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evamame !

eva | minor. 5/04. she/her. istp.

| sfw writing blog. just lots of fluff to fill your dreams. mainly haikyuu. requests are always open!

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softer around the edges | osamu

filled with every delusion to help you fall asleep at night <3

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osamu has gotten soft around the edges.

his arms are bigger now, full from all of the food he’s been “test” eating for the restaurant. carrying sacks of rice all day keeps them toned, but now you can pinch his skin when you want his attention and bury your head in the crook of his arm comfortably when you're cuddling. his hugs are all the more warmer, too. the extra fat makes him your personal heater when it’s too cold at night and neither of you want to get up to turn the ac off. his stomach is more pudgy, enough that he’s softer to lay on, but you can still run your hand over the now slightly less defined ripples of his abs.

and he’s also gotten softer for you, or at least atsumu strongly thinks so whenever osamu visits home. “you've gotten soft, 'samu. you’re always gushing over your girlfriend!” he'd say, ruffling his twin's hair as he's got him in a headlock. osamu can't bring himself to deny it. if it means loving you better, what does a little extra skin do to him?

the happiest birthday

surprising osamu for his birthday as his long distance girlfriend

“‘ma! ‘tsumu! i’m home!”

your heart races as osamu’s voice travels from the front door. you’re hidden upstairs, staring down at his birthday cake in your hands and the shimmering candles already lit on top. you keep your shaky hands as steady as you can with all of the nervous energy and excitement bubbling inside of you.

“‘samu, come inside. sit down, sit down,” his mother’s words distract you from your train of thought as you hear her usher him to take a seat at the dining table.

that’s your cue.

you take slow and careful steps down the stairs, sure to keep your balance with the cake in your hands. you peer your head through the doorway to the dining room, osamu’s back facing you unsuspectedly as atsumu and his mother start singing happy birthday. you creep up behind him, placing the cake down on the table.

there’s a small glimmer of confusion in his eyes when the mysterious pair of hands place his cake in front of him, but it all leads way to utter shock when he glances to the side and sees you.

all things forgotten—the cake, atsumu and his mom singing—all he sees is you. and he’s on you in an instant, jumping up from his seat to wrap his arms around you tight.

"—umph! 'samu!" you laugh in surprise at his bone crushing grip.

he buries his head deep in the crook of your neck, words muffled by your sweater as he speaks, "why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"me and atsumu planned a little something," you grin.

"you don't know how much i missed you," he says all soppy, lifting your feet off the floor and spinning you around. he presses the most tender kiss to your lips as he lowers you back on the ground, refraining from kissing you senseless just yet while his mom is still watching.

but, because he can't bear to keep his hands off of you for a second when you're right in front of him like this, he squeezes you tight once more just for good measure. you don't see him mouth a thank you to his brother over your shoulder, but the glint in his eyes makes it clear that he's overjoyed being in a room with all the people who mean everything to him.

"alright birthday boy, blow out your candles already!"

mending.

gojo feels torn apart after the fight with sukuna that left him ugly, disheveled, and covered head to toe in scars, but you’re ready to fulfill your wedding vows and put the pieces of him back together.

you catch him in the bathroom again, getting up to look for him after you'd notice he'd been gone for far too long, staring at himself in the mirror like maybe all the scars could just disappear if he criticizes himself hard enough. his shirt's tossed to the side, and there's that furrow in his brow, a subtle frown on his face as he picks at his skin.

"you're spiraling again," you call out, leaning against the doorframe.

he sighs through his nose, catching your eye in the mirror as he drops his hands. he's out of his thoughts for the moment, at the very least.

"i look weak." he eyes the large scar spanning across his abs—the symbol of the battle he just barely made it out of alive.

"you look like a survivor."

gojo just shakes his head. "i'm not loveable like this." he picks at a gash on his split lip in frustration, opening up the healing wound, a small gush of blood pooling out. he hisses at the quick sting of pain, but it distracts him from everywhere else for a brief second.

you grab his hand to stop him from picking himself apart any further. "but you are. i love you like this."

"you're just saying that. i'm not the same person i was before. you're pitying me because i'm your husband." there's a bitterness in his tone that doesn't quite match the shining over of his eyes. you watch him swallow the knot in his throat to stop himself from crying.

you frown. "you don't mean that."

your arms wrap around him from behind. his breath shudders—from the sting he still feels to the touch of his scars, but mostly to any sort of affection you've tried to give him since the incident. he used to beg for your love, but now he's closed off—like he thinks he doesn't deserve it from you.

