mari MARI 🥺💕 thank you bby i was feeling so soft n mushy for asahi the entire time i was writing 😌 i'm glad you love him even more!! he deserves the WORLD i tell you. hope you're having a good day today bby!!
sometimes i forget i love asahi as much as i do but ur fic was a very good reminder 😩 it was so cute and fluffy and sweet and omg im about to go read it again!! today was amazing, i got my car back after having it stuck at the dealership for a few days. hope you had a good day too <33
synopsis: asahi doesn’t always know how to express himself, but he threads love through his actions
genre: fluff
wc: 2.4k
warnings: mentions of drinking
notes: was feeling really self-indulgent. started writing, didn’t know when to stop, bon appétit
azumane asahi has an eye for finding beauty.
it lends well to his work in the fashion industry, where his discerning eye for unusual pattern combinations, bold color palettes, and intricate details (down to the individual sequin) makes him a rookie ace designer.
despite the eye strain he accrues from late nights sketching up drafts for his portfolio, the lingering stiffness between his neck and right shoulder blade from hours at the sewing machine, and his penchant for wearing his tailor’s tape around his neck everywhere… asahi wouldn’t trade it for the world.
he believes that there is beauty in long hours pouring over swatches of fabric debating if it’s pretentious to say it looks blood orange instead of red, listening to the familiar hum of his trusty sewing machine beneath his steady hands, and learning that a thimble is a must-have for hand-stitching beads onto garments.
there’s beauty in expressing the love stored in his hands by imbuing a part of himself into the fabric of his design.
he smiles lovingly as he gently smooths a hand over the weighted fabric draped across the mannequin, the latest piece in his fall collection.
because most of all, he finds beauty in you—his muse.
mari! hi hi, i just wanted to swing by say that i hope you're doing well and having a good day / night! 🥺💕
LAURA!! i’m doing good and my night is going well, hope yours is too <333 also, i’m so excited for ur asahi piece omg!! it’s been so long since i’ve read something for him and i already know it’s going to be good if ur the one writing it :3
i have been consumed all day by the thought of tobio being too impatient to wait for the elevator up to his apartment when he's on his way home at the end of the day, so instead he races up multiple flights of stairs to get to you (even coming off a gruelling day of training). he has to stop outside the front door to try and calm down his breathing so that when he says hello he's not out of breath, clutching at the fabric of his hoodie over his chest to soothe his racing heart. and then he opens the door and finds you in the kitchen, following the smell of foods he's grown up eating and didn't even realized he missed so much until he started coming home to them, or maybe you're sitting on the balcony soaking up the last few rays of sun as it sets--warm and golden as you turn your face up into the waning light. and he just stands there and looks at you and thinks about how he never wants to come home to anything else ever again.
oh think about how empty tobio's apartment feels once you're gone.
how he stands outside the door and hopes (though he knows it's useless) that he'll be able to hear the sound of a knife on a chopping board or you humming a song that sounds familiar but that he doesn't quite remember the words to.
how the only sign you were ever there at all is the way his basil plant is flourishing underneath his kitchen window where you'd moved it.
“look, kunikuzushi!” you hold out your hands, marvelling at the pretty sakura petals that drift atop your open palm. ecstatic, you turn, showing off the seasonal flowers in bloom to the young man you’ve grown fond of. “aren’t they pretty?”
“yeah,” he says, momentarily dazed from the image bestowed before him. “they truly are beautiful.”
(“—like you,” he wishes to add, but keeps it to himself instead to savour this peaceful moment of yours together.)
you giggle at his words, muttering something along the lines of “you seem to adore them more than i do!”, but he’s too out of it to notice — too enamored and deeply raptured by the being that is you; passionately; wholeheartedly; abysmally.
kunikuzushi has only heard of the tales of love and the feelings the emotion springs forth, but has yet to experience it himself; a wanderer and puppet he may be (but he is still a living being who wishes to explore this world and its nuances nonetheless). but you, he’s come to realise with a small smile of revelation, are his eternal spring amidst the chilly winds.
a familiar flutter occurs within, and he stares at his palm as a sakura petal drifts atop it. gently, his fist encloses around the singular petal and he brings it up to his lips in hope.
please, he begs to himself, a seemingly quiet prayer that only overpowers the erratic voices within his mind, don’t be my fourth betrayal.
(but scaramouche should’ve known that was wishful thinking — distorted images of you drift through his mind like autumnal leaves, and yet your smile remains as beautiful as the sakura petals you once bestowed so wholeheartedly to him.
so warm and radiant… he’ll engrave your being into his longevity; his fourth betrayal.)
