“you Are On The Couch Tonight, Riley!” You Shout, Pointing A Finger Toward The Living Room. Simon

firefighter abby (fluffy fluffy fluffy) i have fantasies of being somebodies pretty, sexy little house wife which is why some of my works encapsulate that.

abby walked into your shared apartment completely drained from the day. you were in the kitchen plating food when you heard her heavy steps as she takes her dirty work boots off. you turn to look over your shoulder a little concerned. abby has been on a 24 hour shift and even though she's tired when she usually comes home from those, she always greets you with so much love, she's never quiet.

"hey baby," you say walking over to your table to sit your plates down. "hey." she mumbles petting the cat that rubbed against her leg. you can see her face scrunched up in an semi-permanent wince. her eyebrows are pulled together like she has this huge burden on her mind. you weren't going to ask if she was alright, it was obvious she wasn't. you pull her chair out patting the seat giving her a soft gentle smile.

her face softens slightly sitting and eating. you try to get her talking by telling her about your day at work and the new recipe you tried. she nods and 'mhm's at what your saying but you can tell shes not paying attention.

when shes done eating she grabs her plate and puts it in the sink and goes to leave the kitchen. you stumble out of your chair to catch up with her. "hey. lets shower together." you ask grabbing her hand pulling her to the bathroom. "i don't-" she begins as you pull her into the bathroom.

"let me do this for you." you tell her. she doesn't fight you as you pull off her shirts and pants after turning on the shower. now with her clothes off you can see the soot covering her neck and the dirt in her hair. you can see the dirt under her fingernails, her braid is coming loose and her eyes look swollen like she was crying.

you coo at her as you pull your own clothes off, ushering her into the shower. you start by taking her braid out and washing her hair. you massage her scalp, kissing her shoulder, whispering sweet words to her, "'m here baby," and "we don't have to talk about it, its ok." you start to feel her body relax under your fingertips. you turn her around to face you so you can help her wash her hair out. "you had a hard day? its ok im here for you." she looks down at you with so much love in her eyes, "thank you." she whispers lowly.

you smile at her placing a kiss on her lips before grabbing her bodywash. you wash her body gently and thoroughly placing kisses on her clean skin. you start to talk about what your going to do since abby has three days off. abby adds some things to the conversation and places kisses on your forehead as you discuss. the water washes the soap off her body she wraps you in a hug that expresses everything that she hasn't been able to say since she got home.

you hold each other while the water runs down your bodies chasing all your stresses away.

(this was not proof read.)

"I’m only doing this because I’m cold." Abbacchio whispers to you while breathing deeply. A moment of silence goes by as Abbacchio's embrace tightens and you feel his chest heave in and out with his heavy breathing. Your body relaxes as you wrap your arms around his back and sigh gently into the crook of his neck. You can feel his strong heartbeat as his body temperature continues to rise due to the closeness of your bodies. You rest your chin on top of his head and rub small circles against his shoulder blades.

"It’s okay," you mumble in response. Your voice rumbles softly against his ear, making him shiver. "You don't have to pretend." Abbacchio stiffens at your words but doesn't say anything else.

He pulls away just enough so he can look into your eyes with an annoyed expression plastered across his face. His brows knit together as he looks down at you with narrowed yellow eyes. The way his heart flutters differs from his annoyed expression. "What do you mean I don’t have to pretend?" He asks gruffly, trying to sound intimidating, though his face remains flushed with embarrassment.

"I’ve been holding you like this for the past ten minutes, and you’re still cold." You smirk, looking up at him. "Don’t give me that face, y/n." He grumbles, letting his hands fall to your waist before gripping it tightly. Abbacchio takes another deep breath and closes his eyes, leaning his forehead down onto yours.

"Just stop talking. Just... be quiet for now." He mutters quietly and presses his lips firmly against yours. It’s as if the world seems to disappear for the two of you. Your fingers clutch his coat tighter as Abbacchio’s mouth works against yours hungrily. His arm wraps behind your back, grabbing your lower waist with his other hand and pulling you flush against him.

This kiss feels like nothing less than heaven. The way he holds you makes everything seem more real than it already is. In that moment, it feels to him like time itself has stopped, if only for a few seconds. He feels a new emotion rush through his body and mind, and you begin to slowly feel the same thing. Your hearts beat in sync, and your breathing patterns are similar.

At this moment, it seems the two of you are one.

