When you get stressed from anger your chest tightens, your blood pounds, and the most unfortunate thing is your throat constricts.
It's like your voice box has become a rock.
Getting anything out is a miracle and making it intelligible is nearly impossible.
Your team knows this.
So when the Adlers walk into the Black Jackal stadium to criticism for being late due to a transportation situation outside of their control they tune into the tense, terse words spewing under your breath.
And when the MSBY manager snaps at you to speak up?
The Adlers can't resist.
"Our manager said it wasn't our fucking fault, dumbass," Kageyama says loudly.
Hoshiumi snickers "is that verbatim?"
As Ushijima adds "and that you could exercise a bit more professional courtesy and respect to such important guests."
"Do you think we wanted to be late?" Kageyama demands.
They start to splutter as Hoshiumi adds "you fuckhead!"
The MSBY manager pulls back, offended, and your athletes freeze worried they've gone too far.
The silence coils as they all stare at each other for a long moment until
Covering your mouth, you devolve into laughs and giggles behind the wall of Adlers that part to turn and look back at you.
Bubbling with relief, the group relaxes and you sigh. "We're sorry for being late," you meet your counterpart's eye, "but there was construction and traffic."
The MSBY manager makes a sour expression and begrudgingly apologizes, too. "My team's been driving me up a wall today."
You grin in solidarity. "I know what that's like."
"What the heck?!"
You shepherd your athletes along with the rest of the team as the other manager motions you to follow.
"When Miya's not driving me nuts he's antagonizing everyone else and I have to deal with the fallout," the other manager commiserates to you.
"God I hope Miya runs his mouth while we're here," Kageyama grins maniacally. "Hinata, too."
"Yes! And if they say anything to our precious manager we're gonna grind them into dust!" jeers Hoshiumi as he leaps in the air.
Ushijima gives a small smile in agreement. "I do look forward to voicing anything our manager might have to say in return."
You watch the three of them energetically stride off to the locker room with the other Adlers.
"I wish I had a team that would stick up for me like they do for you," they grumble lowly to you.
You smile, heart warm. "Yeah...I really lucked out."
Okay so imagine after many years of mutual pining, finally it happened! Your first date with Wakatoshi, who brings you to iceskate. However you forgot to mention that unfortunatelly you've never tried skating before but hey it can't be that difficult, right? RIGHT? You were wrong. Soooo fcking wrong. The first attempt of yours is a total disaster as you managed to fall right next to the ever so stoic love interest of yours. He helps you standing up, holds your hand and leads you. Corrects the way you stand but not judgingly, after all, he'd never do that to you. His face remains unreadable but deep inside he's having so much fun teaching you how to skate.
Two hours later you can stand on your own and go forward a few meters. The mirth on your face melts the ex captain's heart and showes a tiny smile for you, almost an invisible one. But nooo, you see it and fall in love with him even more.
never tease ushijima. he thinks you’re just super horny, and you need someone to fuck you good and proper.
it starts with subtle pants on his thigh, cute winks, and the batting of your lashes. next thing you know he’s pulling you into the nearest bathroom and pulling your panties down to your ankles.
pussy now on display, he gawks at the way your hole glistens with your arousal. he gives it one long lick from clit to hole and then swirls his tongue as he begins to prod at your sex.
tits pressed against the mirror, one leg propped on top the sink, you’re a moaning mess. you were practically begging for him to fuck you, so he happily made your fantasy come true.
he stands up slowly and looks at your nearly fucked out expression through the mirror, and smiles. ushijima bends down and places a soft kiss on your ass before lining the tip with your entrance. you shudder at the motion and try to adjust yourself against the sink, but you jerk forward as he pushes his whole length inside with no warning.
the bathroom fills with lewd sounds of skin slapping and slutty moans. ushijima hips start to stammer, and you can feel his cock twitch deep inside you. he whines and huffs as his hips still, cum spilling inside your sore cunt. he rests his head on your back, still inside you, and you feel his cum starting to drip down your thigh.
he insists on cleaning up, but you pull your panties up, trapping the cum there, and flash him an innocent smile before making your way out of the bathroom.
ushijima loves a good tease.
time skip! ushijima wakatoshi + fem! reader | mdni | 772 words | established relationship, implied rough sex, creampie, pussy eating, ushi is the cutest <3
wakatoshi is dedicated to his routines. he wakes up at the same time every day (even on weekends), goes for a run along the same route, takes a cold shower, drives to practice and home again. then he cooks himself a healthy meal and eats it while watching old games. sometimes he studies opposing teams, making notes of their weaknesses, the positioning of their blockers, the way their libero moves. and sometimes he watches them looking for his own mistakes and ways to fix them. he takes another shower, always lukewarm at night, and goes to bed at 10 pm at the latest.
his meticulous routine starts crumbling gently at first, like dust particles coming loose. when he wakes up early one weekend, just in time for his morning run, but your hands wrap around his wrist at the first movement. all sleepy and grumbly, eyes still closed shut but muttering a decisive “no.” he should be annoyed, but you look so cute sprawled out in his bed and so he thinks he can indulge you and sleep in just this once.
