It was late, Ushijima had just dropped you off at home, and you were finally settling in for the night when a soft knock at the door spooked you.
Of course, you checked the peephole before opening up the door for someone in the middle of the night, you weren't stupid. But to your surprise it was Ushijima at the door.
"What are you doing back here? Did you lose something?"
"Yn" he spoke a bit out of breath as if he ran here. "Would you be my girlfriend"
Shocked isn't even the right word for how you feel when those words leave his mouth. It took you a moment to process which only made him more uncomfortable.
"I would like that" you finally say watching as his face lights up, which is only a small smile.
"May I come in?"
☕︎ finally, I dont know why this took me so much longer then the other ones but im so close to the end
tw: brat-taming (obv), size difference (not rlly implied but u get what i meant he's massive), manhandling, brain-fucked, reader is an absolute brat, f!reader, mentions of bruises, his dick is massive, etc
there's quite bit of a challenge when you first started to be engaged with Ushijima Wakatoshi. Yes, THE Ushijima. Although those challenges are.. how do i say it? often times quite unpredictable.
it's like that one meme phrase, 'never let your enemy knows your next move' sorta.
from your perspective, Ushijima is a, punly said, a fucking greed god with japanese features and shit. His build is highkey the vital point here. You may not actually see it too often as he likes his clothes to be more comfortable rather than intended for fashion.
but even then, at some point—his muscles would started to imprint onto his clothes. Any souls that misses one or two moment of those would never realized that Ushijima has an absolute sleeper build.
i mean.. god, who even knows he hold that much under all those sweaters? it's like his body was chiseled by DC artist or something.
you yourself never really expected it to be.. that huge. I mean of course—you get what i mean. He's an absolute menacing tank even from afar. But in bed? it's so much worse, or better—according to your perspective that's on that.
and this is where the challenge started to happened. Although Ushijima often puts out a much more quiet, composed, and stoic exterior—you yourself seems to be the one that often riles him on edge.
in a nutshell: you're a brat. An absolute brat.
you went.. three hundred and sixty degrees from whatever he was saying. Whatever he had demanded and asked from you, you do it the exact opposite. And for what?
had he not treated you so well? i mean of course you get thrown here and there like a rag doll but, he thought that's what you always liked? (you were, but you're too petty to admit it) like he would have no problem to recall to you—of how much you had beg for him.
so now there you were. Pressed beneath his colossal chest. Getting the same consequences for, how much times—by having your womb french-kissed by his monster cock.
he'd leave your skin blooms with dark purple hues from just how strong his grip can be—even if he wasn't directly intending it to be that harsh. Or maybe he does, secretly.
those lips of yours, that often pout and mumbles of complaints, now had been lewdly open—droolin' and fooling around. Your irises are nowhere to be found, they've completely rolled off from the visible sclera.
you look absolutely dumb. Dumb-downed, more accurately phrased.
and as much as little information he gave you, not that he didn't care, Ushijima just knows you're too stupid to even acknowledge him anymore, it's all just his dick that filled the corners of your mind..
he actually loved it. Truly.
and you'd be sure as hell he would not expressed it. He rarely spoke in fucking unless he wants to. And shockingly so, that also applies to moans.
oftentimes he would grunt and huff, he may sniff the croak of your neck or fawned over your collarbones, but—thats it.
he would have no need to talk you down, because he knew his dick already did its part perfectly. And now? all he had to do now was to lay beside you, silently smirking to himself at how—despite all this efforts for you to rile him up, driving him on edge, you'd still be in his grasp eventually.
hellooo ! can i ask for another ushijima headcanon? but this time with female reader and their first kid coming to his game? THANK YOU SO MUCHHH !
AAAAAAA I LOOOOOVE THIS!! YESYESYES
ushijima wakatoshi:
𓂃⋆.˚ when the season schedule comes out, he quietly circles one particular match on the calendar. it’s not because it’s against a strong opponent or because it’s an important championship. it’s because your doctor told the two of you that’s probably when your daughter will finally be old enough to safely come watch one of his games. he never mentions it again, but every now and then he’ll glance at that date while getting ready for practice.
𓂃⋆.˚ on the morning of the match, he tries to convince himself it’s just another game. he’s played in world championships, olympics and sold-out arenas with tens of thousands of people watching him. none of those have made him nervous the way today does. while tying his shoes, he catches himself wondering if the arena will be too loud for her tiny ears, whether she’ll get scared by the cheering or if she’ll even recognize him on the court.
𓂃⋆.˚ before leaving the house, he kneels beside the baby carrier where your daughter is happily chewing on one of her socks. he gently fixes the little bow in her hair that somehow already became crooked.
you smile.
“she’s going to pull it out again in five minutes.”
he nods seriously. “…probably.” then he fixes it anyway.
𓂃⋆.˚ during warm-ups, he keeps accidentally looking toward the family section. not enough to lose focus, but just enough that one of his teammates notices.
