spiraling

ehvie | 32 | phd in oikawaology

[ehviepls]

ehvie, she/her, 32.

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.

drabble requests: open!

introduction more about ehvie

table of contents: coming soon masterlist

index what i write and don't write, including a list of fandoms

glossary fic recommendations

book club drabble requests

[tsumuisms]

MATSURI. kita shinsuke x reader. 1,145 words. cw: sfw. meet cute, summer festival in the countryside, talk about arranged marriage. // written for @no1frogfan for the hq summer fic exchange hosted by @sodaneko. i hope you enjoy!!

The summer festival in the small farming community is a joyous occasion every year. Paper lanterns are strung up around a large grassy lawn, stalls with delicious food are set up, and there’s a stage where members of the community sing traditional songs to embrace summer. 

Kita’s family farm supplies rice to make traditional dishes that are sold at stalls to support the neighborhood association. This year, like each year, he works a stall with his family, but now that the crowd is thinned down and the festival is in full swing his grandmother shoos him away and tells him to go enjoy himself.

Kita smiles to himself. His grandmother is getting to an age where she’s not so subtly anymore asking for grandchildren. Kita is still young, he has time before he has to decide when to start a family. But that doesn’t stop his grandmother from signing him up for a matchmaking service. It doesn’t bother him at all, he knows she means well, so he’ll most likely end up going just to see what the process is like.

Kita is absorbed in his thoughts, passing stalls until he finds something that catches his eye, and reaches for the last taiyaki that he doesn’t realize someone else is reaching for the same one. 

His hand bumps against yours and you both immediately pull away. Kita’s grey eyes take you in quickly. You’re wearing a yukata with a subtle floral design. Your hand clutches a small coin purse. Your lips are glossy, but from chapstick or some kind of lip gloss Kita couldn’t say. Still, he has to pull his eyes away from your mouth when he offers you an apology.

“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Kita gestures toward the taiyaki. “Go ahead.”

“But it’s the last one.”

“That’s alright. There are plenty other stalls around. I can find something else.”

You stare at the fish-shaped cake for a few seconds before hesitantly reaching out to grab it. You hand the vendor a bank note and wait patiently for your change. Kita thinks that will be the end of it, he’s already thinking about the baked potatoes he spotted on the way over, but then you take him by surprise.

“Would you like to…share this with me?”

Kita’s eyes widen. To be honest, he feels it’s a bit forward of you to ask when you two only just met. But looking at you once more and the way you bite your bottom lip, how tightly your fingers hold onto the wrapper of the taiyaki, and the drop of perspiration he’s not entirely sure is solely due to the heat that slides down the side of your face, he finds himself a little endeared by your courage.

“I would like that,” he answers.

You both walk toward an empty picnic table and sit across from each other. You tear the taiyaki in half and offer him the bigger piece, which he politely accepts. You both bring your hands together and give thanks for the food before digging in. 

Kita feels stiff as he eats. He’s not sure if you can tell but it feels like his body has reverted to being a teenager, shy and uncertain in the presence of a stranger. An attractive one at that. 

But you fight through your nerves better than he does. You strike up conversation first and Kita finds that you’re easy to talk to, and he’s glad the conversation doesn’t end when you finish eating. You walk around the festival together while talking about his rice farming and your work at an antique store. 

Over shaved ice you find out that you both played volleyball in high school. You admit you only did it because your best friend was desperate to meet the minimum number of students needed to form the club, but you ended up really enjoying it and playing all throughout school. Kita shares his own experience and he feels something stir in his chest when you keep full focus on him. So much so that you don’t realize your ice has started to melt, dripping down your hand.

“Here.” Kita reaches into his pocket for his handkerchief, patting away the moisture away from your hand. “There we go.”

The performances are long done. The singing of cicadas in the background slowly becomes less and less as the sun dips behind the mountain.

“Thank you,” you softly say, ducking your head to hide the way your face betrays your shyness. “Um…do you think you might want to—”

Suddenly, someone calls your name. 

You both turn your heads to see an older man and an elderly woman looking your way. The man is waving you over while the elder discreetly pinches his side in admonishment. Still, you stand and apologize for having to leave in the middle of your conversation. Kita says he doesn’t mind, even though his gut is telling him not to let you go. To say something that will guarantee he can see you again. But what?