[❤︎︎]﹒₊˚﹕YOU WERE DIPPED IN HEAVEN your husband (miya osamu) makes you feel beautiful
nsfw content, mdni ୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ fem reader. he calls you baby, angel face, good girl and refers to you as mom + mrs. miya. it’s mentioned that reader feels insecure about their appearance. kitchen sex < 3 cunnilingus. fingering. lactation kink. ‘samu praises ya! cum eating. mentions of food and (obviously) your kid
a/n. he has been plaguing my mind u guys (๑♡⌓♡๑)
reblogs + interactions are super appreciated. mwah!
heaven is a place on earth with miya osamu.
especially at one in the morning, once your three month old baby is (finally) sleeping soundly, once you and your husband are in the kitchen making pasta — to soothe your cravings, to have a moment together before going to sleep.
but right now, you feel like you’ve gone through hell and had a fight with the devil. twice.
“can i ask you something, ‘samu?”
your husband chops tomatoes. “shoot, baby.”
“do you think i’m doing okay? as a mom?”
osamu notices the tremble in your voice by the fourth word that leaves your lips, notices tears in the corners of your eyes with a single glance.
softly, he places the knife down — wipes his hands on his pants. gently, he holds your hips — turns you around and pulls you into his chest, backs away from the stove until his back hits the kitchen island. tenderly, he cups your face with one big hand — stares into your doe eyes, rests his forehead against yours.
he almost huffs. “angel face, why would ya think you’re not?”
“b-because! a friend said i looked too worn out, said i should a-at least try and get more sleep.”
“yer friend’s a little bitch.”
a little laugh erupts from your mouth and osamu smiles, glad you’re not sobbing in sadness. if he could fight your insecurities, hold them by the neck until their last breath — he would do it in a heartbeat.
“trust me, angel face.” he murmurs, swipes his thumbs on your eye bags soulfully. “you’re doing amazing, ‘kay?” an emotional sob wracks your body, your husband heaves a breath — he doesn’t like seeing you so broken.
“th-thanks, ‘samu. i just — i just feel so ugly sometimes. my eye bags are huge a-and so many of my shirts are r-ruined.” your eyes leave his, your head droops. “and now my night gown is so, too.”
osamu looks down, follows your line of sight. your nipples are erect and wet patches of milk stain the silk of your soft pink gown.
“you’re beautiful, baby — and yer doin’ great as a mom.” his hand trails down and down until it’s gripping your waist. “let me show you, mrs. miya — let me show ya how beautiful ya are.”
and then, your husband is kissing you.
gently, he turns you around — softly mounts you atop the counter. he grips your plush thigh lovingly, presses his chest to yours, has you wrap your legs around his waist.
he really does think you’re beautifully — thinks you were dipped into heaven before being placed on the earth, believes the moon kissed you before sending you to him.
miya osamu is the luckiest man alive; to have you in his arms is better than being guaranteed a spot in heaven.
his mouth leaves yours, trails down to plant wet kisses on your neck and collarbone and even your shoulder. he pulls on your night gown, admires how milk drips down your breasts.
a bulge forms in his pants and he’s almost ashamed, but why should he be? when he has a deity in front of him with a million stars in her eyes, waiting for him to sacrifice himself completely?
“look — yer gorgeous.” he’s incredulous, really. because he can’t — for the life of him — believe you felt ugly.
your husband cups your breast, squeezes ever so gently, lowers his head until his lips are latched around your nipple. and he sucks — drinks your milk, wonders why he hasn’t done so before, groans.
you moan at the sensation of the vibration, let out a shaky breath as osamu swirls his tongue on your nipple. he doesn’t know where to look, doesn’t know what to appreciate first — your face, contorted with bliss, your heaving chest, the outline of your pussy peeking out of your night gown that has risen up.
he gives your other leaking breast attention, suckles until his jaw aches. and he gently pushes you back, has you lay on the countertop.
miya osamu could devour you whole.
“yer so pretty, mrs. miya — divine.” his middle finger prods at your clothed pussy, rubs up and down slowly, traces a million and one hearts.
and miya osamu isn’t usually the typical romantic, but for you he’d go to the ends of the earth.
he moves your underwear to the side, inserts his middle finger at a leisurely pace. but he’s needier than you, he really can’t help himself as he goes all the way in just to see your face twist in pleasure.
is he selfish to want to suck you dry? you look better than an angel, body — nipples, especially — glowing under your kitchen’s dim light.
as his fingers pull out to rub at your clit, he leans down to drink up the milk that has spilled from your breasts.
you’re breathless. “f-feels really good, ‘samu.”