"do you think the strongest is supposed to cry at his own reflection?"

"the strongest is healing," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder before resting your head there.

"i'm pathetic."

"this," you speak up before his negative thoughts can get any louder, "is proof of how hard you've fought to be alive here with me. every scar represents how strong you are to make it back home."

a silent tear runs down his cheek.

"i don't know what i'd do without you, satoru. you're my everything, you know that." your hand grabs a hold of his, spinning the gold band on his finger mindlessly.

you turn him around to face you and get his eyes off his body. "in sickness and in health, remember?" you wipe the tears off his face, gently dragging your thumb along his cheekbone.

"in sickness and in health," he repeats, voice low and shaky.

a sad smile tugs at your lips. "c'mere," you whisper, pulling him towards your chest, rocking him slowly side to side. with one hand you trace a tender path up and down his fragile back, careful not to scratch or rub too hard. with the other your fingers run through his wispy white locks. he holds you back with a tight squeeze, burying his head in your shoulder.

he soaks your shirt with his tears. you let him hold on to you for as long as he needs to finally feel grounded. he's not fully put together yet, and you know he probably never really will be, not with the marks all over his body to remind him of the trauma. but he's your satoru. so you'll work to put all the little pieces of him back together until he's somewhat whole again.

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a/n: my babyyyy :(

you place your son on the playmat in the middle of the living room, pushing his messy black hair that imitates his father’s back from his forehead. he’s fussy, as he usually is, but he’s in a particularly bad mood today. he’s whiny, finds everything a reason to cry, and refuses to calm down. this is you and your husband’s last resort.

“i heard this one youtube channel like, unites all babies or something. helps calm them down like that,” kuroo says, snapping his fingers on cue as he scrolls through videos on the tv.

“i have nothing left in me anyways,” you sigh, utterly exhausted, your legs collapsing to the carpeted floor beneath you as you lean your back against the sofa.

“this better work,” kuroo mumbles, just as frustrated at your annoying bundle of joy as you are, hitting play on a video. as soon as he does so, it's like a flip switches inside of your son. his sniffles stop, his pout relaxes, and his tears stop their cascade down his chubby cheeks. he’s absolutely engrossed in the content right from the intro. cartoon rainbows and flowers decorated with colorful butterflies and buzzing bees fill the screen, capturing his attention. his mouth hangs open in awe at the pictures.

“is this really all it took?” you mutter breathlessly.

“he really stopped crying. after hours. over a stupid video.” the remote falls out of kuroo’s hand as his whole body relaxes and falls slack against the sofa’s cushions.

“we’ve failed as parents, haven’t we?” you say, running an exhausted hand down your face.

“look at him,” kuroo gestures to your son, “he’s even happy now. how long was he crying before this again?”

“2 hours straight,” you reply lifelessly. you bang your head on the back of the sofa. “it’s finally quiet. for a moment i really thought my headache was gonna kill me.”

“we made him,” he teases, his fingers soothingly massaging your scalp from his place on the sofa above you.

“i didn’t ask for this,” you groan.

he smiles. “i know. good thing he’s cute though. makes it a bit better, don’t you think?”

a little bit, if you ignore the part where the two of you feel as though you’re going to collapse from exhaustion.

“i don’t know about that,” you tell him, but you’re lying to yourself. it’s impossible to contain your smile when you watch him clapping along to the music on the tv, and when you look up to see kuroo grinning, you can tell he feels the same way.

“that boy is gonna cause us all kinds of trouble.”

“where do you think he got that trouble making nature from, hm?” you ask him, looking up at him with a teasing glint in your eye.

he pauses, ". . .no idea."

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a/n: never enough baby fluff

to another year / iwaizumi hajime

iwaizumi practically sprints home the moment his shift ends at 5 o'clock. he makes it to the florist in record time, picking up his thoughtful order of all your favorites—soft blush pink peonies, baby's breath, gorgeous royal white roses, and warm scented carnations. all ones you've simply mentioned in passing before during easy conversation on strolls. he remembered all of them anyway.

he barges through the door as you're at the stove making dinner, flowers in one hand and a box of your favorite pastries from the local bakery in the other. he saw them fresh in the display case through the window as he walked passed in his rush and couldn't tell himself no.

the warm, comforting aroma of the stew being stirred on the stove and the rice heating up in the cooker envelopes him like a hug.