once turns into twice, and then it turns into every weekend. and wakatoshi decides to let go of this one habit, especially if he gets to hear a “you’re here,” as the corners of your lips pull into a lazy smile and your arms stretch around his neck. besides, he keeps active in other ways. it’s just one small crack in the great tall dam he’s built.
but then the water comes rushing out, and you are the flood. it feels like a disaster at first, overwhelming and unfamiliar. the feeling sits heavy in his stomach. but then he finds that he doesn’t mind sitting in the water. no, he wants to drown in it. he wants every part of you - all of you - forever.
and for the first time in his life, he needs you to want him in the very same way. and when he looks around the water is sinking into the soil, not a flood but the end of a drought.
and for the first time in his life, wakatoshi feels almost thirty years of emptiness all at once. or rather, he feels the absence of it. and he’s bursting at the seams with this overpowering need to tell you how your presence has shifted the very foundations of his life. but he’s never been good with words, so he loves you the only way he knows - quietly - and he lets you fill all the empty spaces in his life.
what were once silent dinners are now narrated by your voice and little stories about your coworkers, what you saw on the street, vivid descriptions of your lunch. no matter how insignificant, he listens to every word and remembers every detail. his heart squeezes every time you giggle at your own jokes, most of which he doesn’t even understand. but you explain, poking your finger at his nose. every time he takes your hand and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist until he can feel the blood rushing through your veins. a gesture so intimate and gentle and loving it makes you want to dissolve into a mist so fine you could seep into his pores.
wakatoshi fucks you with the same type of attention too. he feels every tiny detail. how soft your lips are against his skin, the way your flesh dips and molds under his bruising grip. nails digging into his scalp as he holds your thighs spread apart and laps at your leaking pussy. calloused fingers against soft flesh, claiming you. taking everything that you’ll give him. your sweet voice strained and needy. gasping at the sight of his cock, so long and thick and heavy on your tummy. pleading for him to be gentle, to go slow. moaning his name into his ear as he fills you so completely.
eyes dark with need as presses his body so close to yours that you can’t even tell where you end and he begins. hips rutting forcefully into yours, shaping your insides into his own form. and you know you won’t be walking tomorrow. but he can’t stop himself now, and you don’t want him to. not when you’re whining so desperately and your cunt is gushing around him. not when the squelching sound that fills the room every time he buries himself into you awakes something entirely base and primal within him. greedy. panting into your mouth as he cums inside you, sharing the very air that you breathe. and he knows that he has all of you. forever.
thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Wakatoshi loves his wedding ring.
It's just a simple gold band, unobtrusive on his finger for the most part, but every once in a while it catches the light and reminds him that it's there. He can't help the warmth that fills his middle every time.
His volleyball career keeps him on the road and away from you more than he'd like, so having the ring on his finger as a constant reminder of you makes you feel a little bit closer, even when you're miles apart. When he's missing you, he catches himself turning it slowly with his thumb and remembering the brush of your fingers when you slipped it on for the first time. If he closes his eyes, the memory makes him feel like you're in the same room, if only for a few moments.
Your relationship had always been very private, so the first time a reporter noticed it in an interview, it set off a bit of a flurry of attention. His teammates find it hilarious, but he mostly finds the questions it generates irritating. Maybe it's selfish, but so much of his life is already on display for the public eye, and he just wants to keep you for himself.
He'd never leave it off, though. Aside from practice and matches, when he has no choice but to take it off, it never leaves his finger. There's a familiar comfort in the slight weight of it, a constant no matter what is happening around him. A tangible reminder of your unchanging love for him that keeps him steady.
He loves it most when his hands are in yours. When he's holding you close, you often like to play with his hands, your fingertips gently tracing the callouses or marveling with a soft laugh at how large they are in comparison with your own. Without fail, you always end up toying with the ring, twisting it on his finger and gently rubbing your thumb across the smooth metal. You end by lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to the ring ‒ a small, wordless gesture that, to him, still says so much.
It's a gesture that he always returns. He runs his thumb gently across the back of your fingers, quietly admiring your rings ‒ the engagement ring and the matching wedding band. He had agonized over the style of the ring and, even so, it looked more beautiful than he could have imagined once it was on your hand. He presses a tender kiss to the stone, his eyes flickering to your face and your adoring smile.
Wakatoshi loves his wedding ring, but not half as much as he loves you.
I'm not crying, you're crying.
Ushijima squishing your face between his thick, calloused hands—face as stoic and oblivious as ever—and kissing your lips once. twice. thrice. and a fourth, and a fifth, and sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth- until him smiling breaks the stream of kisses you’re counting. He meant to give you a quick peck. But why one when you can have infinite?
Some captains batch drawings and a Hinata
crush me like a butterfly [nsfw]
Synopsis: beefy men using their weight to their advantage during sex
Notes: I learned that wonho is less beefy than bokuto, atsumu and others and I haven’t been the same since. Just eagerly horny to be crushed, like please sit on me.