“‘m glad. god. you’re so pretty, baby — and yer doing so good for me.”
his praise makes your pussy clench at nothing, makes you lift your hips up. he’s shamelessly drowning in your pleasure.
and finally, your husband goes down and down and down — until he’s about to devour you.
“o-osamu!”
his thumb circles your soaking wet clit, his tongue cleans up every drop of your lust.
“do ya hear yourself, baby — sounds like an angel singin’.”
his tongue massages your walls, hits you so perfectly because god — he wants to make you see stars.
miya osamu starts to believe you’re the only meal that can soothe his cravings, the only one for him. he feels so full of love, he starts to believe he won’t be able to eat.
“‘m gonna cum!”
“c’mon baby, ya can do it — be a good girl and cum all over me. for me.”
and once you do, osamu drinks you up.
you’re breathing heavy, you’re so sweaty — but osamu tells you again and again how beautiful you are, his love filled promises sealed with kisses.
your husband helps you up, rests his forehead against yours, laughs softly. “i love you, ‘samu.”
“i love you too, baby.” he plants a soft kiss on your lips, hopes you’ll see that you even taste like heaven. “and i’ll be sure to punch yer friend in the face.”
you laugh and the stars align in miya osamu’s heart.
taglist ! thank u for being interested ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝꒱ྀི১
kenma kozume who waits for you to finish your very long skin care routine each night, even when it’s already five in the morning, just so that you can sleep together.
oikawa tooru who tries his best not to continue watching your favorite series without you, even when the prior episode ends on a cliffhanger.
miya osamu who packs you the cutest lunches for work and drops them off on the days you forget to take them yourself.
ojiro aran who pats your head whenever you do anything remotely lovely to the point it becomes a reflex.
tsukishima kei who pretends to not care about the books you’re reading, but then buys his own copies just to talk to you about them.
bokuto koutarou who always verbalizes his love for you just so you know how much he really does love you.
sakusa kiyoomi who tries to match his outfits with you, but would never admit it.
hinata shoyo who’s always down and ready to cry with you whenever you really need to cry.
miya atsumu who comes home everyday to gossip with you about anything and everything.
akaashi keiji who automatically remembers what products you’re running low on and makes sure to refill them before you come home.
iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer who places his hands over any sharp edges when you’re near him, just so you don’t hurt yourself.
synopsis: ushijima wants to be the ace for his family
genre: fluff
wc: 800+
notes: for father’s day, dad!ushijima headcanons with @oooohno who entertains these intrusive thoughts with me without fail with “I would give this man an entire volleyball team and benchwarmers if he wants to.”
ushijima wakatoshi was never keen on the idea of starting a family. the thought alone leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because he is a child of divorce. he worries that he won’t be able to provide a stable environment for a happy childhood.
he wants to be the ace of his family. someone who is reliable and confident in his ability to take care of others. these anxieties bubble up, rising just beneath ushijima’s stoic exterior. when he starts to become overwhelmed by these thoughts, he remembers your words of comfort. he repeats the words to reassure him that ushijima is simply enough.
none of the pregnancy books he poured over in the last nine months would have prepared him for the intense amount of love he would feel towards you and your children–twins. it’s immediately apparent that ushijima would dote on his family without hesitation.
on some nights, you can catch a glimpse of ushijima cradling the twins in his arms in the nursery. you can faintly make out the low rumble of singing as he slowly rocks back and forth. each of them hold a soft vabo-chan plush in their tiny hands. they were a gift from ushijima’s teammate kageyama tobio and the twins never leave their vabo-chan out of their sight.
other nights, ushijima watches volleyball games on the television with the babies resting on his chest. he’s rubbing their backs and talking through the game, pointing to the screen and looking at them, “did you see that? that was daddy’s cross-shot.” his babies would only gurgle back in response. eventually, you find the three of them fast asleep on the sofa with the volleyball game playing in the background. it’s these tender moments that make your heart swell with love.
ushijima spends as much time with his family as he can. being a professional volleyball player keeps him away from home so he especially relishes these moments, running errands with you and the kids at the grocery store. he carries his twin babies in a sling with one baby in the front and one baby in the back.
you trail behind ushijima holding up two different baby food flavors asking, “which flavor do you want you try?” your baby will make grabby hands towards one of the jars. you nod, “an excellent choice.” ushijima will do the same with the other baby. he holds up two different flavors in his hand and asks, “what do you think?” with a curious head tilt.