"i'm home," he says, voice low and gentle. everything feels a bit more sacred on days like these.

you turn, smiling in awe at the beautiful bouquet in his hands. you kiss him on the cheek as he hands you the bundle of refreshing floral scents wrapped in pink ribbon.

"thank you, love. they're gorgeous," you say with a hand cupping his cheek. he leans into your hold, melting into the soft touch of your hand.

you go to the sink with an empty glass vase, filling it up with water and placing the flowers inside.

"sorry it's not much," iwaizumi comments as you put the vase up for display on the kitchen island.

you shake your head, "they're perfect. dinner's ready. let's eat."

"i'll help," he offers, already opening a cabinet and grabbing bowls.

"just sit. it's your anniversary too."

once all the food is plated, you place down two glasses of wine and take a seat across from him at the table. "happy anniversary!" you cheer, chopsticks already digging into the warm bowl of rice on the side of your stew.

"happy anniversary." the smile on his face so painfully love sick, as if he can't believe he gets to tell you these words another year.

you eat dinner together at the candlelit table in a comfortable kind of quiet. besides a few idle comments about each other's days, the only other noise is the clinking of silverware in bowls. once he's finished stuffing himself with your cooking, he places his chopsticks down in finality and leans back in his chair with a sigh.

you place a tender hand over his. "you didn't think i forgot to get you a gift, right?"

"you didn't have to."

"well i wanted to. here," you hand him a small, wrapped box tied together with ribbon from across the table. he rips through the paper carefully, sure to respect your delicate wrapping. inside are a few pairs of his favorite boxers in all of his favorite colors, the soft ones he wears everyday that have gotten a few holes in them. you must've noticed while you were doing the laundry.

hidden beneath the more practical gift, he finds sentimental polaroids of your favorite memories from the past year together. at the sheen in his eyes, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand in a comforting motion. he reads the messages written at the bottom of the photos carefully, his fingers squeezing the corners a little too tight.

"thank you, baby," he gives your hand a squeeze and brings your knuckles to his lips to pepper kisses all over them. "and i almost forgot," he disappears into the kitchen and returns with the box of pastries, "dessert."

you gasp at the label on the box, "you didn't."

"i did," he smirks, placing them in front of you.

you lay all of the desserts out on the table before quickly grabbing your spoon and digging into the first one you see. "to another year!" you beam, mouth full of mascarpone.

"to another year," he laughs back.

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💋 a/n: in honor of this blog's one year anniversary! thank you to everyone whose read my silly drabbles this past year.

get your mind out of the gutter / iwaizumi hajime (sfw—suggestive)

“iwa, my lower back is killing me. can you give me a massage?” you ask as you two are huddled together on the sofa. you twist and turn to try and stretch or get a crack out, but you’re as stiff as a plywood board.

“a massage? sure.” he disengages himself from your hold and disappears from the room without warning, quickly returning with. . . wait, what is that? oh, lord.

your face turns beet red as you begin to piece together what he could be holding. on the end of a drill shaped handle bar is a ball that vibrates as iwaizumi messes around with the control buttons. with your mind instantly going into the darkest place possible, you grab a pillow and instinctively throw it at him. “iwa, ew! you’re disgusting! i want a back massage, not that!”

his face contorts in confusion at your outburst before he begins to laugh in realization, his lips turning up into a massive teasing smirk. “it’s a massage gun, love,” he says breathlessly in between his fits of laughter, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his shoulders shake.

oh. how embarrassing. “i didn’t know we had one of those,” you say, your voice tremulous.

“i’m an athletic trainer, remember? now let’s get that knot out. lay down.”

you oblige, sprawling out stomach first on the cushions. he begins to work diligently, his expertise doing wonders on the soreness that’s been bothering you. but despite that, even though you can’t see him, you feel that he’s trying to suppress a laugh the entire time. and if you were to look, you wouldn’t be wrong. his smile is probably as wide as it can possibly get.

“i seriously cannot believe you thought that was something else,” iwaizumi says afterwards, voice breathless as he tries to form a coherent sentence amidst his cackles.

“shut up! you can’t even blame me. do you see the way that thing looks?!”

“you really need to get your mind out of the gutter.”

“and you really need to buy a massage gun that’s less provocative! what if a female client, like, gets the wrong idea or something?”

“baby, i work for the men’s volleyball team. i don’t have female clients.”