All his thoughts come to a halt when you bend down and place a brief kiss to his cheek. It last only a second, but to Kita it feels like the world has slowed down as he watches you turn and make your way to that man and woman. He’s able to come to his senses quick enough to blurt out a goodnight when you’re halfway across the grass. You turn and also wish him a goodnight with a warm smile that makes his heart race.

Kita doesn’t see you for another month. You said you lived in the area, but he’s yet to see any sign of you. He didn’t ask for your phone number either, which he’s kicking himself about now. 

The summer heat is brutal and all he can think about is how cool and wet your lips were against his cheek when you kissed him. He feels slightly bad when he attends the group date arranged by the matchmaker, already comparing any prospects to you.

When he arrives there are already several other men and women. He finds a spot by the window and introduces himself to those who approach him. Most know about his family’s farm, and one or two ask him about his time playing volleyball in school.

It’s nearly time to begin and the organizer directs everyone to take a seat. Kita hears the door to the room open then close, followed by a faintly familiar voice offering apologies for being late.

Kita find a seat near the end of one of the tables. The seat across from him is empty, but just as he’s sitting down that seat is also becoming occupied. He glances up, not expecting for his heart to suddenly start beating double time in his chest, and his lips part in surprise.

It’s you.

[plagalkey]

talent is something you make bloom

[satsumahaze]

suna isn't really a sentimental person - he doesn't have pictures on his walls, never had a song that reminded him of a past relationship, can't remember where his graduation album is (nor does he really care).

but there is a polaroid camera that sits on his nightstand. and if someone happened to open the drawer they might find a small box of random polaroids. and they're sweet, at first: blurred photos of you on a busy street, pinkies linked together on a subway seat, a view of the kitchen with you wearing his jersey.

beneath those though?

close up photos almost too dark and blurry. capturing the bite marks and hickeys on your thigh, your neck. a shirtless suna, head tipped back into a mess of pillows. the curve of your back, his hand sliding down your side. each one more blurred, more intimate.

[ownedcisbitch]

an underrated kink is corruption. i want to make you worse. i love to coax it all out of you and make you admit how hot you really think it is. don’t worry, no one’s going to find out. no one’s going to judge you. it’s okay, you don’t have to fight it anymore. just let it get to you. you need this.

[brawngp2009]

give a woman some guy and she'll be entertained for a day. teach a woman how to put some guy in situations and she'll be entertained for the rest of her life.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

love when fictional men are so devoted to their partner it makes them dangerous and insane. very slutty behavior keep it up king

[ehviepls]

the good, the bad, and the in-between

miya osamu x reader (no gendered pronouns are used) 2.75k words cw/tags: fluff, could be considered light hurt/comfort, no gendered pronouns used but wearing makeup is mentioned, fic uses food as a love language (it's osamu, what do we expect?), reader seemingly has some bad luck..., you will want to hunt me down for making him so !!!

surprise, @satsumahaze! this is my contribution to @sodaneko's haikyuu! summer fic exchange. i had a blast participating and writing this, and i hope you enjoy it just as much, kai!

Breaking up is hard to do, as the song goes, but you're realizing that getting together might be even harder to accomplish.

It's been a little over five months since your last relationship ended, and you'd been with your now-ex for a little more than three years. If you're being fully honest with yourself, you never thought you'd have to do this again: download whatever dating app had the highest rating, introduce yourself to potential partners, and internally panic over whether or not you're coming across as too eager.

"Don't like animals." Swipe left. It's not like you need someone who has enough pets to qualify as a petting zoo, but a guy hating them enough to put it in his dating profile? Pass. A man proudly telling you his mother comes over to do his laundry for him. At his big age? Red flag. One profile had the opening line of "I'm not a serial killer, so I've got that going for me." You decide that sounded like something a serial killer would say.

It hadn't all been bad, though! Your most recent match had asked you out on a date, and you'd even been excited for it. After a few weeks of messaging and a couple of phone calls, he'd seemed smart and funny, and you knew from his profile that he was easy on the eyes. For the date, he'd picked a fancy restaurant overlooking the river, had insisted you both get a starter and drinks with your meal. Honestly, he'd been great company and you were looking forward to a second date — until he asked you to pay for the whole thing when the waiter came by to collect payment. The audacity!

By the time you tell him goodbye outside of the restaurant, you're left with a big frown on your face and an even bigger dent in your wallet. To add insult to injury, the food hadn't even been enough to fill you up, serving the typical micro-portions found at fine dining establishments. You'd made it back to your apartment, planning to just snack on something there, but your empty cabinets and barren fridge greeted you almost mockingly.