“looking for someone?”
ushijima doesn’t even hesitate. “my wife…and my daughter.”
the way he says my daughter is so natural, yet it still feels wonderfully new on his tongue.
𓂃⋆.˚ when you finally walk into the arena carrying your little girl, she’s wearing the tiniest national team jersey imaginable with “ushijima” printed across the back. it’s several sizes too big, the sleeves almost covering her hands completely.
from the opposite side of the court, ushijima spots the jersey immediately. his entire expression softens just enough that everyone who knows him notices.
𓂃⋆.˚ after the match starts, your daughter doesn’t understand volleyball in the slightest. every time the crowd suddenly erupts into cheers, she startles a little before looking around with huge curious eyes.
eventually she decides clapping is fun, so she claps at completely random moments.
somebody serves.
clap clap clap.
timeout.
clap clap clap.
the referee blows the whistle.
absolutely delighted.
clap clap clap.
you laugh so hard you’re barely watching the game anymore.
𓂃⋆.˚ after scoring a particularly difficult point, ushijima instinctively looks toward the stands. he’s looking for the two of you. and there you are, smiling at him while your daughter is enthusiastically waving both arms in absolutely no particular direction.
he gives the tiniest wave back before returning to position.
the cameras barely catch it but you obviously do.
𓂃⋆.˚ after the final whistle, instead of celebrating for very long, ushijima politely excuses himself from his teammates and heads straight toward the family section.
your daughter immediately reaches both little arms toward him.
“…dadaaaa! da da!”
it’s still one of the only words she knows. he melts every single time.
𓂃⋆.˚ he carefully lifts her into his arms, still sweaty from the match.
“wakatoshi,” you laugh. “you’re covered in sweat.”
he freezes. “…right.”
before he can hand her back, your daughter grabs his face with both tiny hands, then plants the sloppiest little baby kiss on his cheek.
everyone around him starts laughing but ushijima just stands there, completely still, because he’s fairly certain his heart has just stopped functioning.
𓂃⋆.˚ interviews afterward become everyone’s favorite part. “congratulations on the win. anything you’d like to say?”
normally he’d give a calm answer about teamwork or training. today, however, his eyes drift toward where you’re still standing with your daughter balanced on your hip.
“i’m happy they were here. …i wanted my daughter to see what i love.” then, after thinking for a second, he quietly adds, “…although i’m not sure she watched much volleyball.”
the camera immediately cuts to your little girl, who’s currently trying to steal your accreditation badge and chew on it.
the interview goes insanely viral.
𓂃⋆.˚ years later, when she’s old enough to actually understand the game, she’ll ask him if he remembers her first match.
he’ll nod immediately. “of course.”
“you don’t even remember what you ate yesterday.”
“that’s true, but i remember looking into the crowd after my first point and seeing your mother holding you while you were clapping at absolutely nothing.”
he smiles, that small, warm smile reserved almost exclusively for the two of you.
“it was the happiest match i’ve ever played.”
𓂃⋆.˚ despite all the trophies lining the shelves of your home, despite every medal and every title he’d ever earned, that memory of seeing his wife and tiny daughter in the stands for the very first time would always be the one victory he treasured most.
poppy says: he just doesn't know how to talk to people, your honor. it's not his fault.
content warnings: food (bagel and coffee); slight angst
This time. This time, I’ll ask them out.
WAKATOSHI stands outside the bakery, the faint scent of fresh bread mingling with the morning air, his fingers restlessly tapping on the sides of his legs as he tries to boost his confidence. In times like these, he wishes he could be more like his teammates. They always praise him for how talented and strong he is; but he would give anything to have the social skills they do.
If your bakery were a volleyball court, he would know exactly how to act. Professional Athlete Wakatoshi Ushijima would walk out onto the court confidently. He would have researched the team weeks in advance, staying up late into the night to watch old game footage and analyze their strengths and weaknesses. New moves would be in his arsenal. He would be prepared for anything.
Off The Court Wakatoshi Ushijima is far from that, though.
That Wakatoshi is an idiot. Off The Court Wakatoshi feels like his heart is simultaneously in his throat and in the pit of his stomach whenever you smile at him. That Wakatoshi once laughed too loudly at a corny joke you had learned. And when you raised your eyebrows in response, he blurted out “APOLOGIES”, and then ran straight into the door, apologizing to the door on the way out too.
He didn’t come back for two whole weeks.
Wakatoshi lets his eyes fall shut now, stilling his fingers as he starts to breathe in a slow, steady rhythm. If he can just put your bakery inside a court . . .
After a few moments, though, he gives up. It’s not working. The mere thought of talking to you is a thousand times more anxiety-inducing than any team he’s ever encountered.
He’s being ridiculous. All he has to do is open the door. He just has to open the door and say good morning to you. He just has to talk casually to you, ask how your morning is so far, and not act like he wants to throw up. All he has to do is casually steer the conversation toward asking you out.
