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Hey I really love the way you write it’s so fun to read and really fits the characters. I wanted to request you making small drabbles or a series on how the haikyu characters would treat you while youre pregnant. If it’s something you don’t want to write no worries. 🩷
OMGG yesss I love that idea 🙈🙈🙈 It goes so well with my other mini-series ehehe, I'm 100% adding it to the roster!! Thank you for your sweet words, they never fail to make my day.
For you! Gorgeous Human!! Enjoy <333 --
Ushijima has been overprotective since the very beginning.
The second those two lines showed up on the test, it was like a switch flipped in him. He became your personal guard dog, nurse, chauffeur, meal planner, and human forklift all rolled into one stoic package.
It was kind of sweet—at first. The way he’d gently tug your hand away if you tried to carry anything heavier than a spoon. The way he’d Google symptoms with intense focus, like your morning sickness was a tactical challenge he could overcome with enough research. The way he sat through every prenatal appointment like it was the Olympics and he was preparing to win gold in fatherhood.
But by the third trimester?
You’re one more “let me do it” away from committing actual murder.
“I’m gonna change the sheets,” you say, bracing a hand on your lower back as you waddle toward the linen closet.
Before you even touch the doorknob, he’s there. He must have materialized from the floorboards.
“I’ll do it,” he says.
You blink up at him. “Wakatoshi—”
“The mattress is heavy.”
“I’m not flipping it! I’m just changing the sheets.”
Still, he reaches over you and pulls out the linens like it’s already been decided. “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.”
You stare at him, nostrils flaring, lips twitching, but you don’t fight it. Not yet.
Then come the groceries. The laundry. The vacuum you so much as glance at. And every time, he gets to it before you can even try. Every time, he gently insists. Every time, you swallow the urge to scream.
Until now.
You step onto the footstool to reach the top kitchen cabinet—one single bowl, that’s all you want—and he appears in the doorway like a haunted house spirit.
“Don’t,” he says sharply.
That’s it. That’s the moment you snap.
“USHIJIMA,” you explode, flinging your arms wide in a very dramatic but very off-balanced motion. “I am pregnant. Not porcelain. I can do things! I can move and lift and stretch and reach and I would like to do one thing—just ONE THING—by myself without you treating me like I’m going to spontaneously combust!”
He pauses. Blinks. That stoic face giving you absolutely nothing.
“…You were wobbling,” he says.
“I always wobble! I’m basically a giant, sentient bowling pin at this point!”
“I don’t want to take chances,” he says, calm as ever.
“Well I want to do something myself!”
He hesitates. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Eventually, he steps back and says simply, “Okay. Do it.”
Oh. Oh he did not just call your bluff.
You puff out your chest, grab the cabinet door for balance, and go for it. Fingers brush the edge of the bowl, victory within reach—
—and then you realize you can’t quite twist back down. You’re halfway off the stool and stuck. Pride flickers. Stomach tightens. Arms flail just a little.
“…Toshi?” you call, voice small. “I, um. I need help.”
He’s there in seconds.
Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. He sets you gently on the floor like a queen being lowered onto her throne.
“You were saying?” he murmurs, hand on the small of your back.
You scowl. “I hate you.”
“You don’t,” he replies smoothly. “You just hate that I’m right.”
You slump against his chest, bowl in hand, your forehead hitting the middle of his sternum. His hand rubs up and down your spine. You sigh dramatically.
“You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re still holding the bowl.”
“…Shut up.”
Ushijima Wakatoshi had never paid much attention to positions before.
He had always focused on precision, control, endurance. He knew his own strength, the way his body worked, the way he could move with purpose. Most of the time, he stuck to the same tried-and-true motions, favoring what was familiar and effective. But tonight, you had looked at him with those eyes, voice soft and teasing as you asked, "Wakatoshi, can we try something different?"
He hadn’t expected much of a difference. A position was a position, right? But when he had you pressed against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted you effortlessly—
Everything changed.
The first deep thrust had your breath hitching. The second had you whimpering, nails clawing at his shoulders. And by the third—
You were gone.
Your body tensed up so fast, so hard, that Ushijima nearly stopped, his brow furrowing as he felt you clench down tight around him, your head dropping back against the wall, mouth open in a silent moan.