Featuring: bokuto, atsumu, ushijima, daichi, osamu, suna
warnings: fem body parts, public sex, handcuffing, MAJOR breeding kink, manhandling, unprotected sex, all situations are consensual
suna who fucks you up against the wall of the janitor’s closet. you’re the manager for his team and have been in a secret relationship for the past few weeks. it’s safe to say that the sexual tension between you two had increased overtime. most of the time it was the cause of you doing innocent things like bending over, chewing on your bottom lip, laughing at something someone said or the worst, touching another player as you help them. suna is notorious for getting jealous and in result fucking the shit out of you. you have your legs around his waist, his hips are doing most of the grunt work out of anger. not only are they holding you up but their movement causes rin’s fat tip to hit up against your gspot every time. your eyes roll back in your head and before you can let out a moan, the middle blocker shoves two of his fingers in your mouth. “look at you, acting like a bitch in heat around my cock right now. if you can’t shut the fuck up ill give you a reason to be loud.” he hissed, pressing more of his weight into you. but it doesn’t matter how quiet you are, not when anyone within a 20 foot radius could hear his fat balls clapping against your ass and the ‘thump thump’ of the door…
atsumu who drags you both to the rooms at the victory village to test out the beds durability…and your flexibility. you’re there for gymnastics, he’s there for volleyball. the minute he got alone time in the room without any of his roommates, he didn’t hesitate to tear off your clothes and his. next thing you know you’re folded over in a mating press, your boyfriend pounding your cunt. you’re a bawling mess as his pace doesn’t let up and your breathing is restricted because of his weight. if atsumu is one thing, he is thick. his muscular thighs hug your sides, caging your body. the place where both of your bodies meet is obscenely messy. there’s a loud squelch from every time the faux blond pulls out and he can’t help but crave more of it. he wants you be entirely ruined for him. and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. he’s going to go for as long as it takes to break you. “you can take more can’t ya angel? gotta see just how good these beds are…and how far i can spread these pretty legs.”
ushijima who batters your pussy with his absolute fat rod of a cock. the ace hadn’t used his full strength in the past but when you begged him to, saying that you could ‘handle’ it, you really didn’t know what you were signing up for. currently he has you laid out for him pretty on the bed, hips pounding your ass and causing your whole body to move up the bed each time. “t-toshi, slow down…” you whine, trying to grab his forearm but failing. he only takes your hands and pins them down to the bed, his hulking figure smothering yours as he readjusts his hips to move at a faster pace. a shrill cry escapes you as you lay there, unable to do anything but take it all. the ace tsks at your whining and shakes his head. “you asked for this love. you said you could handle it so that’s what you’re going to do. you’re going to be a good girl for me and take it all. got it?”
bokuto who absolutely lost it when he saw you holding your friend’s baby at a party you two went to. he can’t help but imagine you pregnant with his child and how cute you would look. that night when you both got home, he pushed you both into the bedroom and shut the door. bokuto pulls off your bottoms before removing his own. he strokes himself and whines when his hands come in contact with his sensitive balls. the man is just about ready to burst. he hooks your legs around his waist, instructing you to lock your legs together. the first time he pumps his load into you, there’s an animalistic look in his golden eyes as he feels your cunt milk him so well. he has you laying on your stomach, his weight basically on top of you as he drills into your pussy again and again. the best you can do is hold onto his arms and listen to his grunts. the poor baby has overstimulated himself for so long that he has both of you shaking. “i’m sorry baby, can’t help it…need to make sure that i fuck a baby into you by tonight. i can’t wait any longer-ha, you’re going to look so beautiful carrying our babies…my babies. you’ll give me a whole volleyball team, right? they’re going to look so cute…”
hate fucking with osamu. you’re business rivals and your relationship has never been the best. there is constant bickering and criticism of food ideas and recipes, often getting the better of you two. but one thing neither one of you two could admit was the underlying sexual tension that’s there. so one day when he sees you flirting chatting with another restaurant owner, one that you happen to be on way better terms with than him, he snaps. osamu marches over to your restaurant and drags you into his own, not caring that he interrupted your conversation. you sputter and complain the entire time, calling him an ‘asshole’ and a ‘human with no decent respect’. but as soon as he’s in his office he shreds your clothes before he fucks you over a chair near the window. he presses your bare body against the glass. “not so talkative now, are ya?” he breathes into your ear. “yer such a slut, anyone could walk by and see ya like this and you’d like it, wouldn’t ya?” he pushes your tits against the transparent surface, groaning when your plush ass grinds back on his cock. you whimper in response, the pressure too much but he only pins your hands above so they can’t move. “aht aht baby, you take what i give ya.”osamu really hopes that the man can see how well he fucks you and that he’s the only one who can make you feel this good.