Is it really conversation? His brain teases him. It takes two to take part in a conversation.
Regardless, it’s become his favorite part of his morning routine: munching on his bagel and sipping his coffee while you fill the silence. It strikes him as funny that you chatter away exactly like Satori and Shoyo do, jumping from one topic to the next with ease. But unlike with Satori and Shoyo, he doesn’t mind it one bit.
And while he has shared little about himself with you — “It’s always wise to be cautious and stay vigilant when you’re a famous athlete.” Or at least, that’s what his coach tells him — You don’t seem to mind it. He’d much rather listen to you anyway. You’re far more interesting than he could ever be.
But you know he has a dog (his phone’s wallpaper). You know that Satori is his best friend (Satori had switched the wallpaper to a picture of himself). You found out through the TV that he plays volleyball professionally. And you know he can’t stand the greasy texture of sausage on his breakfast sandwiches.
The last one still makes him cringe thinking about it. You tried to persuade him to taste a custom-made breakfast sandwich, boasting about the hearty protein infused in every layer, from the dough to the flavorful toppings. But the face he made betrayed his polite “No, thank you”.
And though you never pried for information about himself, he still found himself talking at length about his protein sources and about tips for boosting protein in one’s diet, all while catching the bright sparkle in your eyes as you listened with fascination.
And he learned that day that maybe Coach could be wrong.
Maybe letting your guard down is okay, if that’s what he gets to see in return for sharing.
Wakatoshi reaches for the door handle now, his fingers brushing against the cool metal, his gaze lingering on the smudged handprints marring the glass.
Shit.
Wakatoshi has no doubt in his mind that these are from Kotarou. They can’t not be. Because Kotarou had arrived for their practice match last week, kicking open the gym doors and practically pirouetting across the court, with his voice bouncing off the goddamn walls, announcing that he had found a new favorite shop - and possibly a new lover - on his way there.
Kotarou was gushing, his words painting a picture of your delightful nature — your kindness, humor, and the exquisite taste of your pastries. Knowing exactly who Kotarou was talking about, Kiyoomi’s head swiveled in Wakatoshi’s direction, and they instantly made eye contact. Kiyoomi had given him a firm nod to let Wakatoshi know he’d shut Kotarou up if that’s what he wanted, but Wakatoshi only shook his head once, and that was that.
Instead, Wakatoshi had held his hands at his sides, clenching them until pain seared into his palms.
How could this have happened? The bakery was his spot. Was it just sheer dumb luck on Kotarou’s end he found it? Or did Wakatoshi, yet again, have the bad luck of a friend swooping in before he got the courage to ask them out?
Anyway. Leave it to Kotarou to not read. Wakatoshi could just see it. Kotarou pressing his entire body flush against the door, his golden eyes darting around the empty shop soaked in sunlight, wondering why the door was locked, when the answer was right in front of him.
The bell above the door chimes as Wakatoshi swings it open with just a little more force than necessary.
This time. You have to ask them this time before Kotarou can. You can’t keep putting it off.
But instead of being greeted by your smiling face, Wakatoshi is greeted by . . . Nothing.
Nothing more than an open bakery, with no one manning the counter.
Wakatoshi looks around, trying to find any sign of you. It’s not like you to not work this early. Are you ill? You occasionally liked to flirt with danger, snacking on a small cup of raw cookie dough while you told him your plans for the day. He isn’t the least bit surprised if you’ve gotten salmonella.
When he told Kiyoomi this a month ago, Kiyoomi went on and on about hygiene, his eyebrows scrunching together as he just kept shouting “But WHY?” and “It’s a BUSINESS!”. Wakatoshi told him that your shop was the cleanest place he’d ever seen, and you were always fussing about keeping things in an orderly fashion. You deserved a little treat of raw cookie dough now and then for how hard you worked.
A sweep of the shop confirms to Wakatoshi that you aren’t here. Only an older gentleman at one of the far tables, doing what looks like a crossword puzzle while he occasionally takes bites of his muffin.
Surely someone’s here. The old man wouldn’t have just climbed over the counter and plucked out the muffin himself.
“GOOD MORNING, WAKATOSHI!”
Wakatoshi inhales sharply as you magically materialize behind the counter.
“Good morning.” He answers, regaining his composure and giving you a nod. “I was starting to think that you weren’t here.”
You cock your head to the side, frowning a little as you wipe your hands on your apron. “Why would you think that? I’m always here.”
“I thought the raw cookie dough got you.”
He wants to smack himself upside the head for such an honest response, but your sudden burst of laughter calms his nerves.
“Not yet. One of these days, though, probably.” You say, before giving him a small wink.
His heart hammers away even harder in his chest.
“So, what will it be today?” You ask, leaning over the counter as he comes closer. “Do you want to be adventurous today? I got some strawberries this morning. I could make you something with them if you can hang around for a bit.”
“No.” He says, just a little too quickly. He wants to shove the word back into his mouth when your eyes flicker with sadness.