You'd ignored the nagging hunger for a couple of hours before deciding you couldn't take it anymore.

That's how you'd ended up in your current spot, sitting at the counter of a small restaurant. It's one you pass by almost every day on your commute home from work, which almost makes you feel bad for never dropping in. It's not that you hadn't wanted to; the place is always packed with the dinner crowd, and you're impatient.

By 10 p.m., though, the eatery is nearly empty. There are a couple of college-aged students in the far corner, and there's a man on the opposite side of the dining area with earbuds in, watching something on a tablet.

As you look over the menu laid out in front of you, you hear footsteps heading your way. A plate clinks against the counter as the ceramic is set just to your right, and the soft thud of something else being placed immediately follows.

"It's on the house."

You glance at the plate. There are two onigiri nestled neatly together. A beverage also awaits you — a milk tea, you assume, based on how it looks. Both look delicious, and you take a short breath to keep your mouth from watering.

As hungry as you are, though, your confusion wins out. "I didn't order this," you say, brow furrowed as your attention shifts to the person you'll dub your snack sponsor for the night.

He hovers by the counter as he looks at you. He's tall and broad, the fitted black t-shirt he's wearing highlighting his form. The black baseball cap on his head sports the same Onigiri Miya logo as his tee. His hair's dark beneath it, and his eyes match. When your gaze meets his, you quickly notice that although his grey irises show how tired he is after what you can only assume has been a long day, there's still a friendly glimmer in them as he replies.

"Course ya didn't. That's why they're on the house," the man tells you. "Can't charge ya if it's not somethin' ya ordered."

You don't mean to sound skeptical, really, but you can't help it as you ask him why.

As he watches you pick up one of the onigiri, he hums. It's low, seated deeply in his chest. "Look like ya could use it. That's all," he says, one shoulder lifting as if letting your suspicion roll off his back. "And I don't feel like having to deal with leftovers in the mornin'."

You look like you could use it.

That's exactly what you want to hear when a stupidly handsome man is standing in front of you.

"I look that bad, huh?" you ask, a small laugh escaping you, but there's no humor behind it. You weren't sure what the giveaway was: smudged eyeliner from crying on the phone to your best friend, red eyes from wiping away your tears of frustration, the hint of congestion as you spoke, or maybe just your general vibe. It could be any or all of the above.

He clicks his tongue. "Don't think I said all that. Just look like it's been a long day, and I'm sure I look the same. Been at it since 7:30 this morning," he shares. He gestures to the onigiri you're still holding. "Eat. That one's tuna and mayo, the other's bonito."

He walks away after that, moving back behind the curtain separating the kitchen from the dining area. You hear the clattering of dishes as you take your first bite of the rice ball.

It's good. Really good. The tuna tastes fresh, and it's neither too dry nor too wet. The rice is good, too — fluffy and sticky without being too heavy. One bite is enough to make you understand why the place is always so packed when you walk by. You've been robbing yourself, you conclude. The milk tea is good, too, but the onigiri really is the star of the show.

The employee comes back out. He gives a quick wave to someone behind you — tablet guy, you're guessing — and wishes him goodnight by name. About a meter down from you, he sets a caddy holding small bowls down on the counter. As he begins to store them beneath the counter, he glances your way. The lines around his eyes soften a bit as he offers you a nod of acknowledgment.

"That's better. Can't have anybody sittin' at my counter lookin' that upset. I got a reputation to uphold."

The gentle smile he shares is enough to let you know it's not about his reputation.

You return to Onigiri Miya a week later. The scene is mostly the same this time around. This late at night, most people have already settled in at home, leaving only a couple of others dining in. You take a seat on the same stool at the counter, not bothering to look at the menu this time.

The man from last time is standing at the register, cell phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he takes notes on a legal pad. You can tell by his tone and the lazy smirk on his lips that he's giving someone grief; his accent sounds a little stronger than you remember, too. It's strangely comforting.

He tosses the notepad next to the register and appears to hang up the call, slipping his phone into his pocket as he approaches you.

"Welcome to — well now, it's you," he says, putting his hands on his hips. "Welcome back. Ya don't look like you're about to cry this time, so that's good."

You can feel heat rushing to your cheeks, but you laugh, too. "I'm not coming here right after an awful date this time," you reply.

He lets out a low whistle. "My guess was somethin' work-related, but that woulda been my second pick," he jokes, attempting to keep the mood light. "What can I get for you?"