“i’m a client now.”

“you’re also my girlfriend.”

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a/n: i had a really bad knot in my lower back writing this

reunited / oikawa tooru

oikawa returns back home from argentina to you

you wait for oikawa on the other side of the gate, impatiently fidgeting with your hands as your eyes scan the sea of jet lagged people for him. the sight of his flight listed on the arrivals board makes you giddy, your heart racing at the anticipation of finally being able to see him in person. it's almost hard to believe that after all this time he'll be right in front of you, not through your phone screen during a late night facetime call or in a sportswear ad that pops up while you scroll through your instagram feed.

a new rush of people with disheveled expressions and comfortable clothing walk through the other side of the arrivals gate dragging along backpacks and suitcases. your shoulders that went slack from standing around for too long instantly perk up and you begin searching for his brown tufts of hair among the crowd. when you both find each other and lock eyes, it’s within an instant that all of the people around disappear—like nobody else in the world exists except the two of you.

oikawa switches from a walk to a stride, moving as fast as he can while carrying his luggage and without knocking into the others arriving around him. you run to meet him in the middle.

“tooru!”

“y/n!”

you don’t know who started smiling first, but it’s contagious and completely impossible to contain. you meet each other amidst the sea of people and you launch yourself into his arms. he smells faintly like the argentinian sunshine and a lot like an airplane, but none of it matters because it’s still him. here. in your arms.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” you grin into his shoulder. his arms tighten their hold around you, telling you he feels the same. they're locked firmly around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded to the airport floor.

“i’m sorry i took so long to come home to you,” he sniffles against the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, his voice cracking at the edges. you feel his shaky breaths against your hair and tickling your skin.

at his apology you just shake your head and pull him closer, so impossibly close as if you could merge his body with your own. your arms slide under his hoodie and rub up and down his back in slow, reassuring caresses. a gesture that says 'i'm here.'

you pull away from his tight grip after a long while to wipe away the stray tears still falling from his wet cheeks. “you’ve got some snot in your nose,” you smile up at him. he gives you a wet laugh that borderlines a sob as a reply, forcing a shaky grin he can't seem to stop from crumbling.

you take him in for a moment, for all of who he is in his glory, and choke back happy tears of your own. you swallow words that get caught in the big lump in your throat and pull him in for a kiss instead. his lips press against yours almost tentatively, like the idea that you're actually in front of him and not a pixel on his phone screen is still setting into his mind. it’s soft, sweet, and so unbelievably tender. there’s no hunger or lust mixed in between, just pure longing for one another formed and grown throughout the long time you’ve been separated from each other.

you keep your lips together for as long as you can before you both run out of air and are forced to pull away. his forehead leans against yours with the effort of keeping himself as close to you as possible to cherish the feeling while he can. “i’m home,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath mixing with yours.

“welcome back,” you smile, “thanks for coming home to me.”

“always.”

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a/n: last post of 2025! happy new year yall <333

sugar, spice, and everything nice / iwaizumi hajime ✶

the holidays with iwaizumi are warm and comforting.

the house is dimly lit with warm lights and vanilla scented candles. you decorate together, fingers brushing gently as you hand each other ornaments to hang on the tree. ever the gentleman, iwaizumi scoops every box he finds too heavy right out of your hands before you even get the chance to take a step with them in your arms.

when you’re relaxing together late into the evening he pulls you into his embrace by the wrist, slow dancing with you in the kitchen to christmas music playing softly from the speaker. he places a tender hand of his on your lower back as you two sway, holding each other close.

you’re forced to kiss under the mistletoe at a holiday party, his friends whistling in the background. he ignores it. he likes the taste of cranberry seltzer on your lips more.

you bake cookies together, with the sweet smell of cinnamon and the warmth of the oven making everything feel a little bit cozier. he wraps his arms around your waist from behind as you mix the batter together, peppering teasing wet kisses on your neck to make you squirm. you get a fuzzy feeling in your chest at his laugh that follows, full and warm like his embrace.

you have snowball fights in the snow, him letting you throw them as hard as you want at him while he barely exerts any force in return. he says you won. you say he let you win. he denies it and presses his lips to yours to wipe the pout off your face when you fight him on it.

he bundles up with you on the sofa, both of you covered in a mountain of blankets with warm mugs of hot chocolate to heat up your hands. the feel of the rise and fall of his chest against your cheek is steady, and the hand that runs mindlessly up and down your side is comforting. the tender kiss placed on your temple when you feel yourself dozing off sends you to sleep feeling loved.