“I mean, not today.” He clarifies, “Maybe another day. Just a—”
“Yeah, yeah. Just an everything bagel with cream cheese and a black coffee. I know.” You sigh, pushing yourself up from the counter. “One of these days, I’m going to get you to try something else! I don’t just make delicious bagels, you know!”
Wakatoshi watches on as you go about creating his usual order - coffee that’s, you once joked, “as black as your soul” and a lightly toasted bagel with a hefty amount of cream cheese.
(When you had asked him once why he preferred just a light toast, he shyly admitted he didn’t like thoroughly crunchy items. Although this preference probably came about from being Satori’s guinea pig for many, many trial and error baked goods, now that he thinks about it. You don’t need to know that, though.)
“Tasty as always!”
Wakatoshi nearly jumps out of his skin at the old man’s voice cutting through the quiet. How long has he been standing next to him? Such a big voice for someone so small.
“I’m glad you enjoyed!” You grin back at the old man before reaching across the counter to hand Wakatoshi his bagel.
Wakatoshi quickly closes the gap, his fingertips brushing yours while you ask the man how he did on his crossword today. He’s thankful you’re looking in a different direction because the less you see him blushing, the better.
Wakatoshi carefully unwraps the bagel now, half-listening in on you and the old man.
How in the world is he supposed to ask you out now without making it awkward?
What on earth is he supposed to do? Ask for your phone number? No, you might give him the phone number for the bakery as a misunderstanding. But what if he’s late for practice? Coach will have his head. Maybe he should just text the group chat and tell them he isn’t coming today.
Wakatoshi chews his bagel slowly, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine as he senses something watching him. He glances down to his right, and just as suspected, the old man is smiling warmly up at him.
“You look strong.” The man says, giving Wakatoshi a once-over.
“I am.” Wakatoshi confirms, then takes another bite of his bagel.
The old man’s eyes dim, his mouth curving downward as he turns to you.
“He doesn’t mean anything by that. He just talks like that.” You whisper from behind your hand to the old man, and he nods knowingly.
“Did you know that Wakatoshi here is a professional athlete?” You say proudly, attempting to change the subject. “You should see him on TV! He’s really good! When he’s — what’s it called? Serving? Hitting? I dunno. But he goes BAM, and the ball goes flying!” You exclaim, and the old man chuckles.
“What do you play, son?”
Why is everyone talking about him as if he’s a child who has just joined their first sports team? It’s condescending.
“Volleyball.”
“Ah. I’m sure all that height and strength is an advantage for you!”
Wakatoshi chews some more, then swallows. “Sometimes.”
The old man’s eyes crinkle as he throws his head back and laughs, giving Wakatoshi a firm pat on the back.
“I like this one.” He says to you, motioning to Wakatoshi. “He’d be a good boyfriend for you.”
Wakatoshi almost drops his bagel onto the gleaming floor, his fingertips pressing into the creamy spread as he hurriedly tries to catch it. And when he looks down, he finds he no longer has a bagel at all in his hands, but a taco.
A very smushed taco.
When he looks at you for your reaction to the man’s suggestion, you’re too busy having problems of your own.
“He doesn’t mean anything by that, Wakatoshi!” You yell at the counter, frantically tearing off paper towels to blot at the coffee you’ve splashed across its surface. “He just talks like that!”
Wakatoshi meets the old man’s gaze once again, who is only looking back at Wakatoshi with a smug grin, his eyebrows doing a little dance of amusement.
What a strange man.
“Well, I’m off!” The man announces, giving you a wave and Wakatoshi a nod. “I’ll be back next week!”
“Okay! See you then!”
You’re still talking to the counter.
The bell above the door chimes as the old man exits, and Wakatoshi’s attention shifts to removing the cream cheese from his fingers, twisting his body so you don’t see him sucking on them. When he turns back around, though, you’re nowhere to be found again. What are you, a magician on the side?
“Don’t mind him.” You say, popping up from the floor and avoiding eye contact with him, inspecting your now clean counter. “He likes to stir up trouble. He was just joking.”
Wakatoshi has his doubts, because your tone is light, but the sweat forming on your forehead says otherwise.
Still refusing to meet his eyes, you place a larger, empty to-go cup on the counter and pour the coffee with intense focus, as Wakatoshi savors the final crumbs of his bagel-taco.
When Wakatoshi reaches for his wallet to pay, you dismiss him with a wave. “Oh, it’s all free today! The least I can do after he embarrassed us both like that.”
Embarrassed?
Do you . . . Do you not think he’d make a good boyfriend? Has he been reading this wrong the entire time? Of course he has. Idiot. He’s just a patron. He was a fool to think it could have gone somewhere.
Kotarou would be a much more appropriate boyfriend for you, anyway. Kotarou knows how to talk to people and how to make them more comfortable instantly. He can make an entire room of strangers feel like they’re best friends in a simple matter of minutes.
