gentle man — ushijima wakatoshi drabble (unedited)
ushijima wakatoshi was big. big in more ways than none, and they always say big men are either intimidating and distant or they're down bad needy for their women, ready to worship the ground they walk on.
and ushijima was both, but more so the latter.
without avail, he'd come home from practise every single day and bury his face into your tummy. rubbing his cheek against you and squeezing your plush thighs with his huge hands. he'd trap you against him with his bulky arms wrapped around you. outside your home, he was a big beefy silent guy, but at home in his comfort zone, he was the complete opposite. in your home, he would cling and follow you around like a puppy.
most days after he comes home, you would gently ask him about his day and inquire about how practise went. your fingers would run through his hair, gently soothing him to relax in your arms. you'd only get simple mumbles from him, which often made you giggle at his baby behaviour. he wasn't a man of many words, but mumbling was his way of saying that he's too relaxed to talk about some random stuff that happened in his day. not that he was much a talker to begin with.
and what you loved most was letting him nap on the bed before leaving ushijima to go cook a meal for him, only to find him barely a few minutes later pressed up against your back with his face in your neck, smelling and rubbing your hair and skin like you were gone for weeks.
"weren't you napping ushi?" your cute little nickname you gave him always made him feel relaxed and safe. "hm," he would hum and watch you cook his favourite meal before sitting down to enjoy the food you prepared for his growling stomach. "ushi try this," you would coo a 'say aaaa' and feed him something new from your plate. he'd chew it with a blank expression and nod if he found it to his liking.
ushijima wakatoshi was a man of few words, but at heart, he was your gentle bear who showed his affection with touch rather than words. and with a pat of your head and kiss to your forehead, another day of practise would take place, and you would be there longing his towering gentle presence in your home.
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I read it fairly new, around 2 days ago but I forgot to reblog. It was a multiple character x reader, one of them being ushijima wakatoshi. he basically hires reader as a chef to prepare meals for him, and I remember this one specific line “he couldn’t help but make his hand brush past your ass as he walked by you in the kitchen” or something along those lines. Pls help I really wanna reread this 😭😭😭❕❕❗️
[A little Humboldt green to hold it in place. A little parsley. Don’t know the exact answer to that, Ushikawa said, a canoe paddle. You're gonna make a mess.]
haily speaks: used to work at dons, might as well share the crazy stories from working over a year and a half. possibly a part two?
HINATA: noya and tanaka told him to order the “mcgang bang”one day after practice. they told him it’s the fast way of ordering a mcdouble and a jr chicken so boke!hinata went a long with it cause the dude was hungry. poor boy didn’t realize how dirty the comment was until he noticed the face on the order taker (she just finished getting trained two days ago). one of the other workers there knew what he was talking about and got hinata his food. tanaka and noya had a good laugh even though that was the most horrific experience for hinata
TENDOU: definitely feel like he’s the guy who sits in drive thru and asks you about the different types of food you guys have to offer. just looks at the menu for what seems like ten minutes, asks you about what’s in a ten piece chicken nugget combo (which makes you think that’s what he’s gonna order) until he asks you about your dessert menu and ends up asking for a cup of water at the very end
KENMA: all he wants is a happy meal. the catch is he’s one of those dudes that will literally talk so quietly at the drive thru speaker that you have no idea what he’s saying and ask him to speak up multiple times until he drives by, pulls up to the window with a picture of his phone of a happy meal
BOKUTO: would literally ask for a cheeseburger no cheese (which is a damn hamburger) and would argue with the order taker saying that he “doesn’t want a hamburger, he wants a cheeseburger no cheese,” it literally takes akaashi to yell that he does want a hamburger before you can here him slapping bokuto in the head for being an idiot
OIKAWA: is the customer who goes through the drive thru knowing exactly what he wants to order. when he pulls up to pay for his food, he’s the type of guy who strikes up a conversation with the worker and just sits there talking for like a good five minutes and ends up driving forward because a car honks at him. definitely a super nice employee who would give a tip to the person who took his order if he was feeling generous that day
USHIJIMA: would ask for a fresh pot of black coffee. definitely strikes me as the type of person who would look right at you the whole entire time you’re taking his money and making his order and would mumble a small thank you before walking out of the place aggressively
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Stupid isn't a word people typically use to describe you. You've never been stupid, forgetful? Often. Air headed? Sometimes. It was part of your charm. But Stupid? Never. So why is it that when it comes to Ushijima Wakatoshi, you feel just that, stupid.
