#hq collab

[mermorfeo]

OMG guys!! It was just revealed Daichi's version of the new Dipper Dan Crepe Collab!!

Jk, it's my art because I always get sad there's no content of him lmao

[sluttsumu]

❝ HEADS OR TAILS ? ❞

ೃ࿐ feat. various chars (hq, bllk, bleach, jjk)

in which certain animanga men like to give or receive.

contains: 18+, oral sex (f! + m! receiving and giving), face fucking, face sitting, hair pulling, dacryphillia, degradation.

ೃ࿐ ki’s note: something small to start posting again!

𝜗𝜚 — givers: miya twins, iwaizumi hajime, rin itoshi, ichigo kurosaki, gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, are you guys gonna kill me if i say todo

—

he loves making a mess out of you when he eats you out. watching you squirm while he pulls you onto his face is his favourite past time.

he likes to keep it casual, like it’s nothing — meanwhile he knows how flustered it’s gets you watching him devour in between your legs while you tell him about your day at work.

“it’s so aggravating!” you whine grabbing hold of the headboard to steady yourself.

though it sounds like you’re talking to yourself, you’re really talking to the man whose face you’re currently sitting on.

“like seriously, fuck— why do i have to pick up h-his paperwork because he doesn’t want to do it!”

this was hard, like really hard — almost like his dick in his boxers hard. focusing on explaining while focusing on how good he’s making you feel, your head is getting even more fuzzy just thinking about it.

“—baby” you let out an airy laugh, “ ‘m gonna cum, can’t do this”

you can’t even register how fucking pretty you sound telling him this little story of yours. you were genuinely trying to get your point across but this little whining spree was just turning him on.

“mmm,” his lips vibrate against you. “maybe he likes you…” even through his mumbling you could hear him, he smirks - tracing circles using the tip of his tongue on your clit.

“b-babe! why would you even say that!” he replaced his tongue for his thumb, repeatedly rubbing your clit back and forth. he could see it, you’re so fucking close, the tears in your eyes meanwhile he’s playing with your pussy on his chest gave you away.

“because it’s hot princess, and you look so hot about to cum on my face.”

𝜗𝜚 — receivers: sae itoshi is obviously here, geto suguru, suna rintarō, shidou ryusei (duh), abarai renji (DUH), and hot take: nanami kento.

—

he’s is rough face fucker, there’s no way to sugarcoat it. he doesn’t mean to be so rough all the time but he’s needy, and sooo desperate to cum down your throat.

he finds himself questioning himself when he dwells on the sight of you that he loves — which is you absolutely ruined. hair messy, tears streaming, mascara running, spit everywhere, with you, mouth wide slobbering on his cock. it’s quite kinky he finds, but he likes what he likes.

“naughty girl,” his voice shy above a whisper while he tugs at your hair. “you love this *huff* don’t you?”

you respond with something resembling a cry while his tip prods at your uvula.

it’s so lewd, the way your spit begins to pool at your knees while he grabs two fistfuls of that pretty hair of yours. he can’t help it, you feel too good, and as of lately you’ve had quite the mouth on you.

he finds it’s time to punish you for that.

his hips don’t falter, watching tears prod at your lash line — it only encourages him to keep going, given that he’s gonna cum at any minute.

“i know this is what you wanted—” he sighs, rearranging his grip.

he takes that meek muffle you emit around his girth as an answer, one he did not ask for.

“all that fucking mouth on you, think we’ve found a better use,” he chuckles, looking down on you as his hand facets itself to the back of your head, holding every inch of him down your throat. “dont’cha think?”

this will always be the ultimate stress relief for him and he wouldn’t have it any other way than releasing thick white ropes in your mouth at the end of a long day, week, or even month.

© SLUTTSUMU 2024

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ mornings don't feel the same without you | iwaizumi hajime

wc: 3.0k

summary: ​​hajime thinks that it's been a long time coming for him to wake up with this realization.

contains: implied f!reader, lingerie, use of slut (teasingly/jokingly, not to reader), lots of suggestive stuff (touching, implied sex), so much love!!, hajime is also a wee bit sentimental here, established relationship

a/n: not a lot of plot, just a lot of love! haven’t written hajime in a while, but he’s on my mind all the time. these are the songs that inspired me: lights down low, never had you, it’s you, and forever right now. 

part of how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas) + the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—good health, good job, good relationships; all on equal footing, in no particular order. The routine he’s built is deliberate and filled with purpose, a system diligently followed to keep himself running. 

