Jason Takes Care Of You After Getting Your Wisdom Teeth Out

pregnancy cravings with miya atsumu.

Pregnancy cravings never really made sense to Atsumu. Then again, he never got to the part of anatomy and physiology when he was studying physical therapy before he decided to go pro as a volleyball player.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t supportive; no, he prided himself on being a great husband. And now, with you, his wife, pregnant with your first child, he was determined to be the most supportive, loving, and accommodating partner ever.

Nothing was going to stand in his way—not distance, not logic, and certainly not impossible cravings.

It started simple. Like it always did.

You wanted a specific pastry from a bakery on the other side of Japan? Done. He booked the fastest delivery service he could find, and when that wasn’t an option, he flew there himself, picked it up, and brought it back.

Talk about rich.

Homemade food? Good thing Osamu had drilled the basics of cooking into him, though he still got yelled at by his twin when he accidentally burned rice. But hey, effort counted, right?

Then, the cravings started getting weird.

You’re sitting on the couch with a blanket over your lap when you look up at him with serious eyes. “I want Osamu’s cooking.”

Atsumu blinked. “Alright, I can ask him—”

“But I don’t want to eat it. You eat it.”

He frowned, confused.

“Huh? Ya want me to eat ‘Samu’s cookin’?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Atsumu scratched his head, wondering if this was some kind of test. “And that’s gonna make ya feel better?”

“Yes.”

“… Even if ya don’ eat it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Atsumu blinked. “That doesn’t make no sense.”

“Atsumu, please don’t question me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Osamu. “Oi, ‘Samu, I need ya to cook somethin’—no, not for [Name]—for me.” There was silence on the other end before Osamu sighed heavily and reluctantly agreed.

That night, Atsumu sat at the dining table, stuffing his face with his brother’s food while you sat across from him, smiling in satisfaction as you watched. Osamu just did his part as a supportive brother for his twin.

The next day was even worse.

“A seedless mango,” you murmured, rubbing your belly.

...

“A what?”

“A seedless mango. I want it.”

“… [Name], sweetheart, baby, I love ya, but that don’t exist.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I want it.”

Atsumu groaned. “Where am I gonna get a seedless mango?”

“Figure it out, please?”

He spent hours searching online, calling fruit vendors, and even asking Osamu if his suppliers had some secret black market seedless mango (Osamu asked him if a volleyball that was going 120 km/h hit his head).

No luck.

In the end, Atsumu cut up a normal mango, carefully removed every trace of the seed, and handed it to you with a hopeful grin.

You took one look at it and frowned.

“It’s not the same.”

Atsumu wanted to cry.

-

“I need you to wear a face mask.”

Atsumu blinked at you from your bed. “Huh? Why?”

You huffed quietly, fidgeting with the sheets. “Because your face is annoying.”

Atsumu gasped, hand clutching his chest. “My face?! The one ya love so much?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya vowed to look at forever in sickness and in health?!”

“Yes.”

“The one ya called ‘beautiful’ when I asked ya if I was hotter than ‘Samu?!”

“I love you, but right now, your face is irritating me.”

Atsumu stared, utterly betrayed, before sighing in defeat. He got up, went to the closet, grabbed one of the disposable masks he’d bought during flu season, and put it on.

“There. Happy now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Very.”

Atsumu flopped onto the bed with a groan, pulling the blanket over himself. As he lay there, sulking, you scooted closer and rested your head on his chest.

“I love you, you know that?” you murmured.

He grumbled. “Ya sure? Feels like ya hate me sometimes.”

You chuckled. “No, I love you. My hormones just don’t.”

He sighed. “Yer so lucky I love ya more than life.”

“I know. Pregnancy is so weird.”

And the worst has yet to come.

-

Atsumu should be asleep by now, but no, he had to be individually popping popcorn. One kernel at a time, as per your request.

He initially told you, “Yer kiddin’.”

You were not.

And that was how Atsumu found himself in the kitchen at three in the morning, painstakingly popping one kernel at a time in a tiny pan. Every time he accidentally popped more than one, you, who were sitting on a stool with your hands on your belly, would click your tongue disapprovingly.

“You put in two, Atsumu.”

“This is torture,” he grumbled, but he kept going.

-

“I want ice cream,” you said.

Atsumu perked up. “Oh, easy. What flavor?”

“I don’t know.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Uh… okay. I can get a few different kinds?”

“I need to taste them all.”