"If it's not too much trouble, I thought I'd let you pick for me again," you suggest. "I'm happy with whatever you recommend or whatever helps you get rid of anything you don't want to deal with tomorrow."

After a second, he nods. "Yeah. I can do that," he says. "Give me a few minutes."

He drops off a milk tea for you soon after.

The next time he comes by, he sets a plate down in front of you. There are three onigiri this time: one salmon, one pickled plum, and one grilled in miso, he tells you.

You tell him they're delicious.

After the only other diners head out, he offers you his full attention. He swipes a chair from one of the dining room tables, lifting it over the counter like it weighs nothing, and sets it down opposite you. He settles on it comfortably, and when you ask him why he didn't just come sit at the counter, he simply grins and shakes his head.

"Still technically on the clock, so I'll keep hangin' out on the staff side," he replies.

His name is Miya Osamu, you learn. He owns Onigiri Miya, and this is the flagship location, but he's currently scouting out a spot for a second restaurant somewhere in Tokyo. He's around your age — a smidge older, but there's not enough of a difference to really count for anything.

He's always liked cooking, always found comfort in food. He gravitated towards onigiri because he likes how creative you can get while making them, and it's helpful how convenient they are. Plus, he shares, he always enjoyed making them with his mom when he was a kid.

Osamu asks about you, too. He's not satisfied with learning your name, your age, and your profession. He wants to know what you're passionate about, what you like to do in your free time. You can tell he's listening by the way he asks follow-up questions.

It's refreshing.

When you eventually leave, he sends you home with a couple of extra onigiri. "For tomorrow," he tells you.

Over the next few months, he begins to fit into your life with ease.

You drop by Onigiri Miya a few times a week, usually late at night when it's practically empty, your sleep schedule be damned right along with his. He continues to share pieces of his life, and in turn, you do the same. You've met some of his friends, including his twin brother — which had been quite the experience, because wow, they sure are different — and he met your best friend when the two of you had gone by the restaurant one night after having too many drinks at a nearby bar.

Today, he's at your apartment. It isn't the first time he's been over, but it is the first time he's dropped by and you're embarrassed about it.

You'd been standing in three centimeters of water when he'd called to ask if you were up for spending the afternoon together. It'd be one thing if you'd just stepped in a puddle out in the parking lot after a nice rain; instead, you were frozen in your flooded kitchen after a pipe had burst.

"Did ya call maintenance?" he'd asked over the phone.

"Um, yes, yeah, but they said it's not an emergency since I got the water cut off. They'll fix it tomorrow, but all the water in here, I don't even -."

He had sighed, and you could practically see him shaking his head. "And the water's cut off. Did ya turn off the power at the breaker?" he asked. You could hear him moving around.

"The - Shit. No," you'd told him, carefully padding your way out of the kitchen and towards the utility room. "Doing that now. Thanks."

"Go get some towels and hang tight. I'll be there soon."

You'd waited for Osamu in your living room, trying not to think about your flooring. True to his word, he'd shown up at your front door about fifteen minutes later carrying a pump vac.

It'd taken some effort, but by the time he's done, almost all of the standing water is gone. Towels will easily clean up the remainder. As he turns the vacuum off, he looks at where you stand in the entryway.

"This is so embarrassing," you say.

He blinks slowly, and you don't miss the wry grin he's wearing. "Most people would just say 'thanks', ya know," he says. "What're ya embarrassed about?"

With a small huff, you hold your arms out, gesturing around the room. "Oh, you know, all of this," you reply. You continue talking as you grab one of the towels, spreading it out over the floor to wipe up what's left of the mess. "Having to be rescued in my own kitchen, for example. Why does the universe like to have you see me during some of my worst moments?"

Osamu effortlessly catches the towel you toss to him, parroting your actions. "Pretty sure it lets me see ya during some of your best moments, too. Couple weeks ago, we celebrated your promotion," he reminds you. He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if ya want the truth, I'm - I think I'm pretty damn lucky I get to be the one ya call when ya need something."

Your gaze flicks upward quickly, looking at him through your lashes. The sentiment is sweet — not saccharine, but it still makes your heart thump a bit louder in your chest. For a few moments, the two of you bask in the silence.

Unable to take it for too long, Osamu clears his throat. "If it makes ya feel better, you're the one I call, too," he says. "Like that time I needed a change of clothes at work -."