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a/n: merry christmas if you celebrate!! when i get in the mood to write something cute on a whim im ngl i just throw iwaizumi in there, sorry not sorry.

— lazy mornings with fiancé osamu

your eyes open to thin rays of sunlight streaming in through the blinds. the warm light catches onto the ring on your left hand, the thin band delicate with small sparkling gems adorned on top. you stare at it, admiring. it’s absolutely perfect, as if the man who picked it out for you spent hours trying to find the right one (he did).

your daze is interrupted by a warm and calloused hand interlocking with yours, grounding and present the way osamu is with all things. the sheets rustle softly behind you as osamu shuffles himself closer to you. “g’morning,” he rasps, his warm breath tickling your shoulder. your intertwined hands get pulled to his lips, where he peppers light pecks all along your knuckles and the ring he had bent down on one knee to slide on your finger just last night. hands still tied together, he pulls you against him, the warmth from his chest radiating onto your back as his burly arms tighten their hold around you. his mussed morning hair and the small stubble that’s beginning to form along his jaw line tickles your neck when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

you lay there in comfortable silence, holding each other as the early morning day outside is still, the world slowly beginning to wake alongside you two. “not going to say good morning back, mrs. miya?” you hear the gentle playfulness in his voice as he breaks the quiet.

“we’re not married yet. but good morning, ‘samu.”

“doesn’t matter. i’m already yours,” he says, the words slipping out easily like it’s a known fact. and then, teasingly, he smiles, “can i still call you my wife?”

“i’m your fiancé.”

“what difference does that make?” he says with that small hint of lazy amusement lacing his voice that would make you completely cave to his teasing words if you weren’t still a little irritable and clouded with the remnants of a deep sleep.

“all the difference,” you retort flatly, but with a small smile of your own you can’t seem to suppress. it’s impossible to ever really resist that smirk of his, no matter how much you try to save face. you shift in his grasp, turning to face him. his own smile softens around the edges into something tender when he sees your face, despite the sweaty strands of hair sticking to your forehead and the boogers in your eyes.

reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers, you throw a leg over his and keep him close to you. with your face buried in the crook of his neck, you feel the soft press of his lips to the crown of your head. then osamu’s cheek rests there while his hands mindlessly find their way to your back to run up and down your spine, both of you seemingly content to lay buried under the sheets together for a while.

after a long silence, osamu speaks up, lips brushing against your scalp as he does so, “maybe we should get up soon.”

you just hold him tighter. a quiet plea for him to stay.

he chuckles at your stubbornness, giving you a tender squeeze back, “got it. i’ll stay right here for as long as you want.”

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a/n: my fiancé btw

atsumu goes on a power trip every time you come home with the groceries, insisting that you don’t lift a single finger. he, as usual, has to do even something so mundane with a little bit of flair, so he takes everything to the doorstep in one go. even if his fingers feel ripped to shreds afterwards, his arms marked with red stripes from the bag straps balanced across his forearms, he still does it every single time. no matter the part where he almost trips and falls face first halfway to the door, because he gets to flex his arms afterwards in his cocky and annoying way that makes you roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. even when you go from a couple to a family of four and the groceries become an even larger haul, he still does it. but now your two kiddos cheer him on with their crooked gap toothed smiles and loud giggles, so it’s easier.

daddy’s name / bokuto koutarou

bokuto gets yelled at quite a lot in your household. he gets yelled at for putting the fancy china in the dishwasher when he’s not supposed to, forgetting to separate the laundry and dying all of your clothes an ugly washed out red, and leaving puddles all over the bathroom floor because he steps out of the shower without drying off first and never puts the bath mat down.

one afternoon, your daughter is sitting at the table drawing, legs dangling from the chair, scribbling with colorful crayons on paper and drinking juice from her princess sippy cup. you take a seat next to her to ask her a question.

“baby, what’s mommy’s name?”

she puts down her coloring utensils and says cheerfully, with a smile as wide and bright as her father’s, “mommy!”

“and how about daddy’s name?”

without a single second of hesitation she takes a deep breath to prepare herself and yells so loud you feel the house shake, “KOOOUUUTAAAROOOUUU!”

you laugh at the way she furrows her brows and juts out her bottom lip the same way you do when you’re frustrated at your husband’s antics.