He can't compare in that way. He would just make things awkward for everyone you knew.
How would you introduce him to your friends, your family? Prepping them beforehand that he can be blunt, but it’s unintentional? You wouldn’t be able to take him anywhere.
He may be equals with Kotarou on the court, but not at this.
At this, he’ll always be a thousand steps behind.
“Okay,” He says, realizing he’s been quiet for much too long. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome! And please, don’t let him deter you from coming back here. He just likes to tease. You’ll get used to it.” You reassure him, handing him the new coffee.
The warmth of the cup in his hand becomes his sole focus, a welcome contrast to the sharp sting behind his eyes. He can’t cry. Not now. He has to get to practice, and he can work it out there.
The smudges left by Kotarou mock Wakatoshi as he approaches the door and pushes it open with a shoulder. They’re smudges that belong to hands that will get to hold yours eventually, probably, if Kotarou gets his way.
He’s charming and joyful and easygoing and all the things he’s not.
And he’d be lucky to have you.
“You’ve got handprints on your door,” Wakatoshi informs you, his tone carefully controlled as he stands with the door half open.
“Oh?” You say, walking out from behind the counter. “Oh, yeah. I see ‘em. Thanks for letting me know!”
“You’re welcome.” A beat. And then, “Goodbye.”
“Bye! Don’t work too hard!”
Working is all he’ll be doing now, but he keeps the thought to himself.
Idiot. Why didn’t you ask them?
Wakatoshi takes a long, hot gulp of his coffee, his footsteps echoing faster on the pavement as he makes his way down the sidewalk now. A grunt escapes him as the searing heat of the liquid instantly burns the roof of his mouth. Adding insult to injury, he sees. Or is it injury to insult? Would that be more fitting in this situation?
It’s for the best this way. He won’t have to talk to Kiyoomi when he inevitably asks how things went this morning. He won’t have to talk to Kotarou when Kotarou announces to the entire world with his megaphone mouth he has a date lined up with you. It will be awkward when Kotarou introduces you to everyone, but he’ll just deal with it.
When is it his turn to fall in love? Why is he always on the damn sidelines when it comes to this sort of stuff?
Maybe he can move out of the country and start playing internationally. Coach has to know somebody who knows somebody.
“WAIT! Wakato — WAKATOSHI, WAIT! HOLD UP!”
Wakatoshi slows his pace and turns to witness your desperate sprint, your legs pumping furiously to close the distance. By the time you get up to him, you’re heaving like he is at the end of a match.
“How f—” A deep inhale from you, shielding your eyes from the sun to look at him properly. “How fast can you run?! I couldn’t even keep up with you walking!” You wheeze, bending over and toward the street. “Oh my god, I’m dying. . .”
“Do you need medical attention?”
You cackle, then immediately wince, clutching at your side. “Ohhh, ow! Ow ow ow ow! Don’t— Don’t make me laugh. It hurts t—” Another deep inhale. “It hurts too much.”
Wakatoshi stands there, watching you as you try to catch your breath, when his eyes catch something glossy in your left hand. When you finally stand upright, you take a deep breath and then exhale slowly before presenting the object to him.
A cookie?
“I know you probably can’t eat it until, like, later or whatever. I can only imagine how strict your coach is about nutrition and stuff. But I want you to have this! Just to, y’know, prove I can do other stuff besides bagels.” You say.
Wakatoshi’s fingers brush yours as he hesitantly takes the cookie. It’s a fair size, roughly matching the span of his palm. The sweet scent of sugar wafts from beneath the crinkling cellophane, his gaze fixed on the pristine icing.
“I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I figured a sugar cookie was a safe bet, being plain and all. I even put a little volleyball on it, see?” You point at the cookie. “And your jersey number too!”
He silently marvels at the great attention to detail; the lines on the volleyball meticulously applied, and he’s impressed by how perfectly straight the numbers appear.
He recalls your complaint that you detested personalizing your items, citing that “working with icing is always unpredictable.” He tried to relate to you on some level, saying he had opponents who were also unpredictable. Even with all his intense research weeks beforehand, he still couldn’t predict what they would do come game day. When he had finished his spiel with “All you need to do is practice”, you had sighed heavily and nodded your head. “You’re right.” You had said. “Why are you always somehow right?”
Looks like you practiced.
But this is still a sick joke. One last parting gift before he has to see you with Kotarou all the time. The Universe is twisted.
And while he appreciates the sentiment, a cookie won’t solve anything.
He doesn’t want his jersey number on a cookie. He wants his jersey number on you. He wants to look out into the stands and see you cheering him on, smiling from ear to ear every time he adds another point to the board.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Just then, Wakatoshi's phone buzzes incessantly in his jacket pocket. He doesn't even have to look; he knows who it is. Only one man blows up the group chat at any given time.
Wakatoshi bites the inside of his cheek as you glance down at his jacket, the fabric shifting with every buzz.
