content warnings: p in v sex, reader referred to as "girl" as in "pretty girl", caregiver kink, breeding kink, creampie, thigh riding, virginity kink, corruption kink, praise kink, d/s elements, impact play, titty sucking, guided masturbation
ushijima gets painfully hard taking care of you. he loves how dependent you become for every little thing - how your eyes get so sweet and gentle when you thank him for all he does for you. when he's cooking soup for you, his brain is a million miles away, off fantasizing about you fluttering around his fingers, your voice a hoarse whimper against the thick column of his neck. he doesn't care if you can feed yourself - he wants to see you willingly open your mouth when he tells you to, wants to make sure you have a belly full of nutrients before he parts your legs and noses between your folds. "it's good to have an orgasm when you're not feeling well. everyone knows that, my love."
sakusa has a breeding kink because of the ownership, the mess, the sheer fucking risk. you had a pregnancy scare once and it bricked him up instantly. now every time he's fucking you, he's promising to knock you up, smiling to himself when you clench and groan around him. he stuffs you full of cum and then fingers it back into you, fingertips expertly rubbing along the walls he's just coated white with his seed. you're a mess of his making, painted in his cum and soon to be swollen with his child.
daichi isn't stupid—he sees the way you look at him, virgin eyes all sweet and trusting when you tell him that you want him to be your first, that you trust him. he wishes he could ignore the possessive desire to take your virginity, to corrupt you so completely that no other man can ever lay claim to you in the way that he has. but he can't, not when you're whimpering in his lap, legs draped on other side of his thigh, swollen pussy beating in time with his heartbeat as he bounces you up and down. "i know, i know," he soothes. "feels real good, doesn't it, angel?"
oikawa is the sloppiest pussydrunk simp to ever exist. the second he's inside of you, he's moaning and whimpering, barely able to stop himself from praising you. "oh fuck baby -- my pretty baby, you feel so good. you're mine, right honey? all fucking mine?" he can barely control himself; the velvety suck of your walls along his cock feels unreal. "wish you knew how good you feel -- it's impossible not to fuck you full, sweet girl." he buries his face in your neck, hips erratic in rhythm, thighs flexing with every thrust. "please let me cum inside you, baby, please." his fingers dig into your skin when he feels you tighten around him. "oh fuck, right there? is that where you need me?"
kageyama lets you use him like a dildo - legs tied apart and your panties stuffed in his mouth. he's uncharacteristically noisy in his pleasure, grunting and groaning every time you shift your hips. "you like being used like this, don't you?" you smirk down at him. "mr. big strong volleyball player just wants his pretty dick wet." but all he's thinking about is the sheer athleticism of your thighs, how beautiful you look with sweat dripping down your face and in between your tits, and how desperately, violently, he needs you to let him cum.
tsukishima loves to fight and fuck. nothing gets this man harder than someone who goes toe to toe with him. what he didn't expect was how much he wants you to smack him across the mouth when he finally slides inside of you, how much he wants you to tell him he's not fucking you well enough. "slap me," he says. you flash the nastiest smirk before your palm rings across the side of his face. his cock twitches. "yeah. do that shit again, baby."
kuroo loves how smart you are; one of his favorite things to do is lay between your thighs and listen to you read to him, his face squished into your tummy and his arms wrapped around your hips. he loves it so much that your reading sessions often turn into him lazily licking between your folds for hours. a command for you to keep reading rumbles from his throat whenever your focus wavers, when the swirl of his tongue through your wet heat bucks your hips off the bed. "who said you could stop?" he pulls away from your clit. "i'm really interested in learning more about mycology, baby."
best friend!suna takes your "getting your tits sucked on can't feel that good" personally. he tells you it's a shame that no one's ever made you feel good like that, that you should make sure you don't like it before you entirely discard the practice. "plenty of people have sucked on my tits," you tell him. "none of them were me," he replies, all serious calm mixed with arrogant intent. you know you're fucked when he squeezes the heft of a breast in his palm, teeth scraping over your nipple. you arch into his touch. "see? the little princess just needed special treatment."
kenma is amazing at guided masturbation. he doesn't have the best game in person, but behind a keyboard, he's a master. his instructions for you are always slow and methodical, a careful exploration of the erogenous zones he knows drive you wild. you're so obedient, too, sending him voice clips when he tells you to, your pretty voice on display as you finger yourself slowly. his final message reads: please show me how pretty you look rn, along with a picture of his flushed face, leaking cock in his hand.