daichi who handcuffs your wrists so you can’t move or touch him as part of your ‘punishment’. currently he fucks you from behind, his strokes slow and deep. each time he fully thrusts back in you feel yourself coming close to release but then daichi deprives you of it by pulling away. you whine, your hand itching to grab ahold of his thick thighs to bounce yourself back on him. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asks, thrusting into you for the umpteenth time. “want more, dai. want your cock.” “but that’s what i’m giving you right now, right? i’m being a lot nicer than i should be aren’t i? maybe if you ask politely i’ll let up on your punishment.” he doesn’t have to tell you twice. “please fuck me harder, i’ve been good m’deserve it! i promise i’ll be on my best behavior!” you plea, trying to back into his touch. he chuckles before he yanks back your tied up wrists so you’re pressed flush to his chest. he swiftly grabs ahold of your thighs before pinning you under him. police training has really paid off, huh? next thing you know daichi is bullying your cunt, his pace unruly. there’s nowhere for you to go or budge. instead of begging for more you’re now begging him to slow down. your thighs cramp from where he holds you in place and you hear him snicker. “but this is what you wanted, right? this is what you were begging for? my cock? i don’t think criminals get to decide what they don’t or do get and when.”
do not copy and or repost. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated though! (c) 2022 hyque
saw this on a tumblr post and thought of them
calling us all out like this😭
absolute pitch # u. wakatoshi | 2k words
↳ ushijima has trouble keeping you in his arms through the night; he comes up with an oddly ingenious solution.
for the simple pleasures collab hosted by @augustinewrites <3
Ushijima runs hot. He’d never realised this until two years ago when you pointed it out to him on your third date.
“You’re really hot.” were your exact words, and he almost tripped over nothing.
You half-hiccuped, half-giggled at his reaction, and the sound chimed in his ears. You were cute when you were tipsy, especially when you started whining a few glasses in because he couldn’t drink with you, a circumstance attributed to his dietician.
(By the end of the night though, he’d had a sip or two. It was impossible to deny you.)
“I mean, you’re really warm,” you clarified because he was definitely gawking. “Like a human heater.”
Since then, Ushijima became almost hyper-aware of how much heat he emanated. Not that it concerned him. It meant packing less for games in colder locations, no bathroom breaks during long movies, less time spent making his bed in the morning because he didn’t need a blanket.
If anything, him running hot was a good thing. At least, Ushijima thought it was until he stayed the night with you for the very first time.
Because though he’d fallen asleep with your head tucked towards his chest and your hand over his heart, he’d awoken the next morning on the other side of the bed, sweating like he’d just played an entire set.
That was how Ushijima learned the one downside of running hot: his body couldn’t physically withstand anything over an hour’s worth of cuddling. Which was terrible because, well, he really liked doing it with you.
When you moved in together, though he willed himself to keep you in his embrace before going to bed every night, the same tragedy always befell him come morning. Once, he even woke up with half his body hanging off the mattress.
“It’s okay, baby. Honestly,” you said when he brought it up a week after settling into the new place. The smell of stale, unlived in air still clung to the walls.
You looked unbothered. Maybe… “Do you prefer it that we don’t—”
“No! No, of course not!” Ushijima was worried you’d get whiplash from how feverishly you shook your head. “I like cuddling with you at night, Toshi. But I know you get antsy when you’re warm. It’s probably just a subconscious response that you roll away. To avoid body heat, you know?”
You’d stared at him with so much reassurance, compassion, adoration; his heart ached. Ushijima wanted to lift you onto the nearest surface and kiss you breathless in hopes you’d understand how much you meant to him. He would’ve, but you were wearing shorts, and he remembered how you’d jolted from the cold after he set you down on the kitchen counter while kissing you that one time.
Sometimes, and maybe it’s mean of him, Ushijima puts off immediately reuniting with you after a game out of town just to watch you from afar, in awe that no matter who looked at you, he was the person you were waiting for; he was the only person who could call you his.
Which was what made his predicament even more frustrating.
He’s always taken pride in the fact that he’s made it so far in his career. He enjoys the vigour of his lifestyle; the intense training, the travelling, the purpose. It keeps him busy, keeps his life in check. He’s never once regretted devoting his all into volleyball.
But sometimes—when he hears you try to hide the fatigue brining your voice during the video calls while he’s away or on the days he has to carry you into bed because you’d fallen asleep waiting for him at the dining table—Ushijima can’t stifle the guilt that rouses in him. He spends so much time away from home, from you, that sometimes he forgets just how pleasantly cold your skin is compared to his, how tender your gaze becomes when it’s directed at him, how delicately your smile stretches the plush of your lips.
So he can hardly be blamed for wanting to spend what rare nights he has with you as close as humanly possible. Ushijima’s tried everything to try and force himself to remain by your side through the night—weighted blankets, melatonin pills, insisting you sleep on his arm to root him in place, sleeping shirtless to decrease his body temperature (you seemed disappointed when he stopped doing that last one)—but nothing worked.
But if there’s one thing Ushijima’s learned from volleyball it’s this: to adapt is to win. There’s never a guarantee what his opponent will do next, which is why he knows the best thing he can do when something unexpected comes his way is take it in stride and adapt.
Which is why, on off days like today, Ushijima wakes up thirty minutes earlier than he should.
Because he may be a world-class athlete, but he can’t train his body to reduce the amount of heat it exudes. All he can do is accept the fact that he isn’t built to spend an entire night with someone in his arms without overheating. So, he settles for this instead: waking up thirty minutes earlier so he can use that time to cuddle.