“Are you gonna get that?” You ask.
“No,” He answers after a moment, and you laugh.
Honestly, he had no intention of being funny. He's mostly worried about what he'll see if he looks. It could be Kotarou saying that he's going to go to the bakery today to see you.
It crosses his mind briefly that he could just lie to Kotarou and say that you have a boyfriend, and Kotarou would one thousand percent believe him, no questions asked. Because why would Wakatoshi lie? A fine, upstanding, trustworthy man like Wakatoshi? He would never.
But, then again, Kotarou will live this one time, right? It won’t be the end of the world if he doesn’t get what he wants. He gets shiny syndrome all the time. He'll dramatically nurse his heart and be onto someone new in two days.
But, then again, Kotarou wouldn’t hurt him intentionally, so maybe if he just explains to Kotarou that—
No, you know what? Screw it.
“Would you like to go out with me this weekend?” Wakatoshi blurts out, the cellophane loudly crinkling in his hand as he tries to put the nervous energy somewhere.
Eyes fixed on you, Wakatoshi holds his breath as you blink once, twice. And then a soft smile slowly spreads across your face.
Might I suggest Ushijima + nighttime bonfire, dealer's choice for NSFW
a/n: this is my first time writing for ushijima so im crossing my fingers he isn't too ooc dkfjhdskjd warnings: a lil nsfw at the end (dry humping)
want to request something? click here!
ushijima stares at you from across the bonfire, his brows furrowed as he watches some guy tip towards you and whisper something into your ear. you laugh loudly in response, the sound instantly warming something deep inside ushijima's chest. but then it's ruined when the guy places his hand on your upper arm, and he can feel his patience start to crumble.
"you should just go talk to her, man." tendou says from where he's seated to ushijima's right, eyes glinting in the light of the fire.
"who?" ushijima asks, playing dumb.
tendou rolls his eyes, clearly not willing to let it go. "the girl you've been staring at all night."
"I haven't been staring," he protests, "I'm looking at the fire. it's...pretty."
tendou scoffs lightly and shakes his head. "the fire...right."
ushijima grunts in response, silently begging his friend to drop it. and he does. but ushijima can't help the way his eyes drift to you, as through you're some sort of beautiful magnetic force that he can't look away from.
he noticed you earlier sitting in the craft room, working on some sort of embroidery hoop, and chickened out before he could ask you what you were working on. so, when tendou told him a few people were out making a midnight bonfire, he decided to tag along, hoping you'd be out here too. and you were. but unfortunately, you weren't alone for long. not that he had any intention of approaching you either way.
he takes a swig of the shitty bottom shelf beer that was given to him a little while ago, the taste making him wince. he leans back a little, knees spread as he tips his head back in the folding chair, closing his eyes.
the crackle of the fire and the conversations around him mixed together, the sound relaxing him. he's never been very good with interacting people in general, but he does enjoy being an observer, forever sitting on the fringes of conversations.
"ushijima?" he hears a quiet voice calling his name and looks up to find you making your way towards him. "hey," you say, smiling at him and dropping down on the ground to his right.
he blinks at you, then realizes something. he knows you from somewhere--the lecture hall from last semester. ushijuma feels like a massive asshole for not recognizing you before. "you sat next to hinata, yeah?" who sat two rows ahead of him, and as pathetic as it was to admit, he had spent the better part of the semester with his eyes glued to the back of your head, wondering who you were.
"mhm!" you chirp. "I was trying to catch you before, but that guy over there was asking me if I knew you, and if so could I please get him your autograph? Sometimes I forget that people view you as a celebrity."
ushijima doesn't know how to respond, partially because he can't believe this is happening, but mostly because he's distracted. you're wearing a t-shirt and shorts, your plush thighs on full display, and the glow from the bonfire in front of you casts a glow on you that rivals any sunset that ushijima has ever seen.
your lips are slightly chapped, your hair has been thrown into a messy bun, and your cheeks are slightly red from the wine coolers you had been drinking earlier. but ushijima thinks you are the most gorgeous human he's seen in his entire life.
he just blinks owlishly at you, his gaze sliding to your lips and then back up again before he croaks out a laugh. "do you want my autograph?"
the beer is making him bold.
"no." you bite your lip, turning your gaze to the fire for a moment before looking back at him. "but...maybe your number?"
he sets his beer bottle on the ground, and before he even realizes what he's doing, he's patting his thigh and saying, "come up here and I'll give it to you."
you lick your lips and stand, then slowly seat yourself on his lap. ushijima has his phone out, and he hands it to you, his heart thundering in his chest. he flexes his fingers, hesitating slightly, but then gently pulls you back by your waist, sliding your body so that your back is now flush with his chest. "hi," he rumbles, tucking his chin on your shoulder.