; jealous husband!ushijima bends you over in the kitchen + aftercare :3
cw: p in v, breeding, established relationship, rough!ushijima, possessive!ushijima, size difference
your daughter participates in a trend where the photos show you when you were a teenager, then you now.
slideshow: you feeding ushijima grapes → you now, sucking on a lollipop, tongue peeking out.
comments:
“nah she’s giving throat demon, he doesn’t know what he has.”
“i’d pay her mortgage just to watch her lick me like that.”
“tell your dad to guard her, cuz i’d put a baby in her tonight.”
the slideshow ends, but the heat in the room is only just beginning to spike. ushijima’s face is a mask of stoic fury, a silent storm brewing behind those dark eyes as the comments continue to scroll—vile, hungry words from men who think they can touch what belongs to him.
“put a baby in you,” he repeats, the words tasting like poison. he doesn’t yell. ushijima wakatoshi doesn’t need to raise his voice to be terrifying. he simply sets his phone face down on the marble, the click of the glass echoing in the silent kitchen.
before you can even blink, his large, calloused hands are under your thighs, hoisting you onto the kitchen island. the cold stone is a sharp contrast to the sudden, overwhelming heat of his body pressing into yours. he doesn’t waste time with foreplay; his fingers hook into the lace of your panties and rip them to the side, exposing you, dripping and needy, to the harsh kitchen light.
then, he’s there. he guides his thick, heavy cock to your opening and thrusts forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal, singular motion. your breath hitches, a choked-back sob escaping as he stretches you to your absolute limit. his hands pin your thighs wide, knuckles white, forcing you to take every inch of him.
the thrusts are unhurried, agonizingly deep. he wants you to feel the weight of him, the sheer size of him claiming your insides. with every slow, deliberate shove, you can see your own stomach distort slightly, the crown of his cock hitting your cervix until your vision spots with white. you’re spilling down his length, your juices slicking his thighs, but he doesn’t let up.
the lollipop you’d been sucking on rolls onto the tile with a wet clack, forgotten and sticky, just like the mess you’re making on the counter. ushijima doesn’t even glance at it. his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of your neck, his tongue hot and demanding before his teeth sink in, marking you. he’s branding you, leaving deep, purple bruises that will tell the world exactly who you belong to.
he pulls back just enough to stare into your blown-out pupils, his voice a gravelly, low vibration that rattles your bones.
“look at me,” he commands, his hips never stopping that rhythmic, soul-destroying grind. “they won’t ever touch you. they won’t even get close enough to breathe your air. you’re mine. i’ll fuck those comments right out of your head.”
you’re trembling, sobbing his name as your walls clench around him in desperate, violent aftershocks. you think he's done, but he’s just getting started.
“you think our daughter wants a sibling, my love?” he shifts his weight, flipping you over until your chest is pressed against the cool granite and your ass is hiked high in the air. he doesn’t wait for you to settle; he plows back into you from behind, the sound of his pelvis slapping against your rear echoing like a gunshot.
his broad hand presses down between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the counter as he ravages you. he’s relentless, bottoming out inside you over and over until you’re a sobbing, leaking mess. he fills you once, twice, three times—thick, hot ropes of cum pulsing deep into your womb, making your lower belly feel heavy and distended.
you whimper about the mess, the way his cream is already dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. he just grunts, a low satisfied sound. “good. when it takes, they’ll know exactly how well i bred you.”
∞ྀི
the intensity breaks as abruptly as it started. the territorial monster recedes, replaced by the steady, grounding presence of the man you married. he carries you to the bathroom first, his touch surprisingly light as he cleans the stickiness from your skin with a warm cloth. he’s silent, but he keeps his body pressed against yours, as if he still needs to feel the contact.
he carries you to bed like you weigh nothing, tucking you under the heavy duvet. he disappears for a moment, returning with a bowl of chilled grapes and sliced peaches.
he sits on the edge of the mattress, leaning over you. he picks up a slice of peach, pressing it to your swollen lips. “eat,” he whispers, his eyes softening just a fraction. he waits for you to swallow before leaning down to press a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead. his large hand slides under the covers, resting over your lower belly—right where he filled you. he rubs slow, soothing circles there, easing the ache he caused.