It's the lingering smell of perfume that clung to his clothes. You could never pinpoint exactly what it smelled like because it changed so often. One day it was ylang-ylang, the next jasmine, and the next citrus. Then it was the varying shades of smudged lipstick on his collar, carmine, maroon, crimson. The light pink lines down his back that never seemed to fade. The late-night "training" sessions. His refusal to touch you. The way his eyes dulled when you walked into a room he was in. You're not stupid, so why does he think you are?
You tell yourself that you're not sure exactly when Ushijima's attitude towards you changed. Except that's a lie, and you know it is. It started when he first joined the Schwelden Alders. You expected distance, and you expected the cold shoulder; after all, he'd never been one to tell you what he was feeling; he always trusted you to know what he was thinking. For the most part, you could tell with little to no struggle. After all, he wasn't hard to understand; all you had to do was pay attention, and by god, did you pay attention.
His first few months on the team, he'd come home exhausted, press a kiss to your temple, and trudge to your shared bedroom, where you'd join him later in the evening, and he'd pull you close to his chest, drinking in the feeling of holding you in his arms.
You loved that.
At first, He had the decency to make excuses for himself. Blaming his withdrawn attitude on the grueling practices he had to endure. Blamed the late nights and failures to come home on going out for drinks and crashing at Tobio's place. He had the decency to come home, ashamed with a bouquet of flowers. The decency to feel guilty, apologize.
You used to force yourself to believe him.
You miss that.
Maybe if he'd been more careful, cared more about sparing your feelings, you'd still be in a blissful bubble of feigned ignorance.
You see the way his team looks at you when you're around them. Like you're some sort of kicked puppy. You know that they know, and you can't help but hate them. Hate their existence. Hate their misguided loyalty. How could they stand back and watch you make a damn fool of yourself?
You recall how His team had welcomed you with open arms and claimed you as part of their pack. How they'd Assured you that if Ushijima ever did anything to hurt you, he'd have to deal with them.
The memory does nothing but sour your mood and break your heart now.
Ushijima has never been the easiest person to love. He's naturally quiet, withdrawn, and often comes off as cold, but you know him better than that.
Or at least you thought you did.
He used to hold your hand tight and not want to let go. Used to hug you from behind and press kisses to the crown of your head. Make slow sweet passionate love to you. The kind where no words need to be spoken to convey what each person is feeling.
He used to say, "I love you" and mean it.
You look at the clock as it reads 3:33 am counting the seconds in your head 56,57,58,59...3:44. How long does he think he can keep this going? It's been months, months of silent resentment. Months of your desperate attempts at staying together. How dare he take you for granted like this. The door creaks open slowly; it's his mediocre attempt at not waking you.
You haven't slept a wink yet; you close your eyes and feign sleep. You feel his eyes on you, but you can't bring yourself to open your eyes to confront him. You know he's gotten good at lying to your face, he'll say he went out for a drink. Say he lost track of time. Say that you're overreacting. He'll make it seem like it's your fault. And you'll let him. He's done it enough times after all.
Another day, how many more?
Your 5-year anniversary is steadily approaching, and you can't help but feel disgusted. You recall the day he asked you to be his how he'd promised to love you for the rest of his days—promised to hold you tight and never let go. Vowed never to hurt you. You laugh at the memory, bile rising up your throat, threatening to spill past your lips.
What a load of bullshit.
"Be home for dinner. I think we should talk" the text is simple, and yet, there's a million meanings and emotions behind it.
You wait at the dining room table expecting to be stood up like you usually were but to your surprise, he walks through the door 7 pm sharp. His hair is damp from an after-practice shower, and he smells of generic brand soap. You smile to yourself and recall how you used to tease him about it back when you first started dating—such a simple time.
Now you can't help to wonder if it's an after-sex shower as well. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts.
You can't lose focus.