Nanami Kento is absolutely a guy that bites.

Like, randomly bites you. You guys could be lying on the couch, a movie on while your minds are miles away, enjoying comfortable silence together as you unwind from the fatigues of adulthood together.

Then he looks at you, eyes empty at the screen, knowing you're not paying attention— just relaxing. It's dark, the TV lights up you both, he's memorizing the curves of your nose, noting how the little differences in light makes you look somehow more beautiful than the last.

Then your eyes meet. A smile, which is returned. And then he leans down, your eyes locked the entire time.

He then fucking bites you like this

Eddie hugging himself because he doesn’t know what affection feels like.

until he meets you, who is so goddamn clingy when you hug him that he nicknames you “my little sloth”.

ib by this post by @webism. sukuna's version got me thinking a lot..

sukuna’s a biter.

not in any kind of sultry, seductive way — no, he’s far too infuriating for that. it’s more primal, like some oversized cat with too many teeth and too much pride.

he clamps down on you, sometimes your arm, sometimes your shoulder, dragging you into his orbit with a hold that’s firm enough to demand attention but careful enough to leave you unscathed. it’s ridiculous, really — his sharp teeth against your soft skin, a predator playfully toying with prey he’ll never devour.

“careful,” he’ll growl, a smirk tugging at his lips, “or i will eat you.” and somehow, it sounds less like a joke and more like a looming promise.

but you know better. for all his bluster, he won’t — he can’t. not now, not ever. you, in your absurd, fragile humanness, have gnawed your way past his armor, straight into the heart of the beast. the irony isn’t lost on him — how his bites might leave fleeting marks on your skin, but yours have burrowed deep into his very core, stubborn and unyielding.

how bizarre, he thinks, sinking his teeth into you once more, just to feel the proof of you against him. and even more bizarre? how he hopes you never pull away.

prev⟺next

Being Sukuna’s girlfriend is not always easy. He’s the type to show his love rarely, but when he does, it’s aggressive, to say the least.

You’ll often wake up with his large hand wrapped around your neck, his warm fingers just long enough to reach around your entire throat. At first, it was startling—a demon man you just started dating who shows basically no affection is choking you in your sleep? Was he trying to kill you and just got tired half way through??

All of your questions cease although, the moment you find out why he does this. You decided to pretend to be asleep one night as you were lying in his royal chambers, covered in love bites from moments before when he decided to suckle and nip at your skin—another strange way he shows his love for you. Your eyes flutter shut as soon as you hear him walk out of the bathroom, knowing he’s just finished brushing his teeth and is now ready for bed.

The mattress dips when he lies down next to you, inches away at first, but when you feel his large frame hover over your face to make sure you’re asleep, he moves right up against your back. You’re surprised to feel one of his muscular arms wrap tightly around your waist, the other reaching under your head so that you’re essentially using him as a pillow. His chest rumbles lowly when his hand moves below your chin, fingers carefully wrapping around your throat as usual.

You’re waiting for a squeeze, the tip of one of his nails jutting into your skin, or even a few harsh words in your ear. But all you feel next is his fingers tightening slowly, the tip of his index hovering just above your pulse point, before pressing into your soft, pliant skin. You feel your heart race against the pad of his finger, then another rumble from his chest against your back.

“Mine,” he whispers gently, before running his thumb over the soft edge of your jawline. He then presses one last kiss to the top of your head before lying his head down and closing his eyes.

Let’s just say, you never question his weird, sometimes animalistic, possession over you; because in reality, he’s just a big guy who doesn’t know how to express his unyielding love for you.

It’s givinggggggg tiger!sukuna. Should I…explore the waters of that concept more? I probably will despite the reaction to this💪🏻🫡

Forgetful wifey

Sukuna was growing more and more irritated by the second. For two whole days, you had been without your wedding ring, and it seemed like you hadn’t even noticed. Two days. He had been watching, waiting for that moment of realization, but it never came. Instead, you carried on with your life as if nothing was amiss, smiling, laughing, and going about your usual routine.

It drove him mad.

As if the world wasn’t already full of pests trying to hit on you even when you had the ring on, now it was like you’d put out an open invitation. Every man in sight seemed emboldened by your bare hand, and Sukuna had to physically restrain himself from going on a rampage.