His grip on your thighs tightened instinctively, muscles flexing as he kept you lifted, held, pinned completely at his mercy.
And then he felt it.
The sharp, desperate way you squeezed him. The way your entire body shuddered, overwhelmed and trembling.
Ushijima’s breath caught.
“Already?” His deep voice was laced with something close to wonder.
You gasped, hands gripping his broad shoulders, nails pressing into his skin. Your thighs quivered around his waist, your body limp from the force of your release. Overstimulated, wrecked—completely unraveled.
A slow, deliberate breath left him as realization settled in.
This position had made you lose control.
His jaw clenched, something dark flickering behind his usually calm expression. He wanted to see it again.
His grip on your thighs adjusted, his large hands spreading your legs wider, securing you against the wall like you weighed nothing. And before you could even recover, before the aftershocks of your first orgasm had fully settled, he started moving again.
Deep. Steady. Unforgiving.
His pace was measured, controlled, devastating. Each thrust pressed you tighter against the cold surface, the contrast of his warmth and the chill of the wall making your senses blur. Your body twitched in response, oversensitive and already on the edge again.
Your breath hitched, your back arching against the wall, and Ushijima watched.
His sharp eyes took in everything—the way your lips parted, the way your hands clawed at his skin, the way you gasped his name between every movement. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your thighs as he picked up the pace just slightly, enough to make you shudder.
“You like this.” His voice was calm, deep, but something about it felt different now. Like he was coming to terms with something new. Something he didn’t know about himself before.
Something dangerous.
The way your body reacted to him, the way you broke apart so quickly in his arms— he liked it.
A lot.
His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping even lower. “I like it too.”
Your head tipped forward, forehead pressing against his shoulder as your nails raked down his back, the pressure inside you tightening so fast it was unbearable.
You whimpered, the sensation of being lifted, stretched, completely at his mercy making your head spin. Ushijima could feel it. The way you clenched down around him again, the way your thighs trembled in his grip.
He exhaled sharply, holding you even tighter.
“Cum,” he ordered, voice like gravel and heat.
Your entire body obeyed.
Pleasure slammed through you like a tidal wave, your moan caught somewhere between a cry and a gasp as you shattered all over again, trembling in his grasp, body locking up completely. The force of it left you whimpering, completely spent, completely undone.
Ushijima groaned at the feeling of you convulsing around him, his pace unwavering as he rode you through it, relishing in how easily he could pull you apart.
When you finally collapsed, head lolling back against the wall, Ushijima didn’t move.
He kept you pinned against him, breathing deeply, grounding himself in the sensation of you still trembling in his arms.
His lips ghosted over your jaw, warm and firm as he pressed a kiss to your temple—but he wasn’t finished.
With a sharp inhale, he pulled back slightly, shifting his grip on your thighs before his hips snapped forward, hard. A strangled cry tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at his back as the sudden force sent pleasure crashing through your system all over again.
“Too much?” His deep voice rumbled against your skin, deceptively calm despite the way his movements turned unrelenting.
You barely managed a response—your mind too fogged, your body too overwhelmed as he pounded into you, each thrust deeper, harder, perfectly precise.
The intensity coiled tight inside you, every nerve on fire as you felt it creeping up again—fast, uncontrollable.
His grip on you tightened as he felt it too. The way your walls fluttered, how your legs trembled around him. He knew.
“You’re going to cum again.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—a promise.
And he made sure of it.
Another deep thrust, another perfectly timed roll of his hips, and your vision whited out. The pleasure hit like lightning, your entire body jerking, shaking, completely wrecked as you gushed around him, soaking his thighs, the sound obscene in the air.
Ushijima groaned, his jaw clenching as the feeling dragged him over the edge with you. His hips stuttered, his pace faltering as he drove in one last time, spilling deep inside you with a low, guttural moan, his fingers bruising into your skin as he held you against the wall, his.
For a moment, neither of you moved—just the sound of ragged breaths and the faint, aftershocking trembles of your body in his grip.
Then, slowly, his lips brushed your jaw once more, voice deep, steady, satisfied.
“We'll have to do that again.”