He firmly believes that if you want to live the life you want, you have to start with yourself. A simple choice, the first step. 

And Hajime’s chosen the mornings, an old conscious effort to wake up at 6:00 on the dot now transformed into a natural rise to the softness of daylight. 

You call him a creature of habit, one that leaves no day to rest, even on Valentine’s Day. 

Sunlight trickles between his curtains, ripples of translucent white highlighting the tip of your nose. He sees you through a sleep haze, olive eyes blinking awake like the leaves on your bedside, ready to tickle your cheek and wave when you turn the other way. 

It suits you, he thinks, to be touched by light when you don’t know it. 

You’re warm under the palm of his hand, bare flesh a soft place to rest between him and your hip bone. If he focuses hard enough, he can feel the faint thump of your heartbeat, almost in tandem with the small puffs of air hitting his chin. 

He sighs, the corners of his mouth curling in contentment. 

A good life. 

Evidence of last night is strewn across the room—the red tulips on your bedside and his slacks hanging off the bed. The shirt he’d worn lies atop the dress he slipped off you, half of your black two-piece set caught in it.

The memory replays vividly—bites to his neck down to his collarbone, a pull of his hair and his lower lip caught between yours. You handle Hajime roughly because you know he can take it, know that it gets him going the more you want him. 

But with you, he takes his time—runs his fingers over every area he’s grown fond of (which is everywhere, really). He strips you down slowly, unwrapping you like a gift labeled: handle with care, open gently. 

Then, he savors it—you.

The wrapper lies next to his head, half-tucked underneath his pillow, a piece of elegant black lace you know drives him crazy. 

A perk of celebrating Valentine’s Day two ways is that one half belongs to him and the other to you—a team effort to make the day as special as it can be. 

He shifts, hand sliding up to rest on your waist. The movement causes you to stir, digging your cheek deeper into your pillow as you scrunch your brows—a sign of you coming to wake. 

Hajime immediately shuts his eyes, feigning sleep. Last night was all his—flowers, a nice dinner, and the dessert that came after it. This morning is yours, with only one instruction for him: sleep in. 

How upset would you be if he ruined your surprise? 

The bed dips on your side, no doubt you reaching for the bedside to check the time. Even with his eyes shut, he has your mornings memorized. A whispered ‘shit’ almost makes him break into a smile, but he reigns it in, expression neutral and breathing steady. 

You move again, his hand still on your waist as you turn once more, to what he can only assume is to face him. There’s a momentary pause that makes him worry you’ve found him out, but he feels your fingertips run over the crease between his brows, smoothening it out the way you always do. 

(He has a terrible habit of frowning in his sleep, he’s learned.)

It makes him nervous the longer you linger, the tips of your fingers sliding down the bridge of his nose to rest on his lips, running over it once, twice. Then you sigh, inching closer before gently nudging his nose with yours.

The small peck you land on his lips almost makes him break, but he holds it in, letting you sneak away (albeit badly) for whatever it is you’re planning for today. 

(The bed dips too deeply, comforter rustling as you untangle yourself from it. You stub your toe on the edge of your bedside table and attempt to muffle an ‘ouch’, even though he can hear you—pretty clearly actually. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from chuckling.)

If it were up to him, Hajime would just keep you here, no sneaking around or stubbed toes, no surprise or anything—just you, wrapped in his arms, under his sheets. 

.

Just as he’d promised though, he did sleep in (if an extra 20 minutes of forcing his eyes shut counts as that). 

The flowers on your bedside are gone, and so is his shirt—the sheets beside him crinkled in the shape of your haste to get up from it. He yawns, running a hand through his hair to fix up the mess you made of it last night. 

As part of his routine, Hajime stretches, first with his neck—side-to-side, up-and-down—then with his back, twisting left and right. Next, he changes, puts on a pair of gray sweatpants that you claim must be a staple in his wardrobe (you say he looks like he could fuck you up, its hem hanging dangerously low to reveal the grooves of that deep v-line leading to his pelvis).

