“You’re Home!”

eddie snuggles closer into you, and he thinks he's never been this warm before.

his face is pressed into your shoulder, hot breath splaying over your skin like a fan. and it's not just the warmth. it's the way your hand feels, slowly rubbing up and down his back. it's the little chuckle you share when something funny happens on the show you're watching. it's how it feels to be loved that makes him this warm.

he sighs softly, eyes fluttering open and closed, eyelashes tickling the skin of your neck.

"you seem cozy," you muse, kissing the top of his head.

"very," he murmurs, but it's so quiet he's not sure you've heard it.

you stop rubbing his back, and he whines, squirming until you laugh and continue your comforting movements. he thinks about moving to kiss you. but he doesn't want this moment to end. he doesn't want to move even an inch, he wants to live in this perfect, perfect moment for the rest of his life.

"do you love me?" he asks, wrapping a lazy arm over hips, and placing kisses on your shoulder, pouting when he feels them shake with laughter.

"every second, of every day," you answer, leaning into his untamed hair, pressing your cheek into him.

and you think, maybe you've never felt this warm before.

--------

just flexing the old writing muscles - maybe request something for a short thing like this ????

love you, miss you <3

miya atsumu is down bad. catastrophically. embarrassingly. so much so that even osamu—his own flesh and blood, who should be on his side—has started calling him pathetic.

“yer makin’ it so obvious,” osamu mutters as they watch you from across the gym. you’re laughing at something suna said, and atsumu feels a pang of jealousy so deep he nearly keels over.

“am not,” atsumu grumbles, but his eyes are still locked on you, hands on his hips like a lovesick fool.

“yer starin’ at her like she’s the last bowl of ramen on earth,” osamu deadpans.

she might as well be, atsumu thinks. you’re the team’s manager, but to him, you’re his manager. you bring him extra water when he’s been pushing himself too hard, you tell him to rest when he’s being stubborn, and you always—always—greet him with that bright smile that makes his heart do backflips.

“atsumu,” you call, jogging over. his name sounds so sweet when you say it, and he straightens up immediately. “want some water?”

atsumu nearly malfunctions. “yes,” he says, a little too enthusiastically. he takes the bottle from you, fingers brushing, and if he were a weaker man, he’d be on the floor.

you tilt your head, smiling. “you okay?”

“perfect,” he breathes, and osamu groans.

suna walks by, muttering, “get a grip, miya.”

but atsumu doesn’t care. because when you turn away, you glance back—just for a second—and grin.

and miya atsumu is done for.

people thinking that sakusa’s being maltreated because of the bruises on his forearm, but the truth is . .

Sakusa is known to always wear his compression sleeves on and off the court for post-game press conferences. It completed his signature look. His overall flair.

Everything seemed normal at first, but it wasn’t long before murmurs surfaced through the room. Reporters exchanged glances, some scrolling through their phones, others whispering among themselves.

The reason? For the first time in a long while, Sakusa wasn’t wearing his compression sleeves.

His toned forearms were exposed for everyone to see, and to the media’s surprise, they weren’t completely unblemished. Faint bruises and clusters of reddish dots speckled his skin—nothing severe, but noticeable enough to raise eyebrows. Some looked older, fading into his skin, while others were more recent.

The questions were bound to come.

“Sakusa-san, many fans have noticed that you’re not wearing your usual sleeves today. And, well…” she hesitated, gesturing vaguely at his arms.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about the marks on your skin. Is everything alright?”

Sakusa blinked once, his expression unreadable. He glanced down at his arms, clearly catching onto what she meant. A moment of silence passed before he let out a slow exhale through his nose.

He knew this would happen eventually.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Then, into the mic, he deadpanned, “I’m fine.”

The room remained unconvinced.

Sakusa could already imagine what the internet was saying. Rumors were probably spreading like wildfire—was he getting into fights? Had he been injured in training? Worse, was something happening at home?

“If I may, are those from mosquitos? With the recent outbreak of mosquitos due to the warm weather, could it be from those?”

“No.”

“Allergies, perhaps?”

“None.”

A few more reporters shuffled in their seats, hesitant but clearly eager to dig deeper.

Then, another one asked, “Just to clarify, you’re saying these marks aren’t from… any sort of external conflict?”