(Heat pricks his ears at the word. It sounds childish, but it’s exactly what he’s doing. He wishes there was another term for it.)
Thirty minutes, however, is barely a blip in the grand scheme of things. Ushijima wastes no time in draping his arm across your waist and nuzzling his face into the softness of your shirt, breathing you in. The first few times he did this, he dozed off. Which would’ve been fine—it’s an off day—if not for the fact that unconscious, his body will inevitably stray from yours.
So, when drowsiness begins seeping into his limbs, Ushijima reaches forward and, though he is no artist, sketches you with the feather-lightness of his fingertip. Every curve, dip, slope of your face he passes his thumb over to stow in his mind, to unearth on the days he spends away so the sight of you never dilutes.
Usually he does this as gently as he can so he doesn’t wake you, but today you’re wearing one of his wide-collared shirts, the ones that slip down your arm to reveal your skin mottled by sunlight filtering through the sheers.
So how is he meant to resist dragging his lips over your clavicle to the tip of your shoulder? How can he not linger there, let your skin cool his own, bringing him to an equilibrium?
He smooths his thumb over your lips, the flesh whispery like chiffon. He has half the mind to abandon his guilty conscience to kiss you awake. Ushijima doesn’t have to though, because before he knows it, your mouth is curving upward and your fingers are wrapping themselves around his wrist to keep his thumb pressing into your smile.
Your voice is filmed with sleep, your eyelids barely open. He lets you curl his fingers into a fist and watches as you ghost your lips across the grooves of his knuckles. Ushijima wonders if he could ever love you more.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, if only to keep himself grounded in reality.
Your kisses travel to his wrist, to the single prominent vein which spindles upward to burgeon in his palm. When you hum an affirmative it sends vibrations along his pulse point.
Ushijima cups the back of your head and guides it to rest against his chest, his left arm lacing tighter around your waist. If his estimates are accurate, he has ten minutes left. He wishes he had longer.
“You’re so warm, darling,” you tell him, almost absentmindedly.
Are you uncomfortable? You must be. Winter has begun to winnow from summer’s sweltering winds; certainly that paired with Ushijima’s own startling heat would be borderline oppressive.
But when he shifts to pry himself away, you bunch the material of his shirt in your hands to stop him.
“Don’t go.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. “You feel nice.”
Ushijima should’ve known better. Of course, you’d find no contentions with his body heat. When have you ever? You revel in it, crave it even, because the heat is inherent to him, and you love him without conditions.
Because you’ve learned to adapt, too.
You and Ushijima dance to different tunes. Even undying love cannot alter the simple truth that each of your notes differ on a near structural level—coloured by your past experiences, your upbringing, your contrasting dispositions—because at the end of the day, you and him are different people. There is no harmony when you and Ushijima’s songs collide, only dissonance, but over the years, as you’ve designated crevices in yourselves specially curated for the other, you’ve each adapted your songs to fit the best they can.
It’s been three years since Ushijima has known you, two since you told him how hot he ran, and in that time, both of you have attained absolute pitch; learned to play the other’s tune merely by sound; borrowed and incorporated each other’s notes into your own song. So while there is no true harmony in the orchestra of your relationship, sometimes, if he strains his ears, Ushijima can hear your melody and his weaving to create something not necessarily right, but beautiful regardless. Because those few seconds of not-quite harmony are born from effort, from wanting to conduct something dulcet together in spite of the way Ushijima’s tempo may run faster than yours at times and your pitch a little higher than his in others.
Your not-quite harmony is a culmination of the little things you do for each other, to adapt for one another, like drying his hair while he rewatches games, dabbing your makeup away when you’re too exhausted to, sticking peppy messages scratched in ballpoint on the fridge for him, or, even, waking up thirty minutes earlier just so he can bask in your love if only for a second longer.
His alarm beeps once, twice, thrice, before Ushijima silences it.
“We should get up now,” he rasps against your forehead because that’s what the sound means.
Your breath blankets his cheek, his thumb caresses your hip.
“I know. I’ll go wash my face,” you say but you don’t move.
“Okay,” he says but his hold of you doesn’t loosen.
And maybe the two of you stay that way longer than you should. Maybe the half-hour stretches to one instead as you catch him up on what he’d missed while he was away—the Alphonso mangoes on sale at the grocery store, how you’d found the left side of your favourite pair of woolly socks behind the washing machine, the orange peel and honeysuckle scented hand lotion you’d been eyeing ceasing production—and he memorises the softness of your skin beneath his palm.
You tell him about all the trivial happenings, though Ushjima doesn’t like calling them that because the way you recount them makes him feel as if he were there living through it with you—juggling the weight of ripe fruit between his hands, shining his phone’s flashlight behind the washing machine for a glimpse of kitten-patterned wool, hearing the clicks of your mouse as you reload and reload the fragrance store’s website. And suddenly, he can’t wait to officially start the day because there are dozens of mundane things—simple pleasures—he won’t need to vicariously experience a week too late.
Because he gets to do them, with you, today.