Atsumu frowned. “Like… all the flavors?”

“Yes.”

“… Babe, there are like fifty flavors at the ice cream shop.”

You nodded. “And I need to taste all of them before I decide which one I want.”

Atsumu let out a long, suffering sigh, but being the devoted husband he was, he marched straight to the ice cream parlor and ordered a ridiculous amount of sample cups. The poor employee stared at him in disbelief.

“You… want every flavor?”

“Yeah.”

“Every single one?”

“Yeah.”

“Sir, that’s—”

“My wife is pregnant, and if I don’t do this, I might not make it to the end of the week.”

The employee, upon hearing this, immediately started getting to work.

When Atsumu got home, you took one spoonful of each, nodded, and, after going through every single cup, announced:

“I don’t want ice cream anymore.”

Atsumu fell to his knees. Defeated.

-

“I need you to stand in the corner for a while.”

Atsumu looked up from his phone, confused. “Huh?”

“The corner. Stand there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like you should.”

Atsumu squinted. “Babe, are ya makin’ me into a damn decoration?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Atsumu sighed but did it anyway. He stood in the corner of your living room for a full ten minutes while you sat on the couch, happily watching TV. At some point, Osamu FaceTimed him, took one look at the scene, and hung up.

-

The next day, you called him while he was at practice, which was rare in itself because you did just leave messages whenever you knew he was practicing.

“Babe,” you said in a tone that made his stomach drop.

“… Yeah?”

“I need you to bring me a cheeseburger.”

He let out a relieved laugh, wiping the sweat off his brow. “That’s easy! I’ll grab ya one on my way ho—“

“But replace the buns with pancakes.”

Atsumu froze. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I dunno if I did, sweetheart.”

“Pancakes. Instead of buns. Oh, and I want honey to go with it.”

Atsumu nearly dropped his phone.

“Yer messin’ with me.”

“I’m really not.”

And you weren’t. That evening, he stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with the precision of a professional chef before assembling the most unholy creation he’d ever laid eyes on—a cheeseburger with pancake buns, honey drizzled over the meat.

You took a bite and hummed softly. “Oh my god, this is better than sex.”

Atsumu, who had spent hours perfecting his technique in the bedroom, felt personally offended by that.

-

“Atsumu,” you murmur. “I need you to switch sides of the bed with me.”

He sighed. “No.”

“Atsumu.”

“[Name], baby, darlin’—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my side is closer to the door in case of an intruder.”

You chuckled quietly. “Tsumu, please. I need to sleep on that side.”

Atsumu stared at you, conflicted. He had never—not once—slept on the other side. It was unnatural. Wrong. It went against the very foundations of your marriage.

But you were looking at him with those tired, hormonal, pleading eyes. And he was sure you’d tell him you could barely see your feet now and often experience heartburn, all because of his unborn baby.

With a heavy sigh, Atsumu switched sides with you.

“You’re a good husband,” you whispered, patting his cheek.

Atsumu, lying in the unfamiliar position, staring at the wrong wall, whispered, “I’m a broken man.”

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

JJBA part 5 I love youuuu

ushijima loves when you trace your fingers across his back. after a long and exhausting day of strenuous training, he’ll be lying down on his stomach, face buried into a pillow. as you sit on the edge of the bed next to him and begin running your fingers across his bare back, he’ll turn his head slightly to open one eye and look at you with an appreciative but tired smile. your fingers run mindlessly across every groove and muscle, outlining the years of hard work he’s built up in his figure. your hands run in between his shoulder blades and on his sides in a calming featherlight touch. when you massage the right spot, he lets out a barely audible sigh of contentment, feeling completely at ease under the gentle path of your fingers. as you continue your movement across every crevice of his body, you see him gradually shift into a visible state of relaxation. his shoulders slowly drop from their tense state, and his muscles go from tight and sore to relaxed and softened. the feeling of intimacy this small act of yours brings to him wraps him up in a blanket of warmth that, for just a short while, makes him forget about anything but the love radiating in the small cocoon you two call home.

eddie + trauma

i think what a lot of people don't realize about other's with severe trauma like PTSD and abandonment issues is that we're not always fun to be around. sometimes we bite the hand that feeds us and we don't know why. is it instinct or is this just the kind of person we are?