After pushing aside the curtains for sunlight to stream through, he cleans the room, picking up the mess of clothes on the floor and making the bed; you usually do this, because you’re particular with the pillow placements, but he’ll take over for now. 

This should buy you enough time, right? An extra 10 minutes for your planned surprise.

He takes a breath, doing one last scan of the room before stepping out. 

As soon as he gets into the hallway, he smells chocolate. 

Each step he takes is consciously softened as he carries his weight, carefully making his way to the sight of you, back towards him in nothing but his t-shirt hanging temptingly high to barely conceal black lace. You seem focused, entirely preoccupied with the kitchen stove.

A familiar feeling settles into his stomach, warm and soothing, one he’s been having more and more around you lately. The corner of his lips curl up. 

For Hajime, the best way to start the day is with the morning light and you.

He sneaks up behind your back, peeking over your shoulder at the chocolate pancakes you seem to be slowly ladling into the pan. And just when you’ve formed a figure he can only assume is a heart, he takes a step closer, hands resting on your hips as he scrunches up the fabric between his fingers.

“Morning,” he whispers, chin resting on your shoulder as his lips brush the side of your neck, soft and ticklish; you shiver, just a little bit. 

The greeting comes out rough, husky, and you lean into him, your hand coming to rest over his, hiking up your (his) shirt to reveal a slight peek at the black lace hugging the curves of your buttcheek. 

“Morning.” you chuckle when you hear his breath hitch. The pancake in front of you gets flipped to the other side. 

“How’s your head?” he moves to peck your temple. Hajime knows you get the worst hangovers no matter how little you have to drink, and last night was by no means little.

You groan, turning off the stove, letting the residual heat cook the pancake through. 

“Terr–” 

As you turn to him within his arms, you pause, blinking uncontrollably at the presence of Hajime’s bare skin in front of you. Your eyes go wide, zeroing in on the full chest beneath your palms, the cuts of his shoulders, and his arms. Oh—

“Slut.” your brows furrow, lips pouting as you stifle a smile. 

Hajime laughs, olive eyes crinkling as he holds you closer, hands coming to clasp at your lower back. 

“Put on a shirt, you know I can’t focus like this.” 

He knows, because you say this almost every morning, every time. 

“I would,” remnants of his amusement linger on his lips, hand reaching to squeeze your butt as he narrows his gaze mischievously, “but someone stole it.” 

You giggle, arms coming up to wind around his neck, fingers playing with the shorter strands of his hair. Then, you tiptoe, white fuzzy slippers slotting itself between his matching green ones as you tilt your head up for a kiss. 

As it is, Hajime’s liking how this surprise is going. 

He leans in, eyes falling shut as he presses against you. His hand cradles your jaw, callused skin tickling you ever so slightly as he guides your head to turn the other way. Hajime can hardly stop whenever you get him started like this, your lower lip already caught between his teeth. 

But you nip it, right as his other hand crawls underneath your shirt, pulling away as he tries to chase for more. The frown on his face is hard to miss. 

“Gonna get dressed,” you smile amusedly, feigning innocence.

“Isn’t this already too dressed?” he raises an eyebrow, tugging at your (his) shirt. His fingers trail lower, hooking themselves into the lace of your underwear. 

“Don’t be a flirt,” you scrunch your nose, “I feel gross.” 

He squeezes your hip, “I’m gross too.” 

You give him a look. 

He gives you one back. 

If Hajime had the words, he’d tell you you’re the furthest thing from gross, making him breakfast in his clothes and that pretty black number you know drives him up-the-wall crazy.

This is the stuff of his dreams. 

But then you give him those eyes, and you know just as well he’s weak to that too. So he sighs, loosening his grip so you can slip away. 

“I’ll make you eggs!” he calls out as you disappear into the bedroom. 

Your breakfast spread for him is set up on the counter, the chocolate heart pancake on the pan the last needed addition to complete everything. It’s sweet, how you prepared a full-on chocolate feast for him: hot chocolate with chocolate heart pancakes, and butter also in the shape of a heart. The tulips he’d gotten you rest prettily inside the vase he remembers from your first anniversary pottery date.

