.
Wakatoshi interrupts silently, sinking down to your height and rubbing a callused thumb against your cheek, smooshing tears into your skin. “It is okay. I am here now to help.” His hair is still damp with sweat - remnants from his late-night training that had him kept way past overtime. And his muscles are aching and sore - wanting no more than to take a hot shower and then cuddle up with his family in bed.
But he doesn’t, not yet. Because you're here, struggling. Doing your best for his family.
So instead he scoops the screaming baby from your arms, eyes softening at her red, spent face.
He stands up and sways, pressing your squirming child to his chest. It seems to settle her a little. Ever so slightly. “You should sleep, I can take care of her now.” Toshi moves to dip a hand under your armpit, gently helping you get up from off the floor.
You steady your exhausted body upwards, wiggling your arm out of his soft grip in protest. “No, no- but there's still dinner,” Your breaths come shaky and disoriented. “M’ almost done, it just needs like - ten more minutes.”
Wakatoshi’s lips part. Here you’ve been, wholly exhausted, tending to his shrieking daughter and simultaneously keeping the household upright while also cooking dinner just so he had something hot to come home to?
He is so very grateful, right to the bottom of his heart. But what you need right now is sleep - not to worry about anyone or anything else. He can’t have his beautiful, perfect wife running on empty, can he?
Your husband murmurs your name softly, still rocking your hiccuping child in his arms and pushes you to sit down on the bed cautiously, careful to not upset you while you're in such a fragile state.
Wakatoshi’s fingers ghost your hairline.
“Toshi…” You lean into his touch, hot, tired tears threatening to fall from your eyes again. “I really tried, I just can’t-”
“You’ve tried enough. And you have done well.” He places a soothing kiss to your temple. It eases your headache. “It is time for you to rest now, I’ll take care of everything else.”
“But-”
He raises his palm outwards to stop you from speaking. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I am sorry I was out so late, I should've come home earlier.”
“S’fine,” You rub your eyes with the back of your weary hand, noticing that your baby’s wet cries have died down to just the occasional little sniffle.
“It is not fine. I should do better at taking care of you both, just as you do.”
You shrug, eyes darting down to the floor, not knowing where to look instead.
“Thank you for being so strong.” He tips your chin upwards so your eyes meet to his, that comforting, serious stare that you’ve always been able to indulge in. “Now please get into bed, I do not wish for you to miss any more sleep than you already have.
Your newborn's breathing evens out, settled by the soft thump of Wakatoshi’s heartbeat and your gentle voices pattering back and forth.
You nod, sniffle a few times, and start peeling back the covers with the help of your husband. “But what if she wakes up again?”
He drapes the heavy covers over your body, dusting stray hairs away from your face. “Then I will deal with it. You need to sleep, or at least rest your eyes.”
Smiling tiredly with a small frown creased in between your eyebrows, you have no other choice but to listen to him, even if you tried, you don’t think your body would let you get out of bed now.
You watch Wakatoshi wordlessly as he switches off the bedside lamp and creeps out of the room as stealthily as he's able to. (Which is not very much - he’s a big man.)
You can’t help but keep your eyes open, body and brain waiting for the sound of the nursery door to open. When you do hear it though, your body instantly relaxes a little. You finally let yourself sink into the covers, pulling the plush blankets up past your face so only your eyes are visible.
The last memory you have of that night is the low creak of the bed frame as a warm body eases into the covers beside you, strong, steady arms enveloping you in their hold.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀
a/n: ughhh husband Wakatoshi can have my soul, I love him so SO much. More coming soon...? (｡· v ·｡) ?
All works are owned by @ lintobln - please do not copy, edit or plagiarize ♡
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