But Ushijima thinks just a second longer in bed surely won’t hurt because he can’t imagine getting up any time soon. Not when he has you like this, not when he’s teeming with the knowledge that you are the only person in the world who knows his song by heart as he does yours, that in this moment, he can hear the not-quite harmony the two of you have built for yourselves from the simple pleasures, from all and nothing but the simple pleasures.
wakatoshi who accidentally proposes to you during sex. well, not exactly, but he announces an “i can’t wait to marry you” between sloppy kisses. your pretty moans now linger between his lips— and he wants more, he’d beg you with his eyes to indulge him more and voice if you told him to. only if he didn’t expose himself in such a stupid way.
and realization hits your soon to be fiancé almost immediately. his eyes widen in pure shock. his body stiffens and a confused expression appears on wakatoshi’s face, his brows are furrowed. he stops. wait. he had a plan; a diamond ring and the perfect occasion. he messed up.
what just happened? he has no idea. you’re making wakatoshi go crazy and truthfully, all sense of time and reality fades away when’s he’s with you. on top or under you, there’s no difference. the mere sight of you so close to him is enough make his girth throb; his breath grows heavy and his muscles slowly begin to relax— with your legs spread, you confirm the way he touches you is perfect with your sweet moans. the godliness of his thick fingers playing with your clit is completely unmatched and your pussy wraps around his cock so well. enough to get him in a frenzied state and make a mess out of you.
to him the softness of your skin- it’s so addictive. you’re like a blazing fire, hot. you shine and glow and he wishes nothing but to burn eternally inside your flames. you’re too perfect and he’s madly in love with you. he loves you. so much and more than anything. he’ll confirm the obvious as many time as you want.
“WHAT do you mean by nothing? baby… you’re not a good liar.”
“give me a moment.”
in a matter of seconds, he’s already up with a pair of sweatpants in his hands, he quickly puts them on, his erection on full display. he’s insanely hot. handsome. moonlight hits his skin through the curtains, his chiseled body and muscles never fail to stun you with their impeccable beauty— you want to invite wakatoshi back in your bed.
as soon as he leaves the room, a sudden emptiness starts filling you from inside. it’s cold. wakatoshi’s warmth left the bed stuck to him like a shadow, but remnants of his presence linger in the air. his body was squeezing yours moments ago, thrusting into you like there was no tomorrow, driven crazy by how your sweet core feels around his cock, so warm and delicious. it was beyond what perfection could ever define— he’s strong, massive and big, but not for a single moment you felt overwhelmed. you’re enamored by his charm. he’s not aware of it and perhaps that’s what you love the most about him. and now you miss it, even though he’s downstairs.
wakatoshi wastes no time after his return. with a small expensive box in his hand, your boyfriend approaches you and gets down on one knee. you waited for him on the edge of your bed covered by a blanket, impatient for his next move.
“will you make me the happiest man and be my wife? this is not what i had in mind, angel and i apologize.” he reveals a beautiful engagement ring, a diamond rests on top of it. wakatoshi is somewhat nervous, this is making him more tense than any of his games. he’s not the type of man who displays his nervousness, but with you.. it’s different. he maintains his usual confidence and bluntness, but his hands are sweating. he looks up searching for your eyes with desperation and time’s suddenly passing too slow.
“yes! yes, of course, yes, wakatoshi. i’ll marry you!”
he smiles. a sweet, genuine smile is plastered on his face and you know you’re in heaven next to him. so many emotions flood your body and it’s impossible to figure out what you want to do next.
“but… we can postpone the proposal if you had something planned.”
“is that what you want?”
“no, my baby, no, i’m joking. i love you so much. c’mere, i wanna kiss you!”
“i love you so much.”
i made wakatoshi put on sweatpants because the image of him walking butt naked through the house to get the ring made me snort. also yes, wakatoshi would beg you to moan or whatever idc idc he’s madly in love with you, but i’m keeping that for a better smut. i wanna make him beg <33
TAGGING — @bunnyxgirlxo @atsumeii @pupicunt @celcero @tonaken @tenijku @aizumie @wisteriarya @decaffeinateddonkeysludgepalace @chickienugggie @mmmmhhmmmsblog @wakatoshisworld @kaleshima @yamerue @conniesbbymama @justanothernpcartist @eternallyvenus @iltcsm @fangirlings-world @polskacukierka @because-wearelonelyduh @hyuene @exactlyunabashedhideout @scill-a @dreamxcollide @toothlessmars @omiomikun17 @bogbiddiesworld
as one of the managers for MSBY, you don’t see the adler’s ushijima wakatoshi often. so on the rare occasion that the two teams practice together, you make sure not to let the opportunity go to waste (nsfw).
your ears involuntarily prick up at the muffled sound of someone laughing, followed by the sound of a volleyball hitting someone. upon instinct your body clenches up, your hands gripping at the jersey in front of you.
his hips stutter at your actions and his hand squeezes your hip tighter (a feat that you didn’t even think was humanly possible), making you wince and a yelp to slip past your lips.
“wakatoshi, too tight,” you breathe out, and his grip instantly loosens.