I think eddie would struggle with this. it would kill him to be outright with what's bothering him- his inner monologue is telling him just how stupid he sounds and to get the hell over it already. we've seen this already: he's dramatic and silly and we love it but he's great at deflecting. he'd be the type of boyfriend to insist nothing is wrong and let it eat away at him until he used it later in an argument.

he'd need a lot of reassurance - but i think he'd also be great at returning it. you won't give up on him so easily, and he'll spend a lot of time wondering why you haven't.

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 ‧₊˚ ⋅bf choso headcanons. . .ᐟᅟ

𝜗𝜚 choso x gn!reader, tooth rotting fluff 𝜗𝜚 back: jjk m.list

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who falls in love with you first and harder

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who is so smitten about you

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who is always the little spoon when you two are cuddling because he loves burying his face in your chest

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who loves peppering your collarbones and neck with soft kisses while cooing at you

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who is almost never able to sleep without having you next to him

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who is very attached to you, both physically and emotionally

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who loves it when you brush and tie his hair for him

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso whose face lights up when he’s with you, you’ll never catch him looking bored when you’re around

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who gives you his undivided attention

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who is very jealous of you, he wants you all for himself

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who is very protective over you. if anyone dares to lay a finger on you, they’re done for

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who follows you around the house like a puppy, he’s very clingy when it comes to you

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso whose love language is quality time, this man wants to spend every second he has in his time with you

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who adds lots of hearts next to your name on his phone

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who doesn’t say much but makes it known that he loves and adores you

⋅˚₊‧ ᡣ𐭩 bf!choso who’s willing to do anything for you, he’d gladly burn the world for you if you asked him to

ᡣ𐭩 taglist: @yueliie @spkyssn @ayrastv @sylusdoll

the first time you found nanami huddled in your shared room, you almost called an ambulance. huddling wasn’t exactly his thing. was he sick? dying? both? your mind raced through scenarios of him stoically hiding a terminal illness because “it’s not proper to trouble others.” but as you cautiously approached, ready to demand answers, you noticed the makeshift fort he’d built from your shared bedding. not just that—he’d constructed a fortress of books, an outright barricade. he looked up from his current read, glasses perched on his nose, and said, “it’s my day off.” oh. that was... anticlimactic. turns out, nanami decompresses by becoming a literature troll.

the first time you found gojo huddled in your shared room, you didn’t panic—you assumed he was trying to weasel his way out of work. which, frankly, was strange, given how much he adored tormenting his students with nonsensical training exercises. but when you walked in, the room was a battlefield. wrappers. so many wrappers. chocolates, gummies, cookies, things you weren’t even sure were technically edible. gojo lay in the middle of it, like some sugary war general, twirling a lollipop stick between his fingers. “self-care, babe,” he said with a grin, crumbs everywhere. you left him to it, but not before muttering about how cleaning up was also self-care.

the first time you found geto huddled in your shared room, your heart sank. geto huddling was a bad sign. you thought he was doing okay, considering everything—therapy sessions, reconnecting with friends, the works. but then you noticed what he was holding. a single strand of hair. his hair. your brain struggled to compute. “it’s broken,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the offending strand. “this means split ends, doesn’t it?” you blinked. his depression wasn’t back; his vanity was. “great. just great,” he sighed dramatically, retreating further into his silk pillow cave. you left him to mourn in peace.

the first time you found toji huddled in your shared room, it was well past his usual working hours. considering he’d only dragged himself home at 4am the previous night, you figured exhaustion had finally caught up to him. toji was not the type to stop moving. ever. “tired?” you asked gently. he looked up, smirking. “nah. retired.” your jaw dropped. retired? as in permanently? the man who treated work like a full-contact sport? but no joke followed. he was serious. you didn’t think you’d ever been happier in your entire life. toji laughed at your dumbfounded expression before pulling you into his ridiculous bear hug. “you’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

the first time you found sukuna huddled in your shared room, you froze. mostly because he was snoring. loudly. like a lion on steroids. the man could bring a house down with his sleep volume. you glanced at the peaceful chaos that was your room: one arm hanging off the bed, his face buried into your pillow like it personally offended him, and faint murmurs of incomprehensible sleep-speak. you made a calculated decision and tiptoed out, because waking sukuna from his hibernation seemed like a bad life choice. whatever ancient curse he was dreaming about could wait. better let the man sleep—who knew what destruction he’d bring when he woke up?

You know that Eddie Munson hasn’t had that much softness in his life. Lost his mom so early, his dad’s an ass, no grandparents (not even indifferent ones) to care for him, and the town treats him like garbage. Yes, Uncle Wayne is a prince among men. But He is gruff. He never meant to be a father - he does the best he can - but he’s not a hug-it-out kinda guy.

