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Ushijima was not someone who felt the need for public displays of affection. What was the reason for it? You were his, and he was yours. It was simple as that. He didn’t particularly need to show that to everyone, in fact, didn’t really care to. He loved you deeply, and you knew that. Knew it enough that you didn’t require his constant attention like some of the relationships he observed.
That was one of the things he liked about you. He didn’t need to show you how he felt. Though he wouldn’t protest when you’d slip your hand into his and lace your fingers together on your walks through the park. It wasn’t often that you did it, aware that he was uncomfortable with overt displays of affection, but it was a small enough gesture he didn’t mind too much—especially since he rather enjoyed how small your hand felt in his.
Though he felt quite differently about the whole ordeal today. He saw you across the hall, but there was something a little off. As you neared closer to bid him good morning, he became increasingly confused. “Good morning, Ushiwaka. How was practice this morning?”
His heart warmed at your question. He enjoyed that you asked things like that, interested in how his days always began and wanting to know how volleyball was going. But currently, he was distracted by something else. “That sweatshirt is too big for you,” he said, looking down at your frame that was drowning in a Shiratorizawa sweatshirt.
“Oh,” your eyes crinkled with a smile. “That’s because it’s yours. You must have left it at my house and I was a bit rushed this morning I accidentally grabbed it instead of mine.” You peered up at him to find him staring unwaveringly at you which always left you feeling a little flustered. He could be intense at times; most of the time you appreciated his rapt attention, but right now it felt a little different than usual. Reeling slightly from his stare, you blurted, “I hope it’s okay!” You tugged nervously at the sleeves, unsure how to interpret his reaction. Normally, you could figure him out rather easily.
“I don’t mind.” His blatant words calmed your stuttering heart. He wouldn’t admit it, but he liked how it looked on you. Liked how small it made you look, how the hem of it almost covered your skirt entirely; you had tried to fold it up so that it wasn’t so long but had failed for the most part. He didn’t realize just how much he would like you wearing his clothing.
“So, are you going to tell me how practice was?” You asked motioning for him to walk with you down the hallway. He blinked at the sight of his sweatshirt swaying around your legs but managed to follow you while beginning to describe how morning practice had gone.
He thought about you in that sweatshirt all day. It was probably a good thing that you weren’t in the same class as him, otherwise there would have been a serious issue of concentration for him. Even with you not here he was having problems. He hadn’t seen you the rest of the day since that morning and it left him strangely disappointed.
Even practice after school was proving to be difficult. You showed up halfway through, still wearing the sweatshirt, causing him to serve the ball a bit harder than usual. It slammed onto the other side of the court with a resounding thud that you didn’t even lift your head at—accustomed to the forceful sound of volleyballs hitting the court.
You were too busy quickly chatting with the manager anyways, needing to discuss a project you were working on with her. You didn’t usually like to interrupt his practice; not that your presence distracted him anyways—usually. He couldn’t help his eyes trailing your retreating form when you left, hips swaying in his massive sweatshirt.
“Earth to Wakatoshi,” a hand waved in front of his face. “Earth to Wakatoshi!” He blinked, turning his head to find a mess of wild red hair, wide eyes tilted in question at him.
“What is it, Tendou?”
Tendou smirked knowingly at him, eyes narrowing slyly. “I know (Y/N) is pretty but normally you don’t notice she’s here.”
He did normally notice whenever you came to watch him practice, but he was good at keeping himself in focus. Yet, that sweatshirt was breaking his resolve.
Ushijima Wakatoshi was not a man brought to his knees easily. And he certainly never thought a sweatshirt could have that effect on him. But when he walked into your house to find you lounging on the couch still in his sweatshirt his mind blanked. The sweatshirt was like a dress on you, he couldn’t tell if you were wearing anything underneath; probably shorts he reasoned.
“Oh—hi, Wakatoshi. How was practice?”
You always asked, you always listened; he always wanted to tell you, but right now—you were all bare legs and he was fixated on the exposed skin of your thighs. And you were in the privacy of your home, somewhere he could (and would) give you all of him.
He remained silent, standing a few feet away from you which was unusual. Typically, when he came over after practice, he would find you immediately, strong arms wrapping around you, letting you run your fingers through his hair while you exchanged how your days went. It was the main reason why you didn’t really mind he wasn’t one for PDA. He gave you everything you needed when you were alone. Though right now he looked like a deer in headlights.
You stood from the couch and visibly saw him stiffen. Almost imperceptibly, his brown gaze raked down your form. “Are you okay?” You asked, a little worried and confused about his behavior.
Quite Ushijima-like, he said blatantly, “I like this on you.” He thumbed the hem of his sweatshirt just grazing your thighs.
Oh.
A blush bloomed across your cheeks at his plain words. Saying those kinds of things came naturally to Ushijima, he just said however he felt which was why it made color rush to your face; because you knew he truly meant whatever he was saying.
He was already gazing at you hotly, so you knew it wouldn’t take much from you for him to lift you off your feet and take you upstairs. Standing on your tiptoes, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck; the sweatshirt lifting a bit to reveal the shorts it had been hiding. “Did you think about me wearing this all day?”