He feels especially sentimental today taking everything in, noticing how the mug that holds your half-finished coffee matches the one that holds his hot chocolate. 

In the little over two years that you’ve been together, you’ve assimilated yourself into his space so naturally that it feels like you’ve always just been here—that it feels right how all your chips fill up the entire bottom shelf of his pantry because you love snacking on them whenever, wherever.

He cracks in two eggs. 

The throw on his couch matches the pillows all because of you, and bottles of your daily vitamins sit perfectly beside all his supplements in the spice-rack turned morning-essentials-rack (one of your so-called organization hacks). 

The pan sizzles, edges of the eggs turning crisp—just how you like it (lately, it’s how he’s been liking it too). 

When you step out of the bedroom, Hajime’s begun plating your food, pouring in another batch of coffee and preparing a bowl of fruits. 

(Today, it’s strawberries—one of your favorites. He made sure to stock up on that for today.) 

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—

He prides himself on his routine and the stability of his day-to-day: the mornings, with you raiding his closet and stealing his clothes; the late afternoons, when he picks you up from work and you crash his place because it’s begun to feel so much more like home. 

The evenings cap the day off perfectly, with you tucked under his chin and your leg slung over his hip. It’s too warm, but you get cold easily and he doesn’t mind the warmth when you’re pressed up skin-to-skin. 

And when he sees you in his sweatshirt—the one paired with the sweatpants he’s wearing right now, he smirks knowingly, setting down the utensils with a dopey smile on his face. 

This is good. 

—his life that you now also fit into. 

“Sorry you had to prep the rest,” you pad towards the counter, taking a seat on the stool as he waves it off and sits beside you, “thank you.” 

Without even a word, there’s a painkiller sitting on the palm of his hand, open and waiting for you already. 

You stare at him, puppy-dog eyes and everything, pouting as your fingertips graze his, “I love you.” 

He laughs, rolling his eyes jokingly as he hands you a glass of water, his cheeks already dusted peach.

Shyness still hits him when you’re so vocal like this, but Hajime has known he’s loved you since that day at some outdoor concert you dragged him into. The forecast was gloomy but you’d insisted it was an experience he shouldn’t miss, so he agreed—packed an umbrella and wore a jacket with a hood even, just in case. 

But there you were, in the middle of the downpour, dancing under the rain, and when you’d beckoned him closer, you had that same look on your face. 

“Love you too,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing his lips against it, “happy Valentine’s Day, babe.” 

Breakfasts with the two of you are usually rushed, but work for him today isn’t until noon and you have an entire day off to pack for a two-week business trip you’re set to leave for tomorrow.

So, this is nice. You both have time.  

You’re talking about all sorts of things—some work gossip, that nice old lady who lives a few units down from him; there’s the whole itinerary for your business trip too—meeting here, meeting there. An extra hour to kill to maybe sightsee. Evenings are usually free, and so on. 

But as he’s chewing on half of the chocolate heart pancake, he just can’t, for the life of him, stop thinking. 

The more he hears about your schedule for the upcoming weeks, the more he’s realizing that this is the longest time you’ll be apart.

And he wonders, what’s that gonna be like? 

Most of your clothes will be gone from his dresser, his bathroom counter half-empty without all your skincare. No overheating at night without your arm wrapped firmly around his spine. Just one mug during breakfast, not two, and only a single pair of green fuzzy slippers pacing around the rooms. 

It’ll be a little like how it was before you.

And he hates how that’s even a possibility.  

He takes a sip from his mug.

“So, Oikawa’s taking me out on a date. Is that okay with you?” you lean against your palm, elbow supported on the counter. 

He nods, humming as he sets down the hot chocolate. 

“Hajime.” you hide your smile. 

He snaps out of it, “Hm?” 

“So you’re okay with me going on a date with Oikawa?” 

His knee-jerk scowl is much more like it. 

“That fucker asked you out?” 

You laugh, shaking your head while taking his hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Just seeing if you were listening.” 

A pause, then a squeeze. 

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking?” 

He tilts his head slightly; one look at you and you draw it all out of him. There’s something about this—breakfasts in his kitchen, with you wearing his clothes and the morning light streaming in. You share a joke or two (or five), a few teasing touches here and there, the mood relaxed and just overwhelmingly nice. 