"hi," you say somewhat breathlessly, your heart thumping erratically in your chest. ushijima can feel it through the layers of clothing separating the two of you.
you wiggle slightly in his hold, trying to make yourself more comfortable. but the movement causes a quiet groan to escape from ushijima, causing you to freeze. he gently squeezes your waist, and you feel him move his lips closer to your ear, his warm breath causing you to shudder slightly. ushijima is trying so hard to be a gentleman, but your body is so soft and so warm, and your plush ass is hugging his lap so nicely--he feels insane, like he's having an out of body experience.
he tries to latch onto the control that he usually has such a tight grasp on but--
after a few moments you move again, your cheeks flushing when he groans a little deeper this time, his hips pushing involuntarily up into your ass. and--oh. you quickly realize why he's making those noises.
"sorry," he says quietly into your ear, his teeth gently catching on your earlobe as he sighs. "is this okay?"
"y-yeah," you say quietly, eyes fluttering closed when you feel his tongue dart out to lick the outer shell of your ear.
"god, you taste so good" he whispers, voice deeper than it was a few seconds ago. your hands slide to his thighs, your fingers gripping the fabric of his sweatpants as he lifts his hips again. he presses a quick kiss to a spot behind your ear, causing you to shudder in his arms.
a log pops in the fire, making you jump, and you're both suddenly reminded that you are surrounded by people, in a very public place. ushijima noses at your neck. "wanna go to my cabin? tendou won't mind." you giggle softly and nod, before he scoops you up into his arms and leads the way.
i really loved how you wrote ushijima on my previous ask ^^ can i request a ushijima husband headcanon? hehehehe THANK YOUUU :3
ushijima wakatoshi:
𓂃⋆.˚ marrying ushijima means marrying someone who never leaves you wondering how he feels about you. he isn’t the type to write long love letters or make dramatic speeches, but you’ll wake up every morning knowing, without a single doubt, that you are loved. his love is so constant that it becomes the safest thing in your life.
𓂃⋆.˚ he develops little routines with you almost immediately, and they’re things he refuses to break. every morning he makes sure he kisses you before leaving for practice, even if he’s running late. every evening he asks about your day before talking about volleyball because, in his mind, hearing about your life is just as important as telling you about his.
𓂃⋆.˚ if he’s away for tournaments, he’ll call whenever he has time, even if it’s only for five minutes. he isn’t naturally talkative, but hearing your voice after exhausting practices genuinely helps him settle down. sometimes the conversation is nothing more than him asking what you had for dinner while you’re asking whether he’s sleeping enough, but those little calls become something he quietly looks forward to every day.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’s incredibly observant in domestic life. if you mention once that you’ve been craving a certain snack, don’t be surprised when it mysteriously appears in the kitchen a few days later. if you complain that your favorite mug chipped, he’ll replace it before you even remember saying anything. he notices far more than people realize.
𓂃⋆.˚ ushijima isn’t particularly good at comforting people with elaborate words, but he’s exceptional at making sure you never have to carry difficult things alone. if you’ve had a terrible day, he won’t immediately try to fix your emotions. instead he’ll quietly sit beside you, hold your hand if you want him to and stay there for as long as you need. his presence alone somehow makes the room feel calmer.
𓂃⋆.˚ grocery shopping somehow becomes one of his favorite married activities. he’ll push the cart with complete seriousness while you wander off because something caught your attention. every single time he looks up and realizes you’ve disappeared into another aisle, he sighs softly before coming to find you, only to discover you’re enthusiastically comparing twenty different kinds of cereal.
“have you been here this entire time?”
“yes.”
“…have you chosen one?”
“no.”
he simply nods. “take your time.”
𓂃⋆.˚ despite being one of the strongest volleyball players in the world, he’s incredibly gentle around you. if you’re asleep on the sofa with your book still open, he’ll carefully lift you into his arms and carry you to bed as though you’re something precious. half the time you wake up just enough to mumble his name before immediately falling back asleep against his shoulder.
𓂃⋆.˚ he loves introducing you as his spouse. not because he’s trying to show you off, but because saying “this is my wife” or “this is my husband” still gives him a quiet sense of happiness every single time. there’s always the smallest hint of pride in his voice, and it never really goes away no matter how many years pass.
𓂃⋆.˚ ushijima absolutely keeps his wedding ring on whenever he can. during matches it’s safely tucked away because regulations don’t allow jewelry, but the moment he’s finished, it’s the first thing he puts back on. teammates eventually joke that he reaches for his ring almost as quickly as he reaches for water after a game.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’s wonderfully literal, so there are moments that unintentionally become hilarious. one evening you casually tell him, “i love you to the moon and back.”
he thinks about it very seriously before replying, “that is approximately seven hundred and sixty-eight thousand kilometers.”
you burst into laughter.
he smiles, completely confused about why you’re laughing, then he quietly adds, “i love you farther than that.”
somehow that becomes one of the most romantic things anyone has ever said to you.
