analia 🪷

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

#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.

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.

“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.

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.

Pairing: Priest!Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

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.

wc: 400

iwaizumi | atsumu | osamu | sakusa | kageyama | oikawa

--

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. 

“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. 

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.”

p: Husband! Ushijima Wakatoshi x F! reader 

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.

ct: hurt (?)/comfort, domestic setting, mentally exhausted reader

WC: 0.9k

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀

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.