Sakusa’s brow twitched. He leaned forward slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask as he adjusted the mic, and let out another small sigh. “I’m not being abused, if that’s what people are implying.”

The room went silent. His fellow players exchanged approving nods, letting their teammate handle the situation.

“My wife is in medical school,” Sakusa continued, his voice even, matter-of-fact. “She’s refreshing her phlebotomy skills, and I often volunteer to be her patient whenever she needs someone for a demo or assignment.”

The silence stretched for a moment before a few quiet chuckles broke through, some from relief, others from sheer amusement at the unexpected explanation. Well, it wasn’t often Sakusa talked about you.

“So… you’re saying these marks are from blood extractions?”

“Yes,” he answered, tilting his head slightly as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “She wants to practice, and I’d rather help her than have her struggle to find volunteers.”

Hinata whispered something to Bokuto, but even with the low volume of the mic, Sakusa still caught it.

“That’s kinda romantic.”

He turned his head slightly to glare at them, but Bokuto was already grinning. “No, but really! That’s, like, peak husband material. You’re not even fond of monthly checkups.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Meian chuckled. “You’re literally letting someone practice on you repeatedly. That’s dedication.”

Reporters were already typing away, some clearly rewriting their headlines. What had started as a potentially scandalous story had turned into something else entirely.

The media had long known Sakusa to be a private person, almost aggressively so. He rarely spoke about his personal life, and to this day, many fans still couldn’t believe he was married. Out of all the MSBY Black Jackals players, Sakusa and your marriage are by far the most private.

It wouldn’t even have been known if it weren’t for Hinata’s post with the newly wedded couple a year ago!

And yet, here he was, casually revealing that he lets you practice medical procedures on him just to support your studies.

“Is she any good?” another reporter asked, grinning now. “At phlebotomy?”

His eyes narrowed briefly. “Her undergraduate course is medical laboratory science—so yes, she’s been doing this for years.”

“And you’ve never complained?”

He shrugged. That was the stupidest question he’s heard today.

“Why would I? She supports me in my career. The least I can do is support her in hers.”

The room was quiet for a second before a wave of approving murmurs spread across the lobby area. The tension had completely shifted.

Bokuto grinned. “Man, you’re really down bad for your wife, huh?”

Sakusa sighed, clearly regretting every life decision that led him to sitting next to Bokuto in this moment. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to volleyball.”

Hinata laughed. “It’s not, but it’s fun to watch you get all flustered as you tell them more about [Last Name], Omi!”

“I’m not flustered,” Sakusa muttered, tugging at his jersey sleeve slightly as if contemplating whether he should just start wearing them all the time again to avoid situations like this.

“Like hell ye aren’t,” Atsumu snorted.

By the time the conference ended, social media had already latched onto the revelation.

#SakusaBestHusband started trending almost immediately, with fans gushing over how unexpectedly sweet he was. Some joked that they wanted a “Sakusa-level” of support in their relationships.

-

You had been watching the press conference from your laptop at home, your face buried in your hands as your notifications blew up.

A few minutes later, Sakusa messaged you.

Kiyoomi: I hate the internet.

You: And they love you, actually.

Kiyoomi: They won’t shut up about me letting you stab me with needles.

You: You do let me stab you with needles.

Kiyoomi: It’s more than that. Ugh, people don’t educate themselves enough about your profession

Kiyoomi: And it sounds worse when you say it like that.

You laughed, shaking your head.

You: Well, you are the best husband in the whole world ever. You kind of brought this on yourself.

He didn’t reply right away, and you assumed he was on his way back home. But when your phone buzzed again, your heart warmed at the short but sincere message.

Kiyoomi: You’re worth it. Be home in 20 minutes

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

"I love you."

Sukuna frowned, cracking an eye open to stare at you. You were laying next to him with a tender smile on your face.

He grunted and turned away from you. "Stop uttering nonsense and go to sleep, woman."

You sighed. "Love, it wouldn't hurt for you to say it back for once."

He snorted. "And what is the point of me saying it when I've already established it quite clearly that you belong to me and no one else? What will I gain from uttering those words? Nothing. Now go to sleep."

You frowned, staring at your husband's broad back with a glare before you smiled and scooted closer.

"'kuna?"

"What now?"