“i’m sorry if i was too rough,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your hip bone. “i just… i can’t stand the thought of them talking about you like that. you’re too precious for their words.”
“so you decided to breed me?” you tease weakly.
his head lowers, a pout almost visible on his lips. “i apologize.. i wasn’t thinking clearly, my love.”
he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around you until you’re completely encased in his warmth. he nuzzles into your hair, breathing you in.
“you.. you’re mine,” he whispers into the dark, his voice thick with a possessive, protective love. “no one else will ever have you. i’ll keep you safe. i'll keep you fed. and i’ll keep you so loved you’ll never have to doubt it for a second.”
your boyfriend, ushijima wakatoshi, is an absolute unit of a man ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
and he doesn't even realize!
cw: none! pure fluff, art by Freaka_LoonyZ
He has this habit of appearing in your house after dinner, hair wild from the wind and jacket half off when you open the door for him. The first times he did it, he used to text you beforehand, a short message that sounded more like a warning than a simple "Can I come over?" and before you could answer, he's already knocking at your door. Now he just appears unannounced, usually around 9 p.m, you've thought about giving him a spare key so you don't have to get up every time he's there, but that probably will freak him out.
After you open the door with a lazy smile, he bows his head a little as a greeting, always asking you if he may step inside. Then it's always the same routine, he takes off his shoes, jacket and t-shirt and follows you to your bed without saying a word. Sometimes he searches for your hand to guide him through your apartment, sometimes he doesn't.
You lay in bed first, getting comfortable under the sheets and then it's Ushijima's time to accommodate himself next to you. His cuddling positions also vary, today, he decided to fully drop himself on top of you like a dead weight.
"Hi," he mutters, hiding his face on your neck.
"Hi, baby. How was your day?" you ask him softly, threading your nails in his soft hair.
"Mmm." Good. After more than a year of dating, you perfectly understand the translations of whatever syllables he mutters when he's tired.
You smile into his hair, leaving a kiss on top of his head. He squirmed a little, pressing his hands in your sides, which means that he's blushing now and he's not lifting his head until the redness of his face is gone.
"Did you miss me today?" you say, trying to hide the smile on your face as you keep playing with the short hairs at his neck.
"Mhm." Yes.
"I missed you too, you didn't text me all day." You tug on his hair, knowing damn well that it doesn't hurt him at all, but it's enough to tease him.
"Sorry," he mumbles, leaving a soft kiss behind your ear as an apology like he always does when he messes something up with you.
You giggle, scratching his back. "I wasn't angry, Toshi, jus' joking."
"Oh." You didn't even realize he was tense until he relaxes again, letting his whole weight press over your body.
Some minutes pass, you ask him soft questions and he intertwines his hand with yours at some point, he mumbles something so you keep scratching his back. It's all so calm and simple, and suddenly, you start to be uncomfortable.
The problem with your boyfriend is that he's huge. He knows he's tall but he doesn't know that he's strong as well, that he takes up space. Right now, his feet are dangling off the bed while he's fully on top of you, restricting your breathing. You think about a way of telling him to not get him pouty.
"Toshi," you whisper after kissing his temple again, now you have him flustered there's no way he's going to get sad. "You're crushing me."
"No." And he buries himself deeper into your neck, if that's possible.
Oh, great!
"Baby, you are. You're heavy," you say slowly, pushing lightly with one of your hands because he has the other locked with his forever.
"I'm not heavy."
You blink, biting down a laugh. Is he gaslighting you on accident? You shift under him again, but it's like trying to move a breathing wall. His chest presses so solidly against yours that each breath you take feels smaller than the last.
"Toshi," you try once more, keeping your tone light and sweet, fingers still tangled in his hair. "Baby, I can't breathe properly. You're gonna turn me into a pancake."
He makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, in complete denial that he is that heavy, and nuzzles closer. His hand squeezes yours a little tighter, thumb brushing circles over your skin. It's so gentle it almost makes you forget how heavy he actually is.