while ushijima pushes the cart around the store, the two of you garner coo’s from other patrons about his beautiful family. he can’t help but smile proudly and imagine an even bigger family with you.
as the children get older, so do his joints. ushijima slowly transitions out of playing volleyball professionally and takes up a training coach position like his father before him.
and like his father, ushijima develops a habit of telling his children that he’s proud of them. he’s not one to sugarcoat things or mince words, so every compliment is genuine. he takes stride in celebrating in both their successes and reflecting on their failures.
he never thought much of it, but he’s stunned when his children are old enough to learn how to write. they end up being left-handed just like both of their parents. though not all of the siblings end up being left-handed, he loves them all unconditionally and asserts that there is no “proper hand” to write with.
with a steadily growing family, ushijima invests in a large van to accommodate everyone. so instead of a soccer mom van, you lovingly refer to it as the volley-mobile. it’s almost comical how all of the kids scramble out in a semblance of a single-file line, like clowns emerging from a clown car.
over the years, ushijima has run out of storage on his phone. it’s filled to the brim with pictures of his family, you, and the occasional selfie he sends to the kids. he’s had to buy an external hard drive to make more room for pictures. the house is also filled with family photos over the years.
some of his favorites include an action shot of his daughter spiking a volleyball for the first time and a photo of his son with dirt smeared over his cheeks watering the garden with mom. he holds a tiny elephant watering can in his hands.
lastly, he can’t help but melt at the sight of you and the kids in the stands. you all cheer him on with bright smiles and his chest swells with pride at you wearing his jersey and the kids each wearing a miniature version, numbered 1-6. his own volleyball team. his volleyball family. as the stadium lights shine down on his back, he smiles and lets the ball fly.
thanks for reading! as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated!
everyone assumes ushijima's baby is going to be big- he was a big kid, he grew into a big man, it only makes sense that genetics would make his kid the same.
but then he's standing there, looking at the tiniest thing he's every seen, barely big enough to fill out those newborn clothes you purchased months ago-
she's a little premature, so he couldn't hold her right away, but the first time he did, her head fit in his palm.
"she's mine?" he asks incredulously, with an uncharacteristic amount of amazement in his voice. its not that he doubts his parentage-- he just can't believe he helped make something so fragile
ahh, ok so i’m gonna do moots off the top of my head so apologies if we’re moots and you’re not on here! if other moots want to be shipped, i would be more than happy to oblige.
ever since grade school, following the death of his grandfather, tobio's never had any of his family in the stands at his tournaments.
he's gotten used to it.
he's gotten used to walking off the court alone— with no one but his teammates and coaches to give him a pat on the back and tell him he's done a good job. it doesn't mean much to tobio. and it isn't that their actions don't hold any weight, but they still leave him feeling hollow, with an empty void in his chest that's yet to be filled.
he's gotten used to it, but he still tries to not think about it— afraid of what will become of his emotions if he does— for when he sees his teammates crowded by their family, parents hugging their children with prideful and loving smiles, the empty void in his chest begins to ache. it twists and contorts into something he can't quite explain.
jealousy. yearning.
years go by and he's playing for the national team, walking off the court with thousands of people in the olympic stadium wearing his jersey and chanting his name. he's a fan favourite now— the ikemen setter— yet, it still doesn't fill that void in his chest.
the locker room is filled with the smell of champagne, the sounds of a very happy japanese volleyball team that just brought home the gold medal, and crowded with cameramen and reporters and loved ones.
tobio watches as hinata's sister hands him a bouquet of flowers and ruffles his hair (she's taller than him now), he watches as osamu feeds atsumu an onigiri, and as bokuto speaks animatedly on the phone with his parents. maybe a couple of years ago, the scene would've made him upset— make the empty void in his chest ache with yearning, but not anymore.
because when you come bounding into the locker room with a smile so wide that the corners of your eyes crinkle and you tumble into your husband's arms to lay wet kisses over his face, "mwah, mwah, mwah~!" and tell him how proud of him you are, the once empty void in his chest gets filled— to the brim, overflowing with the rush that comes with being loved— being in love.
eeee !! it’s spooky szn <3 so let’s make cute piccrews hehe make yours here
no pressure tags: @mattsunkawa @hyeque @myheroesaretired @ohtokki @crescentkaze @oooohno @writingbymoonlight @lunaevangeline + anyone who would like to join !!!!