𓂃⋆.˚ after matches, no matter how large the crowd is, his eyes automatically search the stands for you. he could be surrounded by reporters, cameras and teammates celebrating a championship, yet the moment he spots you smiling back at him, his shoulders visibly relax. everyone else sees japan’s ace. you see the tiny smile that only appears when he knows you’re there.
𓂃⋆.˚ whenever he’s home during the off-season, he insists on cooking with you even though his knife skills are… questionable. he’ll carefully follow recipes exactly as written, measuring every ingredient with almost scientific precision while you inevitably sneak tastes before the food is finished. every time you do, he’ll pretend to be disapproving, but he always ends up handing you another spoonful anyway.
𓂃⋆.˚ one thing i absolutely believe is that ushijima never stops choosing you in the little moments. he’ll automatically reach for your hand while crossing the street, wait for you before starting a movie because watching it without you wouldn’t feel right and unconsciously save the last bite of dessert because he knows it’s your favorite part.
𓂃⋆.˚ years into marriage, when people ask him what his greatest achievement has been, they’ll expect him to mention championships, olympics or professional volleyball. instead he’ll glance toward wherever you happen to be, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “getting to go home to my spouse.” he’ll say it with the same certainty he says everything else.
𓂃⋆.˚ to ushijima, medals eventually gather dust, records are eventually broken and matches eventually end, but coming home, finding you there and hearing you say “welcome back” after another long day is the one victory he hopes he never stops earning.
“baby, are you ready yet?” he calls, leaned against the hallway door. you stumble out of the bedroom, working on your necklace as you reply with an incoherent mumble. he walks over towards where you stood, helping you close the necklace’s clasp as he mutters, “you look pretty.”
you were both getting ready for the long awaited summer festival. you initially had to beg him to go as he wasnt the type to enjoy such crowds, much less take time off work—but anything for you, of course! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵). you were extremely excited to go, already thinking of all the food you could eat, all the games you could play, and souvenirs you could buy.
once ushijima had parked the car you stepped out, bouncing with excitement and energy. he followed behind you, hands in his pockets as he asked, “where do you wanna go first?” you looked over your shoulder, smiling and wrapping a hand around his arm before looking up and humming, “hmmm.. i think.. i wanna check out some of the games first! and then we can look around for some food. and then.. we’ll play more games and go watch the firework show!” ushijima nodded along, listening to you plan out the day.
the first game you guys checked out was a water shooting game, which you won. you happily accepted the prize, a small stuffed bunny. “ushi! lets do this one!” you exclaimed, pointing at the claw machine.
“which one do you want?” he asked, looking at all of the plushies inside.
“hm.. i waant.. the brown bear!”
he nodded, inserting a token into the coin slot and… missing. he had his ego high at first, feeling sure that he was going to win the bear. he let out a quiet grumble, putting another token into the slot and trying again. he was so close, really, but the bear fell off the claw and close to the machine’s chute. you watched with amusement as he became slightly more frustrated with the machine. “er.. one more time,” he said, reaching for another token and putting it in. “ushi, its okay, we can look at—oh! you did it!”
you happily exclaimed, watching as the beloved bear fell into the chute and as he leaned down to take it out. he let out a sigh of relief, holding it out and watching you grab it. “its so cute! it looks like you! thank you ushi!” you happily said, moving a hand down to hold his. he had a slight smile on his face, watching as you dragged him along towards the food section.
you both waited in line, scanning the big menu board.
“hm.. i want.. cotton candy, a corn dog, lemonade.. ooh! lets try those fried oreo things!”
he hummed, listening to your choices and waiting for you to finish before adding on, “..okay. i think ill just get a corn dog. and fries,” you nodded, smiling as you both waited to order. once you had both arrived at the front, you both gave your orders, he pulled out his wallet, paying with cash before you both stood off to the side an waited.
once the food was ready, you both grabbed it and made your way near the place where the fireworks show was going to be held. ushijima picked out a table, waiting for you to sit before doing the same shortly after. you excitedly picked up a fried oreo, holding it out to ushijima before taking one for yourself.
“okay. lets try it,” you said, waiting for him to put his stuff down and take it. you counted down from three before taking a bite of it at the same time as ushijima.
“oh! its good! do you like it?”
“..i dont like sweet things that much, but yeah, its good,” he nodded, finishing the rest of his oreos before eating some of his fries. he offered them, muttering “you can have some if you want,” only to be met with your head shake as you took a bite of your corn dog and replied with an, “im okay.”
you were both halfway through the food before the fireworks show started, a loud boom! startling you. regardless,you both enjoyed the show, watching the bright blooms of color in the sky.
you swung your intertwined hands, a pep in your step as you both made your way back to the car.
“did you have fun?” he asked, glancing down at you.
“mhm! lets come back next year. and the year after that. and the year after that. and—“
he interrupted you, a low chuckle escaping him before speaking, “okay, okay, i get it. we’ll come back, i promise.
taglist: @metal-fl ˚ ༘♡
a/n: lets ignore how bad my upload schedule is thangya