At first, he figured you might have just misplaced it. You always took it off while showering, careful not to lose it, and maybe it had slipped your mind. He tried looking in all the usual spots—the bathroom counter, the kitchen sink, even your makeup desk. Nothing.

“Where the hell did she put it?” he grumbled, slamming one of the drawers shut a little too hard.

By the end of the second day, his patience was razor-thin. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone, completely oblivious to his brewing frustration. Sukuna stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at you like you’d committed some kind of heinous crime.

“You’ve got some nerve, you know that?” he finally snapped.

You glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Your ring. Where is it?” His tone was sharp, almost accusatory.

“Oh,” you said nonchalantly, setting your phone down. “I took it off when I was showering the other day and forgot to put it back on. Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’ve been walking around for two damn days without it, and you’re asking me why?”

You tilted your head at him, confused by the intensity of his reaction. “It’s not a big deal, Sukuna. I’ll just go grab it and put it back on.”

“Not a big deal?” he growled, stepping closer to you. “Do you have any idea how many bastards have been looking at you like you’re single? Like they even stand a chance?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, which only made him more irritated. “Sukuna, no one is going to think I’m single just because I forgot my ring for a couple of days.”

“Oh, they’re thinking it, alright,” he muttered darkly. “And they’re damn wrong. You’re mine.”

Shaking your head, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him, trying to soothe the temperamental man. “I’m always yours, ring or no ring,” you said softly, resting your head against his chest. “I’ll go put it on right now, okay?”

He let out a low growl, still clearly annoyed, but his arms came around you instinctively. “Damn right you’re mine,” he muttered. “And don’t take it off again, or I’ll tattoo my name on your hand if I have to.”

---

That’s what gave you the idea. You had always been a bit forgetful—so forgetful that you once forgot your own name during an introduction. Sukuna loved to tease you about it, but you knew it frustrated him sometimes. Especially when it came to something as important as your wedding ring.

You decided to put his mind at ease once and for all. Heading to the tattoo shop, you smiled as you explained your plan to the artist.

“A tattoo on your ring finger, huh?” the artist asked, giving you a knowing grin. “Man, your husband must really love you to get under your skin like that.”

“Oh, he loves me, all right,” you replied with a laugh. “But he’s also ridiculously possessive, and I’m just trying to save us both some stress.”

The process was quick but meaningful. On your ring finger, the artist inked Sukuna’s name in elegant script, followed by your wedding date in small, delicate numbers. It was simple but perfect—a lasting symbol of your bond that couldn’t be misplaced or forgotten.

When you got home, Sukuna was pacing in the living room, his arms crossed and his expression brooding. He immediately turned toward you when you entered, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me you were out there without your ring again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Relax, Suku. I was doing something for you.”

“For me?” His suspicion deepened, but he stayed where he was, watching as you walked over and held up your left hand.

“Ta-da!” you announced, wiggling your fingers. “Problem solved.”

It took him a second to process what he was seeing. His name and your wedding date were permanently inked on your finger, right where your ring should be. His eyebrows shot up, and his jaw clenched in surprise.

“You… got a tattoo?” he asked, his voice low but intrigued.

“Yup,” you said, grinning. “Now you don’t have to worry about me losing my ring or forgetting to wear it. You’re literally on me forever.”

For a moment, he just stared at your hand, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, smug grin spread across his face. He grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand closer to examine the tattoo.

“Well, damn,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over the ink. “You actually did it.”

“Of course I did,” you said. “I’m nothing if not practical.”

He let out a short laugh, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “Practical, huh? Nah, this is you admitting that you’re mine forever.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. He tugged you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he leaned down to kiss you, his lips curling into a smirk against yours. “Like I’d ever forget. But good luck getting rid of me now, princess. You’re stuck with me.”

constellations ~ yamaguchi

characters: Yamaguchi x gn!Reader content:(sfw!) established relationship, pure fluff, soft kisses and blushy Yams, treating him like the princess he is word count: 362

Thinking about teaching Yamaguchi the constellations. Excitedly pulling up a map on your phone and pointing them out, taking care to point out Scorpio, his zodiac sign. He looks over them all with such awe and wonder as you go through them. After checking the forecast, you realize that it would be clear enough tonight for the both of you to go stargazing together. You'd just have to wait for the sun to set.

⊱ ─────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────── ⊰

You look over the constellations on Yamaguchi's cheeks, jokingly pointing them out. "Look, there's Cygnus... and here's Cepheus." You trace a soft finger across his skin, connecting the freckles to each other in replicas of the stars. A red heat blooms under each spot your finger drags along.