You laugh at the memory, the image of him standing in Onigiri Miya's kitchen while soaking wet from head to toe successfully cutting through the tension.

"Shut up," he warns playfully as he continues, breaking into a laugh when he hears yours, "or when I locked myself outta my apartment and couldn't find a locksmith to come out at 2 a.m."

You find yourself wringing your hands that were clasped in front of you. Still, your smile grows as you move across the room to stand next to him. Your body language mirrors his, the two of you standing on an old towel, leaning against your kitchen counter while facing one another. "I like being the person you come to when you need help, too," you admit softly. "It feels… natural. Comfortable, I mean. I like doing what I can to help you."

"Then ya understand why this shouldn't be embarrassin'. This ain't nothing," he says, voice low. He reaches out, the pads of his fingers gently brushing away something. An errant eyelash, a drop of sweat, who knows? It's so casually intimate that your breath catches, and you don't have time to think about it. "And even if it was, I'd still want to be here. Got it?"

His words are resolute, leaving no room for argument. You can't imagine wanting to, anyway, with the way he's looking at you.

"Got it. Thank you," you reply. Without thinking twice, you press a tender kiss to his cheek.

Osamu's cheeks darken, but his wry grin reappears, more boyish in its charm this time. "I think breakin' out the pump vac is worth a little more than that," he teases.

It's your turn to tell him to shut up, and he gleefully does as your lips meet his and his hands quickly move to rest against your sides.

When you delete the dating app from your phone that night, you almost want to laugh. You can't even remember the last time you opened it.

While you hate to give the bad date from months ago any credit at all, he's technically the reason for all of this. Because of his audacity, you met the man now curled up on your couch with you, his head resting on your lap. A comfortable silence fills the room as you run your fingers through his hair. Maybe dating apps are good for meeting people after all, and while you decide you'd happily go with Osamu to any fancy restaurants with tiny portions, you get the feeling they'll never compare to Onigiri Miya and the way its owner filled your heart.

[ehviepls]

being tempted by the devil... should i post big bad dogs x reader 👀

if you have requests, send them my way!

[niqhtd]

I want to *long censor beep sound* this man

[wri0thesley]

when he’s so so big over you and inside you trying to coax you into relaxing for him; saying ‘it’s ok, sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me, you can take it’ and he kisses you as he slides himself all the way home inside you(swearing you’re so tight around him he can feel your heartbeat) so that your little hiccup is swallowed by his mouth and then he pulls back to admire the sight of you stretched around him to coo; ‘see? there’s my pretty angel. look how good you look full of me.’

[ehviepls]

for your betrayal ehvie i hope there's a new hole in every single sock you wear and that you have NO idea how they got there. and i hope if you're able to mend it, that the fixed sock goes missing every time you fix it. the socks are gone now, ehvie. they're mine.

>:(((((

WHY ARE YOU STEALING MY USED SOCKS YOU LIL FREAK? <3

[ehviepls]

i've spent the past week obsessing over big bad dogs and i think that, for now, i'm mostly still buying into the idea that bb and rb are the same person, but i also have two other theories

1) bb and rb were best friends, rb got killed or everyone thought he got killed, and then bb feelt some weird sense of obligation to watch over mc -- except he's not just doing it out of obligation anymore, he's in deep OR

2) this is a ff7 zack and cloud situation where mc and rb were together, something happened, and since her memory was impacted, now bb has kind of taken over bits of rb's identity to slip into that slot

[mewnbuns]

nothing is sexier than a bloody lip on a man…. nothing is sexier than a man with a bloody lip pulling you in for a kiss

[ehviepls]

been thinking a lot lately about how atrociously down bad atsumu is for you. if you look up "smitten" in the dictionary, his picture's right there next to it. it's actually one you took of him, his eyes staring up at you, full of love and eagerness as he's between your legs. his lips are wrapped around your clit. he's got your arousal shining on his face, and his pupils are fully blown. your hand is tangled in his hair, and he's obsessed with the electricity he feels as you pull it, your hips thrusting against him. atsumu's already made you come once, but he's never been satisfied with just one. never will be, either.

[ohwhatagloomyshow]

do you remember why you followed prev

yes :)

no :)

Voting ended onJul 23

[ehviepls]

me playing big bad dogs, pursuing lane first: idk, i just don't think i'll enjoy biker boy's route as much. like i wanna fight lane 24/7 but he's so...

me doing bb's route after: HOLY SHIT? oh no oh fuck oh god