One day you find Eddie asleep in your bed holding your favorite stuffy, which YES you still have even though you are an adult who pays taxes and votes and so on. Why wouldn’t you keep your soft little friend??

Eddie has it pulled to his face -holding it in tight -almost white knuckled - fists. So you lay down behind him, big spooning against him until he relaxes a bit and softly snores.

You bring your stuffy friend to his house and hide it under his pillow and it’s never discussed out loud that you did this, but when you first spend the night at Eddie’s- he kisses the stuffy’s face and then kisses your cheek.

When you move in together you get the stuffy back because it goes where Eddie goes.

I imagine Nanami being the type to have his eyes set on someone and fully devote himself to that person. Nanami Kento doesn’t mess around, no funny business, and he’s straight to the point. So if he likes you, he likes every part of you, every inch of your body, every thought that roams in your mind.

Nanami is proper and respectful, he’s attentive to both your and his needs in whatever it is. You need a glass of water, he’s on it. You need help cleaning up the mess from dinner, he’s there cleaning alongside you. You want a kiss, he’d give it to you so long as you ask. A soft, delicate peck placed on your lips, cheek, or forehead.

Nanami keeps the hot, heavy kisses for moments when you two are alone and when the timing is right. When it does happen, it’s when he initiates the action and he’s very respectful about it. Hands-only grazing places he knows you’re comfortable with, although he knows you enjoy his touch in every place, Nanami keeps his composure and continues to act formal till he’s certain you both are ready to go further.

I imagine Nanami not being clingy in public but he’s still very attentive to you and the hand that grips his. He grocery shops with you and buys you jewelry that you pass when window shopping. Nanami is only cuddly in private, but when you pull yourself closer to him while out on a date he is sure to enjoy the sight that is you. A small hue of pink on his cheeks is sure to show and maybe for a second, he considers pulling away out of embarrassment but only for a split second before he melts into your touch. A kiss on the cheek will for sure make him turn the other way as he regains his composure.

“We’re in public.” He’d think to himself as you chuckle at the sight of Nanami shying away from you.

Nanami is a proper, professional man. He always presents himself with confidence in front of you. He tries exceptionally hard to express his emotions to you in ways you can understand without using many words. Nanami always says the right things to have you smiling and happy with admiration for him. With all the words Nanami Kento can tell you, one thing is for certain and it’s as clear as day for you.

“I love you with every part of my being, darling.”

Thinking about curling up in bed with your boy after a long day and he just squishes his face to your chest and sighs, knowing you’re the only thing he looks forward to on his way home 🚬

what comes from his mouth might as well be a foggy detection of echolocation to any other person, but luckily, it’s just your boyfriend. he’s got his cheek pressed against the fabric of your tshirt, eyes shut, bleached hair falling in messy tufts over the both of you. he does it again. “mmmphh.”

“KENMA,” you breathe, holding in a laugh to refrain from scaring him off. “I can’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

he lifts his face from your ribs, finally, staring up at you almost boredly. there’s a twitch to his brows that gives him away, a slight crease that whispers of his annoyance in the subtlest of ways. his narrowed eyes meet yours. “you find this funny.”

you’re half sputtering and half grinning by the time he’s finished his sentence, the knowledge that although he was correct it was in the most incorrect form of perception something that you couldn’t express. yes, it was funny, but not in the har-har, get a load of this guy way. it was in a look at my avoidant grump curled up on my chest like a needy cat, I should take a picture to remember this way. now that you thought of it, your eyes flickered to your phone on the side table.

“don’t.”

you huff.

“so you laugh in my face and expect me to let you exploit me as well?” he asks, almost playful interrogation flowing from him like honey. he could be a little sweeter if he really wanted it to apply, but you couldn’t ask for more. not when he was like this.

you brush a stray piece of hair from his face, not missing the way his expression softens at the ghost of touch. “not laughin’ at you. you’re just cute like this is all.”

the passive expression melts into pure embarrassment, and soon enough his face is a magnificent shade of pink before its being nuzzled into you again. “don’t say things like that.”

“but it’s true?” he can hear the smirk in your tone without raising his gaze.

his voice is muffled once again as he responds, “don’t care.”

“seems like you do.” you drawl, voice oddly sing-song in the quiet of the evening.

“shut up.”

a/n: missing reya hours.