“i guess mommy does yell at daddy at lot, huh?”

she nods and gives that look that tells you, yeah right, we know. “yup. because daddy always does silly stuff!” she giggles at the thought.

you giggle back in agreement. “he does, doesn’t he?”

you hear loud footsteps pad down the hardwood floor in the hallway, and bokuto’s head pops out from the corner.

“sweetheart, did you call my name?”

you and your daughter just laugh. like mother, like daughter.

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a/n: i think im gonna start writing again, slowly at least so i dont get burnout like i did last time i was in here. im probably never gonna finish my summer event i started before i fell of the face of the earth so sorry to everyone who requested and never got anything tysm for your support nonetheless </3 anyways ok pls take this i thought it was cute 👍

for @moochiwoochi | event master post ☀️

beach day with suna

you’re floating through the ocean waves with suna, who has dramatically spit out salt water about twenty times and dove through every wave that came his way with a strange amount of determination for someone like him. your things are tossed somewhere on the hot sand haphazardly, because suna made a beeline to the water as soon as you arrived and you had to catch up to him.

he jumps through a wave and simultaneously splashes a huge gush of water right at your face. you rub out the salty burn from your eyes with a pained groan. he conveniently dives under the water right when you start yelling at him, “rin! stop splashing me.”

“hmm,” he jokes when he rises to the surface, tapping his finger on his chin in mock thought, “must have been the wave.” another wave unexpectedly crashes over him from behind as he’s facing you, his soaking wet hair falling over his face and blocking his vision. he runs his fingers through the dark locks to push them out of his face and shakes off the beads of water that drip from the ends. the muscles on his arms flex and you try, really try, not to stare. he notices right away.

“what are you looking at?” he smirks.

“i’m not looking anywhere,” you pout. the red that paints your cheeks is a sunburn, that’s all.

“not looking anywhere?” he grins, “right.”

you roll your eyes and try not to smile. “i’m gonna go lay down. the water’s freezing.”

suna trails behind you as you walk back to the shore, sitting down beside you on the towel.

“the sun feels nice today,” you mention. “it’s hella bright,” suna adds as he lays down on his back with a quiet grunt, “hurts my eyes.” he reaches over for his hat and puts it over his eyes to block out the bright glare in the sky.

you lay down next to him, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you against his side.

you glance over and see that smirk he always wears wide on his face as he speaks, “are you gonna start blushing again now?”

“shut up,” you mutter, splaying your hand out on his chest.

“nap time,” suna declares.

you and him sunbathe together for a long while—the summer heat simmering around the two of you in the air and making you delirious. suna wakes up with a stretch of his arms, peeling the hat off of his face and squinting up at the bright sun that beams down directly into his eyes. you’re already up, handing him a cold bottle of water from the cooler.

you try to stifle a laugh when you get a good look at him, but he catches on and quirks a brow. “what?”

you shrug teasingly, “i don’t know. take a look at yourself.” he looks down to see a large and very obvious imprint of your hand across his chest in the form of a tan line.

“you look great,” you comment.

“really? your hand? how did you even stay so still? you basically do backflips in bed.”

“i do not, and it’s payback for splashing me in the face.”

“thanks,” he deadpans.

“you’re welcome.”

HIII!!11!1!1!1!

can you write camping with daichi :3

idk i feel like he fits perfectly with that

thank you for requesting, i would love too!! first time writing daichi so i hope i did him justice

enjoy! read here :)

#eva says ₊⊹#you’ve got mail ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ◛ ꒱ᝰ.ᐟ #reqs .𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

for anon | event master post ☀️

going camping with daichi

you’re huddled up near the campfire beside daichi, the heat from the flames comforting in the crisp night air. the humidity from the warm summer day left behind is long gone, the sun replaced with a starry night sky that brings a cooling chill to the air. you’re pressed against daichi’s side on a log bench, a blanket wrapped around the two of you for extra warmth. the tent nearby is decorated with hanging fairy lights per your request and an invitingly comfortable mattress for two, but you both agreed the day shouldn’t end just yet.

you lean your head on daichi’s shoulder, looking up at the beautiful specks of white that paint the dark night sky. he hums, pulling you closer under the blanket. you smell the lingering scents of sweat, smoke, and a little hint of musk on his clothes, but you don’t mind. you must smell the same after a long day in the woods.