“Yes.” His large hands settled on your hips.
You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then down his jaw, your warm breath against his skin sending a chill down his spine. “Was I distracting at practice?”
“Very.”
Your lips trailed to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and the Ace of Shiratorizawa was utterly, and completely yours. Well—in the sense that you got him to do what you wanted. He was surely going to have his way with you, and you would gladly let him. His grip tightened on your waist, turned the both of you 180°, then pulled you to straddle him on the couch. Hands cupping his face, you lifted his lips to yours to find him more than ready to kiss you. Hell—he’d been imagining it all day.
Rough fingers trailing up the back of the sweatshirt to discover your upper body was completely bare underneath had him biting your lower lip and then running his tongue across it. You felt what it did to him underneath you, so you ground your hips down onto his, eliciting a deep rumble from him that set your core on fire.
His hands found purchase on your ass, helping you grind farther onto him, his hips meeting yours slightly. The tips of his fingers skimming bare skin as your shorts rode up and the pressure against his pants growing more noticeable with each thrust. His tongue slipped past your lips, causing your fingers to tangle into his olive hair and tug a little to get him to latch onto your bared neck. He did so gladly, teeth grazing the soft skin of your throat, returning our favor from earlier biting gently where your neck and shoulder meet, drawing a soft sigh from you.
A guttural growl escaped him as he gripped your thighs and rose from the couch, your legs wrapping around his waist, letting him carry you easily to your bedroom. He laid you gently on your back before trailing his lips down your neck, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts and underwear, slipping them down your legs and tossing them aside.
His warm lips shortly found their way to the skin of your thighs, fingers gripping them to tug you closer to the edge of the bed. “Toshi.” You squirmed when he switched his mouth from one thigh to the other, his breath brushing across your exposed core. He paid no mind to your plea, continuing his worshipping of your supple skin.
You wanted him to touch you more. Specifically, a part of you that was currently covered by his sweatshirt you were wearing. You made a move to lift it off you but were stopped by his hands latching around your wrists.
“Leave it on,” he commanded, setting your skin aflame at the tone.
You really had no idea the effect it was having on him. You might’ve had an inkling could you see the tenting of his pants; to the point it was becoming unbearable. He drew closer to the apex of your thighs, finding pleasure you were already soaked for him. Delicate fingers twisted into his hair as soon as his tongue slid between your folds and agonizingly trailed up towards the bundle of nerves at the apex.
“Toshi.” Your tone was a bit needier this time, desperate for his tongue to go at any pace faster than it was currently. Finally, he granted what you wanted as his tongue flicked upwards and pressed hard against your clit. Your fingers tightened on the strands of hair, toes curling and eyes closing in ecstasy.
Another deep rumble from his chest, reverberating through your body shot lightning through you, as he continued his lazy pace. You were such a lovely sight from between your legs and that sweatshirt was doing wonders to him underneath his pants.
He knew you were close when your fingers left his hair to grip the sheets beneath you and your legs inching closer to squeeze his head between your thighs. He rested his palms on your inner thighs to pry your legs apart, straining against the pressure you were applying to try and close them. The moment he had you in his grasp, holding your legs apart, your hips started to move in unison with the circles his tongue was making—chasing the feeling you were so close to finding.
Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, sudden waves of pleasure wracking through your body; you cried out, hips bucking and squirming while he held you down to help you through it, tongue not ceasing. “Fuck…Wakatoshi…I—” a gasp cut you off as one of his fingers entered you. Another joining it shortly, sending you hurtling towards another orgasm. “Please—ah!” Fingers curled inside you, causing your walls to clench around them, prompting a pleased grunt from him.
His free hand scooped up both your wrists to pin them above your head, rendering you completely helpless against his fingers pumping faster in and out of you now. Your eyes flared open as his thumb pushed against your clit find him staring down at you, then trailing down his body taking note of the very prominent bulge of his pants. You briefly thought to help him with that before you were straining against the hold he had on your wrists, hips helping push his fingers deeper to tumble over the edge again.
You shattered in his grip, thighs shuddering and voice saying his name like a prayer; making the pressure in his pants grow to an almost painful level. Once your body calmed and practically melted into the sheets; he removed his fingers, let go of your wrists and then gathered you into his arms pressing soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks.
If the bulge of his pants had anything to say about it, he wasn’t finished, and neither were you. He half expected you to be exhausted and let him do all the work, which he certainly didn’t mind—his stamina was something you were grateful for most of the time. But no, he had pleasured you far more than you deserved. All you did was accidentally wear his sweatshirt.
So, his eyes widened when you positioned yourself on top of his hips, grinding down on his enormous erection. Your fingers found his shirt, tugging upwards at it. “I think this needs to come off.”
You didn’t need to ask twice. His shirt was tossed to the floor within seconds, allowing your hands free access to the toned muscles of his torso.
“Don’t take this off,” he said, thumbing the sweatshirt pooling at your waist at the moment.
“Done,” you grinned.