You smile softly against his temple, pressing another kiss there. "If you don't move a tiny bit, I'm gonna die of drowning right here in my own bed."
That does it.
Ushijima goes completely still for a second, the words take a moment to sink in, then he lifts his head just enough for you to catch the wide-eyed look on his face. His cheeks are still faintly pink from earlier, but now there's a flash of real worry there. Without another word, he pushes himself up with those strong arms, careful not to jostle you too much, and rolls all the way to the very edge of the bed.
The sudden rush of cool air on your chest makes you inhale deep and you can't help the quiet laugh that bubbles up. He's lying there on his side now, as far away as he can get without falling off, one arm hanging awkwardly off the mattress. His hair is even messier than when he arrived, sticking up in every direction and he won't quite meet your eyes.
"Sorry," he mutters, it sounds so small coming from someone his size. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Your heart melts right there. You turn toward him, reaching out to tug gently at his wrist until he scoots just a little closer. Not enough to crush you again, but close enough that you can trace your fingers along his jaw.
"Come back here," you whisper, soft as a secret. "You didn't hurt me. I just needed some air, that's all. You're my favorite weighted blanket, even if you're too good at it sometimes."
He finally glances at you, the awkward furrow between his brows softening. Slowly, letting him test the waters, he shifts back toward the middle of the bed. His hand finds yours again and he carefully brings it up to press a shy kiss to your knuckles.
You pull him in until your noses brush. "I love you, you know that, right?"
"Mm," he hums, the sound vibrating between you. His free hand comes up to rest lightly on your waist, thumb stroking the edge of your shirt. "Me too."
a/n: don't ask me why but he was such a complicated character to figure out. thank you @fancy-possum for helping me with this<33
cw: suggestive content, reader is depicted to be shorter than him (non-specified height)
;; boyfriend!ushijima has a ‘hand-on-hip’ or ‘hand-on-nape’ policy. because of the sheer height difference, he’s constantly finding ways to tether you to him. whether you’re standing in line for coffee or walking through somewhere, his large, calloused hand is either resting firmly on the small of your back or his fingers are hooked into your back pocket, pulling you flush against his side. He likes the physical reminder that you’re right there.
;; boyfriend!ushijima uses his wealth in the most understated, attractive way possible. he doesn’t brag, but you’ll mention your favorite snacks are running low, and the next day, a box of twelve arrives at your door. he thinks it’s only logical to provide the best for you. If you’re tired and he can’t take you home, he’s already booked a car to pick you up so you don’t have to walk. he’ll look you dead in the eye and say, “you deserved the upgrade,” as if spending a small fortune on your comfort is as natural as breathing.
;; boyfriend!ushijima is a fan of you wearing his oversized clothes. he knows he’s massive, and he likes the way you look drowned in his clothing. he’ll purposefully leave his heaviest, most expensive cashmere sweaters at your place just so he can come over and find you wearing nothing but the knit and a pair of wool socks. he won’t say anything at first; he’ll just walk up behind you, bury his face in the crook of your neck, and inhale deeply, his large hands bracketing your waist.
;; boyfriend!ushijima is incredibly observant during quiet moments. while you’re reading or working, you’ll feel his gaze on you—heavy and intense. when you look up, he doesn’t look away. he just watches the way your lips move when you think or the way your shirt slips off your shoulder. “you’re very beautiful,” he’ll state plainly, his voice dropping an octave, “i find it difficult to focus on anything else when you're in the room.”
;; boyfriend!ushijima has a very specific ‘gym recovery’ routine that involves you. after a long training session, he’s needy in a way only you see. he’ll sit on the floor between your legs while you’re on the couch, letting you massage his shoulders. the heat radiating off his skin is intense, and he’ll tilt his head back to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded, silently demanding a kiss—or something more—as thanks for his hard work.
;; boyfriend!ushijima handles you like you’re the most precious thing he owns, yet he’s remarkably firm. he likes to pick you up—to reach things on high shelves, or just because he wants to feel your legs wrapped around his waist. there’s something about the way he can support your entire weight with just one arm while the other holds your face that makes your heart absolutely race.