"Are you embarrassed?" You chuckle softly, cupping his warm cheeks, his whole face flushing your favorite shade of red.

"A-ah... no... maybe a little? But not in a bad way!" He looks up at you with a timid smile. His hands reach up, encircling your wrists as he nuzzles gently into the palms of your hand. "Please don't stop..."

You kiss over the heated skin, mumbling softly as you worked your way over his freckled cheeks, "Taurus, Volans, Pyxis." You recount the constellations. He lets out a deep, satisfied sigh, his brows slightly tented. Pulling back for a moment, you get a good look at the adorable blissed out expression he's wearing.

After several minutes of reciting the stars, you were running out of constellations to name. Unwilling to stop the little game you had going, you started making up your own constellations. Peppering sweet kisses over the flushed skin as you mumbled nonsensical names, Yamaguchi was none the wiser. He leaned into your touch, soaking in the soft affection.

"Didn't you want to stargaze tonight? The sun should be set by now..." He called softly, his eyes half lidded and full of affection. His cheeks were slightly squished in the palms of your hands. You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, causing his eyes to flutter closed.

"They're all right in front of me... Why would I ever waste my time looking at the sky?"

yearning drunk!husband ushijima wakatoshi.

NOTE. contains a bit of alcohol content—though nothing too explicit or anything concerning <33

It always started the same way—kind of like an inside joke that grew wings, feathers, a tab, and Ushijima’s name on the reservation list.

Ushijima never initiated going out drinking with his Schweiden Adlers teammates. In fact, he rarely said anything about it at all. It was always someone else who mentioned it after a game. Always someone else who slung an arm over his shoulder and declared, “C’mon, Ushiwaka, we have to celebrate,” even though Ushijima had never once expressed interest in alcohol, bar food, or drunken conversations.

Still, he always went.

Because it’d be rude if he didn’t at least stay for a few minutes, he thinks.

Sometimes he showed up in his team windbreaker, sometimes in a long, dark gray coat that made him look like a trench-wearing monument of silence. And he never said no, even when the clamor of celebration was already grating at the edges of his patience.

Tonight was one of those nights.

They’d won by the skin of their teeth—an overtime set against a grueling opponent, the kind of match that made even the benchwarmers feel like champions by the end. So of course Heiwajima had started the round-up in the locker room. Hoshiumi had shouted over everyone about their lucky bar down the street, and within twenty minutes, the entire team had found themselves in their regular private suite.

Ushijima sat at the end of the table, his back straight, a glass in front of him filled with alcohol he didn’t particularly like. His teammates were loud and loose and chaotic—laughing at Sokolov trying to arm-wrestle the bar’s bouncer, clapping every time someone dropped a fork, and yelling across the table in at least three different languages.

“A thousand yen says he’ll ask about his wife in twenty minutes,” Hoshiumi said quietly, leaning toward their captain, Hirugami Fukurou.

“You’re giving him way too much credit,” Romero replied, fondly grinning. “He gets wistful around minute twelve.”

“He gets wistful the moment he sits down.”

Ushijima was unmoved. He stared at his drink, took a single sip, and let it rest in his hand. He didn’t participate in the yelling, the toasts, or the story someone was animatedly telling about a missed serve from three seasons ago. He just existed—quietly, stoically—as a satellite to the chaos.

Except, of course, they all knew he was waiting.

He always was.

There was a pattern to the transformation. First, he’d sit there like stone. Then he’d blink a little more slowly. His brows would draw together—not in anger, but in vague confusion, like he was lost in a thought he couldn’t solve. His fingers would move against his glass, not to drink but to fidget, just a little.

And then…

“Has anyone seen my phone?” Ushijima asked, barely louder than the buzz of conversation.

Hoshiumi slid it across the table immediately. “Right here, Ushiwaka. Sorry! We took a few pictures here and there.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at the screen. It was still lit with the last message from you from earlier that day: Good luck, baby. Don’t forget to stretch your left shoulder. He’d never replied—he never did, not when he was already in headspace—but now, he stared at it like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You want to text her?” Hoshiumi asks, lightly teasing, which Ushijima didn’t catch onto.

Ushijima didn’t answer. He opened the thread and typed a few letters. Deleted them. Typed something else. Backspaced. Then just stared.

