aiiwa

[aiiwa]

coming home after a long, tiring day to fall into your husband’s arms so he can pat your back and mumble, “you want me to eat you out til it’s all better, baby? 🥺”

[aiiwa]

Nona what part of nz are u from!

i’m an auckland girly!!!

[aiiwa]

guys who shouldn't be good at sex but fuck like an absolute engine

[aiiwa]

no but actually my favorite tsukki idea is the cheerleader he HATES that he slowly falls for

[aiiwa]

selfcare is over ladies were allowed to be attracted to tsukishima kei again

[aiiwa]

saying “i know baby” while she’s having an orgasm

[aiiwa]

i will return from the depths of tumblr’s graveyard to say that i just finished watching frieren: beyond journey’s end and idk what to do with my life rn :(

[aiiwa]

hiiiiii (੭ ˊ^ˋ)੭ ♡

[aiiwa]

itadori “never just the tip” yuuji my sweet beloved <3

[aiiwa]

prone bone, prone bone, prone bone…

[aiiwa]

i think the year ushijima wakatoshi wins “sexiest man alive” is also the year oikawa tooru is publicly seen and photographed throwing a tantrum at a magazine stall in argentina

[aiiwa]

i think the year ushijima wakatoshi wins “sexiest man alive” is also the year oikawa tooru is publicly seen and photographed throwing a tantrum at a magazine stall in argentina

[aiiwa]

pyramid head sukuna art has me collapsing

[aiiwa]

talk to me in french, talk to me in spanish 🍒

[aiiwa]

yeaaaaaaaah i’m thinking about how serious he gets when he sees someone hitting on you at the bar. his smile and laugh are gone and he’s glaring at the man who’s getting a little too close to you. stands from the barstool when he notices that you’re getting uncomfortable and goes to you and wraps an arm around your waist and and and

[aiiwa]

how would arguments go between simon and MOB? i imagine he would never dare raise his voice at her.

simon does not argue with his wife. if you are in danger or something is wrong, i could see him using a little bit of his lieutenant's voice just to get you to listen to him. to "get behind me" or "i'll take care of this, you go." otherwise, there's no resistance. none at all.

"you know, simon, i..." you stop at the door, swallowing. you rub a hand over your forehead, shaking your head. "i...i-i really don't want to go."

he shuffles in his boots, staring at you carefully. you're all dressed up; you've got a new dress on (that he bought you, eagerly), and you've done your makeup. you clutch your purse with clammy hands, and he narrows his eyes when he sees the tremble in your bottom lip. he clears his throat, taking his jacket off. he removes his boots quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he comes close to you to take your bag and hang it up by the door again.

"okay," simon murmurs. "then we won't go."

he doesn't tell you about the cancellation fee.

"'ello?"

"simon!"

he startles awake this time, holding the phone closer to his ear. the sheer anxiety in your voice cuts his gut sharp.

"wot? wot is it? wot happened?"

"i--i totally...i screwed up, simon--oh, god, i'm so sorry--"

"oi!" simon says firmly. "wot happened?"

"i...i'm at the shop, someone was going to back into me, so i swerved, and--"

"fuck," simon breathes. "are ya olright?"

"the car, it's--"

"not wot i asked," simon interrupts you. "are ya hurt?"

"w-what? i..." you sniffle. "no. i'm okay. just a little sore, i guess..."

simon lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"i'm coming," simon says lowly. "you stay there, baby. don't move."

"but, simon, the walk is--"

"i'll see ya in twenty."

"oh, no, no, no, no!" you gasp. the orange tabby's head perks up at the sound of your voice at the door. she's got one of simon's masks in her mouth, and even from this distance and without the lights turned on, you can tell the fabric is shredded to bits. it's all over the floor, scattered across the couch, flecks of lint in her fur.

"oh, god, how could you?!" you panic a little. she must have gotten into some kind of drawer or basket or the laundry, because as you start towards her, she darts away, leading you across the house where you can see shreds of more masks and simon's socks strewn about the house. "oh, no!"

the front door closes heavy. when you come into the living room, simon is there, dropping his gear onto the floor. he looks tired--his shoulders sag, and you can see his eyes half-lidded and barely opening.

"simon, i'm...i'm s-sorry, she--"

you're holding his tattered clothes, but before you can say anything more, he grabs you by the shoulders and hugs you so tight. you nearly lose your breath from how he crushes you to his chest, and you let out a quiet whimper when his knees buckle and he falls to the floor with you, cradling your head to his chest and kissing your forehead through the mask over and over.

you're here. you're real. you're alive.

you drop the shredded fabric and hug him back, closing your eyes as you breathe him in. he tips your head back finally, ripping his mask off and kissing you hard.

he doesn't care when he sees the orange cat take a bite of his thrown mask and run away with it.

he can buy a million masks. but his girls--he pulls back from your kiss to stare down at you, intense. he hasn't slept in days, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks, camping on different rooftops just to track a shipment, and when that bullet whizzed past his head, all he could think about was you. the cat-bitten plants. the warm food. the cherry dress. some things cannot be replaced.

some brides cannot be ordered again. they don't make them like you.

you are one of a kind.