“i’m lucky you know how to build a fire. we would have freezed to death if it was up to me,” you murmur against the fabric of his hoodie.

he grins at that. his hand runs up and down your arm in a gentle motion as he adds, “and we’d also be eaten by bears without a tent.”

“that too,” you laugh.

he sighs, a quiet exhale through his nose as he nuzzles closer to your side.

“can’t get enough of me?” you tease, but you let him pull you closer anyway.

“maybe. and it’s cold. but i’ll move away if you want.”

“don’t,” you grab his hand as he jokingly tries to slide away. he just smirks knowingly and squeezes your hand tight.

his thumb runs up and down your knuckles in a soothing motion. crickets sing in the bushes and an owl hoots far up in the trees somewhere. your eyes start to flutter shut at the warm light from the fire. daichi just pulls the soft blanket over you more.

he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “think it’s time for bed now, yeah?”

you nod sleepily against his shoulder. he smiles at your tired gesture and gently guides you to stand up, an arm around your waist as he walks you across the forest floor to the tent. he takes your shoes off and tucks you under the welcoming covers of the air mattress. your eyes fall shut soon after, quiet murmurs of “i love you” exchanged between each other before sleep takes you under. you wake up to the singing of birds in the crook of daichi’s arm—your head leaning against his chest, his steady heartbeat pounding softly in your ear, and your body pressed tight to his side. always close.

Your profile is so nicely decorated omg your Pinterest must be amazing !!

oh tysm!! 😭 🫶

i try my best to make it look pretty lol

my pinterest has a very long history and i’m definitely a pinterest girly

#eva says ₊⊹#you’ve got mail ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ◛ ꒱ᝰ.ᐟ #was thinking of changing my theme actually #maybe something summery

for @ruby-rube | event master post ☀️

beach day with oikawa

the bright sun beams over the hot sand on the beach as you walk side by side with oikawa, bags in hand. you find a spot to set up camp, him laying down a large blanket on the ground as you dig through a tote bag for sunscreen.

“turn around,” you tell him, holding up a spray can of spf.

“i don’t need sunscreen,” he whines. you just roll your eyes and try to contain the smirk on your face.

“i’m not listening to you cry over having to put on aloe vera when you get burnt. turn around.”

he pouts and sends you a last resort puppy eyed look (that doesn’t work) before letting you spread the sunscreen over his bare back. it takes everything in you not to ogle like an idiot over his toned muscles and the way the light from the sun highlights every groove.

“let me do yours,” he says when you’re done, taking the can from your hand and massaging your back with the spray. he kisses your shoulder, now oily with the smell of sunscreen, before running off towards the shore.

you assume he’s going to take a dip in the water, so you just dig through the cooler to set up the lunch you packed for when he returns: watermelon cut into bite sized cubes, sliced sandwiches, ice cold seltzers, and bags of chips. you lay down on the blanket, basking in the comforting warmth from the sun that’s still high in the sky at mid afternoon. you close your eyes as the salty breeze rushes by and tickles your skin.

after a while, you hear the shuffling of sand and a dramatic grunt from oikawa as he takes a seat beside you. his legs are covered in sand, particularly his knees, probably from kneeling on the ground. he grabs a few pieces of watermelon and chucks them in his mouth.

“i have something to show you,” he declares in between bites of fruit, running his fingers through your hair that’s gone wild from the wind and pulling the messy strands out of your face.

you hum as you open your eyes, squinting to adjust to the brightness of the outside. “lead the way.”

he grabs you by the hand and brings you to the place at the shoreline where the sand begins to turn into mud. along the shore are pictures he drew with his fingers. there’s summer themed designs like suns and seashells, but there’s also hearts and a poorly drawn stick figure work of you and him holding hands that makes you have to stifle a laugh. in the center of his masterpiece is a big heart with your initials written inside, a reminder of one of the countless cheesy ways he used to tease you back in high school.

“it’s the story of us,” he smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“the story of us is stick figures and sunshine?”

he laughs, nodding. “yeah, something like that.”

“now i’m in the mood for making a sandcastle. go get the buckets. shovels too.”

“yes ma’am.” he runs off, returning with castle shaped bucket molds and colorful plastic shovels.

you spend the afternoon making creations in the sand and occasionally chasing each other through the water to cool down, laughing through sips of sparkling canned drinks and sunscreen reapplication. you leave your mark on the beach as the sun starts to set, your creations of palaces and stupid looking drawings left behind as you walk home hand in hand with oikawa.

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