“it’s your fault. don’t tighten up like that.”
you open your mouth to protest, but decide against talking back. after all, there was no point in starting anything now. especially considering the position the two of you were in.
you opt to lean forward instead, catching ushijima’s lips with yours. you pull at his bottom lip with your teeth, tugging lightly (you have to remind yourself no marks, because it’d be over if the two of you got caught), and you internally smirk at the way the brown-haired man groans into your mouth.
his hips push into yours, and you welcome the pain in your inner thighs that come with each press. there’s no rhythm to his actions, just his cock brutally thrusting into your wet cunt, desperately trying to chase a release before anyone comes into the room.
“don’t have a condom,” ushijima mutters into your neck, eyebrows furrowing, all while continuing to hit that sweet spot of yours.
“just come in me, please, wakatoshi, fuck. i’m so close,” you plead, your legs wrapping tighter against his waist. you swear you’re seeing stars at the way he’s fucking you, and there was nothing more you wanted at that moment than for him to fill you up inside and fuck you through your orgasm.
his right hand goes down to rub at your clit, and the added stimulation was causing your brain to practically melt like ice cream on a sunny day.
“keep going, please. i want your cum so badly, please just give it to me. fuck, you feel so good inside me. your cock is so fucking good, so big, the best i’ve ever had, fuck.” you’re slurring your words at this point, too fucked out to be embarrassed by the words leaving your mouth.
your words seemed to push ushijima over the edge, because his hips stuttered once, twice, before you feel his cum filling you up inside. the tip of his cock presses up against your g-spot and your head lolls back at the feeling, too lost on the feeling of ushijima’s cock to even register the pain of hitting the metal locker.
you must both be masochists, because he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, a creamy white ring forming at the base of his cock. his eyebrows twitch at the overstimulation, the fine line between pleasure and pain becoming muddled.
“fuck,” he growls, eyeing the mess. he’s obsessed with the way you look whenever you fuck, as if your pussy was made personally to take his cock and milk it for all it was worth. all for him, all because of him.
he keeps his softening cock inside you for a few more moments, savoring your warmth, and allows you to ride out your orgasm to its fullest, sucking at the sweet spot below your ear.
you whimper as he pulls out, feeling his cum start to seep out of your puffy folds. ushijima stares, mesmerized, as if admiring his work, but then grabs a towel from his locker and begins wipes away the mess.
he helps fix your panties, his thumb purposely brushing against your clit just to see your body twitch at the overstimulation.
he gives you one last kiss, but has to pull away with a chuckle because you were still reeling, still seeing stars at the orgasm he had just given you. you’re trying to catch your breath, and just end up giving the man a glare instead of your usual back talk when he teases you over your state.
“you should have come to the schweiden adlers. it’s not too late to fix your mistake, you know.”
you groan as he starts up his lecture about how you chose to manage the wrong team (for the thousandth fucking time, just saying), and somehow find the energy to stand up. you grab your jacket and zip it up to your chin, scowling.
“worst pillow talk ever, wakatoshi.”
“if you didn’t notice, we’re in a locker room,” the player points out, and you mentally face palm at how dense the man is.
“the cover up story is that i was finding tape so you could wrap your fingers,” you mutter, reaching into your jacket pocket to pull out a small roll of finger tape. you toss it into his lap and speed walk out of the locker room, desperate to end the conversation.
bokuto leans into atsumu, peering at the stoic man through the net with wide eyes, his eyebrow arching suspiciously.
“you think wakatoshi’s got something going on with our trainer?”
atsumu clicks his tongue, and with wrinkled brows pushes the latter away. “oy, knock it off! ya getting all yer sweat on me.”
the blond stared at you, an incomprehensible feeling bubbling in his stomach at the thought of you dating the adler’s member. his head tilts slightly to the side at the sight of you handing a water bottle to ushijima, not missing the way the latter lets his fingers practically overlap yours during the interaction, and how unbothered you are this contact. almost as if you were used to his touch.
could they? what were the chances that you were closer with the other team’s star player?
no. not much, atsumu convinced himself, but an unsettling feeling remained in his chest despite the self-gaslighting.
after much thought the blond spoke again, his eyes tearing away from your figure to look at bokuto. “and, no way. have ya seen the guy? he’s like a robot.”
(i... am so down bad for this man wow.)
ushijima doesn’t propose to you with a ring.
granted, he has no idea why, considering that the box is sitting in the pocket of his shorts at any and all times. he’d spent months trying to get every detail right; unfaltering in his desire to marry you, but every other decision had been made and remade a hundred times over. he’d stopped counting after the fourth ringband and thinks that the jeweller started to hate him around the seventh ‘final’ decision for the cut of the stone.
he’s never been particularly indecisive, in fact he thinks he’s quite the opposite, and yet he can’t seem to stick to his guns on anything.
he almost proposes before the flight, though as he watches you toss sunscreen and string bikinis into a suitcase he thinks it might add an extra weight to the holiday, like some strange pre-honeymoon. if he asked you in a restaurant ushijima isn’t entirely sure you’d say yes, and every night at dinner he has to choke the question down.
in the garden?
in the city?
it needs to be special, not too public. maybe not in public at all—
“hm?” he lifts his gaze to find you staring at him from your place next to the bed.