;; boyfriend!ushijima is a literal furnace in bed. sleep with him means being tucked securely under his arm, his chest acting as your pillow. he’s a heavy sleeper, but the second you try to wiggle away in the morning, his grip tightens instinctively. he’ll mumble your name into your hair, his morning voice rasping and deep, pulling you back down until you’re pinned beneath his sheer mass. “stay,” he commands, and with the way he’s looking at you, you wouldn’t dream of leaving.
;; boyfriend!ushijima views your body with the same disciplined intensity he applies to volleyball—he studies you until he knows every curve, every sensitive patch of skin, and exactly which touch draws a specific sound from your throat. he isn’t loud about his desire, but it’s constant. you’ll be at a dinner party, surrounded by his wealthy associates, and he’ll keep his expression perfectly stoic while his hand slides under the table, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your inner thigh, inching upward just enough to make your breath hitch while he continues a conversation about athletics as if he isn’t undoing you.
;; boyfriend!ushijima has a thing for your neck. he’s a ‘marker.’ he’ll be behind you, his large hands sliding under your top to grip your hips, and he’ll pepper heavy, wet bites along the sensitive skin of your shoulder. he likes the visual proof that you belong to him, and he’ll linger on a spot until he’s satisfied with the color, his thumb tracing the bruise he just left while he watches your reaction in the mirror.
;; boyfriend!ushijima is obviously a fan of so-called claiming behaviors that border on obsessive. he finds it logical that because you are his, you should carry his scent and his marks. if you’re wearing a dress with an open back, you can expect him to spend the morning leaving a trail of biting kisses along your shoulder blades and the nape of your neck. he also likes the visual of his handprints lingering on your hips the next day; it’s a silent, physical receipt of how thoroughly he looked after you the night before.
;; boyfriend!ushijima has a side to him that only comes out when you’re alone in his penthouse. after a shower, he’ll walk out with nothing but a low-slung towel, the water still dripping down the deep V of his abdomen. he knows exactly what he’s doing when he corners you against the kitchen counter, leaning in so the heat from his damp skin rolls off him in waves. he’ll take your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back to expose your throat, and whisper, “i’ve been thinking about this since you arrived a while ago on the third set,” before his mouth finds yours with a hunger that is anything but ‘polite.’
;; boyfriend!ushijima finds your reactions to his wealth almost as endearing as your reactions to his touch. he’ll buy you silk lingerie that costs more than a car just because he ‘wondered how the fabric would feel against your skin’ under his hands. he’ll help you dress, his large fingers fumbling slightly with delicate clasps, but he’ll inevitably end up unzipping it halfway through because the sight of you in something he bought specifically to take off you is too much for even his legendary self-control to handle.
;; boyfriend!ushijima gets incredibly possessive when you wear his dress shirts. because he’s so broad, the fabric hangs off you, barely covering what it needs to. he’ll watch you walk across the room, his eyes tracking the way the hem rides up, and he’ll suddenly lose all interest in whatever he was doing. he’ll catch you by the wrist as you pass, pulling you onto his lap, his hands sliding underneath the fabric to find bare skin. “i think,” he’ll murmur against your neck, “that you look better without this.”
;; boyfriend!ushijima has zero stamina issues. he treats intimacy like a marathon, not a sprint. he’s methodical, patient, and incredibly thorough. he’ll keep you awake until the early hours of the morning, his body moving with a powerful, rhythmic precision that reminds you he’s a professional athlete. just when you think you’re finished, he’ll flip you over, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress, and whisper, “done? i’m nowhere near done with you yet, my love.”
;; boyfriend!ushijima aftercare is a masterclass in silent devotion. once he’s thoroughly exhausted you, he becomes a gentle giant. he’ll carry you to the bath, his arms never wavering despite the late hour, and wash you with a tenderness that feels almost sacred. he’ll wrap you in one of his oversized robes, tuck you into the high-thread-count sheets, and pull you flush against his chest. he likes it when you fall asleep while he’s still inside you, his hand resting heavy and protective over your heart, marking the rhythm of the only person who can make the great ushijima wakatoshi weak in the knees.
n: oh i’m FREAKED out 🙉🙉 just something to feed my babies while i rest for a bit.