And then finally: “She hasn’t replied.”

His teammates laughed.

“There it is!”

“It’s only been seventeen minutes! I win!”

“No, you cheated. I said ten, and he didn’t even check his phone until minute twelve!”

“Shh, shh, look at him—he’s pouting.”

“Wait, is this the pout phase? I thought that came after the silent brooding phase.”

“Technically we’re entering pout-brood overlap. It’s a dangerous time.”

Ushijima didn’t argue. He simply set the phone down again and folded his hands in front of him. Kageyama leaned over.

“You want me to call her for you, Ushijima-san?”

Ah, yes. Kageyama was too nice for his own good. Trying to enhance his socialization and trying to lessen his awkwardness with his teammates when the conversation didn’t revolve around volleyball.

Ushijima nodded. Just once. Immediately. “Yes.”

...

“Amazing! He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Can you imagine being that in love?”

“He just wants his wife. Look at him. He’s a whole sad poem in one sitting.”

“She’s gonna get here, and he’s gonna light up like a lantern.”

“May this love run me over.”

Kageyama stood and walked a few paces away from the table, already dialing your number. Meanwhile, the others watched Ushijima sip his drink again—not because he wanted it, but because it gave his hands something to do. His eyes were glued to the screen even though no new notifications had appeared.

Romero leaned in conspiratorially to Hirugami. “Do you think she talks to him in, like, soft tones? Calls him ‘baby’ and stuff?”

“I think so,” he shrugs. “I think they’re sweet like that.”

“Aw, young love.”

The teasing continued, but it softened. Because underneath the jokes and the laughs was a sort of awe.

Their teammate—so serious, so focused, so unreadable on court—was completely and utterly soft when it came to his wife. Not in a loud way. Not in any way that could be easily teased, really. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

When Kageyama returned, he had a pleased expression. “She’s on her way. Said she just got off work and is driving over.”

Ushijima gave another slow blink.

“Thank you.”

Kageyama nods. Somehow they manage to have conversations even if they just continue nodding to each other.

As soon as Kageyama said it, his phone buzzed with a new message. He didn’t even need to open it. He could tell by the way his entire body relaxed by a single, barely noticeable degree.

Sorry, hun. Just got off work. Are you okay?

He replied.

I’m okay. I miss you.

And then he set the phone down and folded his hands again, this time with more calm. More certainty. You were coming. That was all he needed to know.

The others noticed the shift immediately.

“He smiled.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did! Don’t argue with me; I saw it. It was micro. But it counted.”

“He’s already halfway out the door with his heart.”

“Watch, the second she walks through that door, he’ll go full puppy mode.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A gust of cold air followed you inside, along with the soft jingle of the bar’s entrance bell. You spotted them easily—your eyes landing on Ushijima before anything else. And his entire body seemed to change shape.

He stood up—not quickly, but instantly, with a kind of gravity no one else in the room had.

You smiled as you approached, slipping out of your coat and brushing off the cold that nipped your nose softly. “Hi, love,” you greeted softly. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said, already reaching for his jacket.

As he shrugged it on, you turned to the table. “Hope he wasn’t too much trouble?”

Hoshiumi leaned on the table with a grin. “[Name], your husband is the definition of ‘not trouble.’ We’re just grateful you came to collect him before he sighed himself into the carpet.”

“Tell them what he said!” someone shouted.

“He asked if anyone had seen his phone like it was a national emergency.”

“And he didn’t pout—he brooded. Like a man out of a romantic novel.”

“I think I did,” Ushijima just nodded at their comments about him.

He then stood by quietly, waiting for you to finish your goodbyes. When you looped your arm through his, he leaned ever so slightly toward you.

As they left, Romero raised his glass.

“To [Name]’s husband,” he declared. The table cheered.

Outside, as you two walked toward the car, you glanced up at him, fingers tightening around his arm.

“You really okay?” you asked.

He hummed. Then, in that low, steady voice only you ever got to hear, it softened—

“I missed you,” he said again. “They were loud. I wanted to see you very much.”

You smiled and gave his arm a firm, loving squeeze. “Well. I’m here now.”

And... yeah.

That’s what he’s been wanting to hear all night.

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walking around downtown hawkins with eddie on a friday night, his arm slung around your shoulder. he’s making you laugh and pressing sweet kisses to your mouth any chance he gets cause he literally cannot get enough of you