“i said can you throw me my water bottle?” you repeat.
he nods, resigning himself to thinking of a plan later and crossing the room to hand you the bottle. you tuck it into the beach bag that you’re packing and—maybe the beach? perhaps at night, when it’s more secluded and he can recite everything he loves about you without the added pressure of an audience. ushijima gets the sudden irrational fear of dropping the ring in the sand and is reconstructing his whole plan when you take his hand in yours.
“are you okay, love?”
he blinks, squeezing your hand and flashing you a small smile. “of course, why?”
“you’ve just seemed a little.. distracted? distant? i don’t know, i figured you were just stressed.” you tuck your phone into the pocket of your bag and turn to give him your full attention, taking both his hands in yours. “are you sure nothings wrong, toshi? i can try and help if you tell me. i want you to enjoy this holiday too so if there’s anything i can do to—”
“marry me.” he blurts, without a plan and without a ring and with his heart coming up out his throat. the grip of your fingers goes slack for a second, your voice dying and eyes going wide.
“what?” it’s barely a whisper.
ushijima sighs, taking your face in his hands and thumbing over your undereyes while you look up at him through wet lashes.
“i’ve been trying—” he says, a fond smile curling his lips, “—to ask you to marry me.”
you find yourself blinking away tears, nodding frantically as you try and unclog your throat long enough to fucking speak.
“yes.” you breath, “yes of course, of course i’ll—yes.” you’re laughing, tears bubbling at your lashline that he swipes at before they get a chance to fall and tipping your mouth to his—needy, desperate little thing.
somewhere in the flurry of tongue and teeth, you end up being pulled onto the freshly made sheets and straddling his lap. toshi breaks the string of saliva that’s connecting your mouths to stare at you with stars in his half lidded eyes.
you find your palms smoothing down the broad plains of his chest that’s covered by the thin fabric of his t-shirt, resting them over his heart that seems to be thrashing against his ribs.
lips ghosting over his and noses barely brushing, you whisper, “you shouldn’t have asked me now.” and for a brief moment his stomach drops. “now i’m never gonna let you leave this room.” you smile, pecking his lips and slowly grinding into his lap.
large hands are secured on your hips and ushijima decides that he’ll worry about the details later. “maybe,” he chuckles, “that was the plan all along.”
Next door neighbor Ushijima who, despite his 6 foot 4 glory, is like a ghost. No one has seen him move in, you just noticed the doorbell panel change one day and figured. Always out and about before you are and not yet back when you come home. You’ve been lucky to catch a glimpse of his broad back one day as he left, always hearing the older ladies living in the apartment complex talk about the handsome young man who just moved in.
Who, when you finally met, quite literally took your breath away when you bumped into him as you pushed open the door of the laundry room with your back because you were holding onto the laundry basket, quite sure you just ran into a concrete wall. Who apologized despite it not being his fault and offered to carry your basket, leaving you a flustered mess because the grannies were right.
Who’s apartment is so clean and neat it’s almost sterile, like straight out of a catalog. No cushions on his sofa, no candles on the coffee table, and it seems like he just bought some picture frames and never changed the default pictures, only looking for some color on the wall.
Who goes to the market regularly to buy fresh vegetables and chats with the elderly lady running the stand, asking for recommendations and exchanging recipes with her.
Who always extends his hand, signaling “after you” when you’re both on your way downstairs, letting you go first. Who lingers at the bottom of the stairs for a bit longer when you go up in front of him to bring some space in between you two to avoid making you uncomfortable.
Who always makes sure to greet you when you meet, mumbling “Good morning” in a kind of low grumble and with the corners of his mouth ever so slightly turned up that you feel your face heating up uncontrollably, an odd sense of warmth swarming in your chest.
Who, despite his stoic nature, never fails to pat the dog across the street on the head, no matter the rush he is in, smiling a rare smile so breathtaking when the big Labrador nudges his arm with the top of his head, demanding more pats. Who always makes sure to put dog treats on his shopping list, although he doesn’t own a dog himself.
Who never once misses calling his mother on Sundays, nodding and humming along to the same old “Are you eating well?”, “Remember to change to a warmer duvet” and “Bring an umbrella, I heard the weather is getting worse.”
Who thanks his roomba for the hard work when he comes back home after a long day of practice because he’s appreciative of the help, no matter if it can apprehend his gratitude or not.
From who’s balcony you can always hear the muffled sounds of a volleyball game playing on TV on one of his off-days, occasionally interrupted by a faint, mumbled cheer, because he’s a man of insatiable passion.
Who finds a weird sense of agitation sprouting in his chest when he doesn’t see your car parked in the driveway when he comes home because it’s odd. Who stays up a bit past his usual bedtime that day, lounging in front of the TV and straightening his back every so often to be able to catch a glimpse of the street, uneasiness fading once he sees your car pull up.
Next door neighbor Ushijima who is adorable in his own little glorious, matter-of-fact way. Who shows that he cares with his actions rather than his words because it comes so much easier to him. He owns my heart.