You hear the front door click shut and hear his heavy footsteps approach the room you're in. He sits down in the chair across from you, wearing an infuriating blank stare on his face. How you wish you could reach across the table and-no, it isn't about that right now.
"Y/n you wanted to talk," he says, voice monotone as always. You laugh broken and rough around the edges. Ushijima's eyes widen slightly as he realizes that your laugh isn't as he remembers it. Your laugh is angelic, airy, and it makes him go breathless.
This isn't your laugh.
"You really think I'm stupid, don't you," you say as your laugh dies down. He's taken aback "wh-" he tries, but you push on courage coursing through your veins " don't Ushijima" your use of his last name is a stab to his chest, and panic begins to pool in his stomach, "I know you've been sleeping with other women." Your eyes are wide and glassy now, brimming with unshed tears.
"I want you to know that I'm done. This is it."
His eyes shift down to where you're taking off your promise ring. The one he gave you during your last year of college. He shoots straight up out of his seat, almost as if to stop you.
It's a beautiful thing, really. A stunning sterling silver band designed to look like it was branching out. Your initials and his engraved on the inside.
Shame how it meant absolutely nothing, not to him, at least.
"Y/n what are you doing," he asks. There's panic lacing his tone, and you almost smile. Hoping this hurts him even a fraction of how he's hurt you.
"Isn't it obvious?" you say as you drop the ring on the table; it's so silent the sound almost echoes.
It's as if an eternity has passed before either of you move.
You push away from the table, your chair making an awful scraping noise against the linoleum.
Ushijima rushes to your side quickly, reaching out to hold you. "I'm..." he starts, but his words fail him.
"You're what? Sorry?" You say as you take several steps back to put distance between the two of you.
"Y/n, please let me explain," he pleads. You laugh a feeble little thing, and his heart aches.
"I did this to her," he thinks, "I hurt the woman I love."
Slowly tears that you desperately tried to keep at bay begin to stream down your face.
"EXPLAIN WHAT, EXPLAIN HOW I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING MY HEART, MY BODY, MY LIFE AND YOU THREW IT AWAY FOR WHAT FOR A CHEAP FUCK?"
You're furious.
How could he?
How dare he?
Your frame wracks with the force of your sobs, and you feel Ushijima take you into his strong arms. One arm sits snugly in your waist while the other cradles your head into his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt.
His arms used to make you feel at home, but now you feel trapped.
"Let go," you beg, squirming uselessly, his brute strength keeping your soft body flush against his solid one. You struggle for several minutes until finally, you go pliant in his firm hold.
Soon after your sobs have died down, he lets you pull your face away from his chest, and you stare up at him, eyes red-rimmed and face stained with tears.
He looks down at you with indescribable emotion in his eyes and places a soft kiss against your trembling lips.
No. No. No.
You shove at his chest. "Please," he pleads, hands beginning to roam your body. He finally allows you to break the kiss, and you're prepared to slap, hit, kick, anything to get away from him. But his eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and his face is red and blotchy.
He's crying.
Never once had you seen him cry. Shout, yell, be violent sure. But cry? Never.
So, like you always did when it came to Ushijima, you gave in.
His lips are on yours again in an instant. He's soft and careful, cradling you as if you were glass.
The rest of the night is a blur of slow sweet passionate sex. The kind where no words need to be spoken to convey what each person is feeling. Except it's different this time. While you know that Ushijima is saying I love you.
You're saying goodbye.
He wakes the next morning to an empty spot on your side of the bed. His brain almost doesn't register for a second what's happening until he recalls the previous night, and his stomach drops.
He races downstairs, frantically calling your name. His voice desperate and pleading.
He looks everywhere in your shared home until he comes to an abrupt stop at the dining room table.
A single sheet of paper lays upon it with what he knows if your handwriting on it.
Deep down, he knows what's coming, but he still can't believe that this is actually happening.
With trembling hands, he picks up the note and reads.
"When I said I was done, I meant it.”
********
part 2!! : part 3!!
A/N: HIYA I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC:) Let me know what ya’ll think I ALWAYS appreciate feedback so don’t be shy, and drop on down to my ask box and talk to me about it:)
I have both parts 2 and 3 of this written out as well so let me know if ya’ll would be interested in reading those as well:)
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