"You, too, belong to me and no one else, right?"

"..."

Silence.

A slight shift of his large frame.

"Yes."

You grinned and rested your forehead against his back.

Close enough.

🦢— (mutuals only) send me this and I’ll create a moodboard of you + the character of your choice, on your dream date.

With Eddie please please 🤭♥️♥️ congratulations on your follower milestone that’s awesome!! I love you so much and am so glad you are here!

Thank you so much, my love. I hope you like this! ILYSM! <3

You and Eddie find yourselves at the local library, the pouring rain makes light taps on the glass of the windows around you and the gloomy light filters into the large room as the smell of leather and old books fills the air. You and Eddie find the novels you both had been searching for, in between light hand grabs through book cases and soft whispers and giggles.

Once back home, you both dance in the kitchen while baking cinnamon buns and put on a pot of coffee before snuggling up into Eddie’s chest as he reads his newest fantasy book to you while he plays with your hair as the rain continues to rage on outside, it’s the perfect night.

✩ my 5k celebration ✩

💤💤💤 💤

You were both quiet.

Unusually quiet.

Something rare, especially with Eddie, as if there was something in the air causing you both to feel such, exhaustion, at the same time.

You both walked through the door after work, exchanging quiet hellos to one another, a kiss to your forehead as you place one to his bare shoulder, gently leading each other to unwind from another long day.

Something unspoken between you as you moved around one another with such ease after all these years together as you shed the work clothes that felt suffocating after so many hours.

Eddie pulled a pair of black sweats on with another well-loved band tee and a pair of mismatched socks before throwing his hair up into a messy bun as you both let out a sigh.

He sat heavily on the end of the bed as you wrapped a robe around the pajamas you picked for the night, a small smile shared as his eyes meet yours, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You stand in front of him, running a gentle hand through his bangs, pressing a kiss to his forehead before his face meets your covered tummy, rubbing it against the fuzzy texture as he takes a shuddered inhale. His chin leans against the softness as he looks up at you with eyes begging for rest, shutting as you place one last kiss to his nose.

The rest of the night saw you both having cereal for dinner before heading to bed early, cuddling under the many blankets covering the bed, with eyes open not quite wanting to fall asleep.

Just wanting to hold one another in the quiet, where nothing matters for a little while besides the two of you.

You had been moping around the house all day, upset that Satoru left so early in the morning without telling you why.

All you remember is him pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead and telling you he’s going out before hearing the front door shut to your shared apartment. You whined in protest as he pulled away from your sleeping body causing him to giggle quietly when slipping out.

A few hours had passed and now you were really curious to see where your boyfriend had gone. You know he couldn’t have went out on a mission because he would have said something beforehand. No. When he left the house this morning he was dressed in a casual pair of pants and a hoodie with some sneakers so obviously it wasn’t anything important.

You had showered and gotten dressed for the day all so you could lounge around and wait for Satoru. It made you feel a little better about Satoru being gone because at least he’d come home to you somewhat presentable.

The sound of keys jingling and a lock switching out of place catches your attention. You sit up hastily on the couch and see your boyfriend’s large frame come into view. A small pout graces your lips when you see his hood on his face.

“Satoru what have I told you about wearing your hood? It makes you-“ The words cease to come from your mouth as soon as you see him take the hood off.

The reason for him leaving so early in the morning was so he could get a haircut. Now listen; Satoru was handsome with grown out hair of course, but something about his neatly trimmed mop and cleaned up undercut just did something to you.

Your boyfriend flashed his pearly whites at you while prancing over to you like a show pony. “How do I look baby?” Bending down, Satoru presses a kiss on your lips and pulls you up by your wrists to stand in front of him.

Silky white curls twirl in your fingers the second you touch them. Your pinky’s grazed the short hair in the back without a second thought. “Toru!” His name came out as an appreciative whine.

Truth be told it was hard for you to express how much you loved his haircut right away. However, the longer the day carried on Satoru can tell you love his new look because of the way your hands are constantly in his hair.

It’s impossible for him to go anywhere on his own in the house. Going to the bathroom? “Hurry up!” Getting thirsty and wanting a drink? Too bad because you’re gonna be right there behind him with your hands in his hair.

poor eddie was stuck in one outfit the entire season so i gave him some to wear