Hajime is so authentically himself when he’s with you that he doesn’t want anyone else knowing the parts of him that you do—

Everyone would be surprised to find that his typically uptight self is surprisingly funny when he’s let loose; he’s made you laugh a good number of times to prove it, too. 

The boys would never let him live it down if they saw him peach-faced at the tiniest bit of your affection; and they’ll tease him for eternity if they find out that the reason he taps out so early during ‘boys’ nights’ is because he still gets so excited to cuddle in bed with you. 

This is the kind of day-to-day he wants, and he knows you’re the key to all of it. 

—so, Hajime chooses you, much like he’s chosen the mornings. 

“Move in with me,” he tells you simply, two fields of olive green sincerity. 

The words flow out of him with an intensity uninhibited, something you don’t get from him very often. Your expression shifts, breath on hold and—

“When you get back.” he follows up quickly, giving you space to consider it first, “What do you think?” 

All logic is telling him he should be nervous, that this is the defining moment of another goal he’s been working his ass off to reach, but somehow, with his hand in yours, this feels easy. Comfortable in all the good ways because loving you has always been just that. 

“Sex last night was that good, huh?” 

And this—there’s never been a problem with this too. 

He snorts, cheeks turning a deep peach. 

“Just realizing that mornings don’t feel the same without you,” he admits, pulling you closer. You hop off the stool and inch closer, standing between his legs as he rests his hands on your lower back.  

“Flirt.” you scrunch your nose, squeezing his waist. 

You say that, but he sees how your smile reaches your eyes; how it glosses over when you catch his gaze. 

“Okay, muscle boy,” your hands settle on his shoulders, fingers splayed out over every dip and curve, “better do all the moving then. Want all my stuff here by the time I get back.” 

.

And he does—

When you get back, he’s contacted his landlord to get you on the lease. Your clothes are all in his (or now your?) apartment, some still in boxes but the essentials already organized in the closet now split to house both of your things. 

There’re pieces of you everywhere now, not just touches like a person half-there. A lot of the big furniture is still at your place, but that’s really just because he wants to leave that part up to you. 

—after all, it’s your home now too.

thank you notes: @augustinewrites for loving hajime as much as i do 🥹 lights down low used to be a normal soft song for me before, now it belongs to him bc of u + @soumies @mysugu bc this is kinda really so self-shippy and every time i think of seiwa i think of you both 🥺 + @ktsumu for requesting this! i know it only slightly follows the prompt but i hope you enjoy my spin on it anyway 🥺

a/n: i don't think any amount of fic can express how much i love him 🥹 but i hope this comes close 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ LITTLE LIGHT

tw. vampire!iwa, noncon, pain play, cannibalism, blood

iwaizumi x fem!reader, for the ‘here be monsters’ event

The figure is hunched over another body like a gargoyle. Statuesque shoulders sculpted against the dark walls of the alley almost look beautiful. In their horror.

His teeth are sunken deep into their throat as blood pumps out of the veins he’s sliced open. It’s not pretty, or clean. It is not gentle nor sexual like in books, and more than anything, it douses you in a fear unlike anything else. You can’t feel your fingers, drenched in blood. You don’t feel the glass shard that’s sliced open your palm, only a dull thumping.

Red paints his face much like a lion on prey. The pulsing vein sprays blood with a desperate gurgle — dead limbs falling to the floor. There’s more bodies left in a heap behind him, icy, cold things stained with maroon. Your stomach twists, and bile rises in your throat. Sour that you swallow down, along with your spit.

Fear makes your heart bang too loud, as he bites, gnashing meat between deathly sharp teeth. Your back is slicked, stuck to the damp wall, no way out. You could try to climb, but the walls are so high, and- His stony features seem like marble as his lashes flick up only to regard you.

You scramble. You claw at the wall, trying and failing so desperately to jump high enough to escape. All you do is get tears stuck in your throat, as pitched, pathetic, prey-like whines come out of your chest despite yourself. “Please, god, please, please, please. I won’t do it again, I won’t ever do it again. Please.” 

Before you have a chance to right your mistake, hands are on you. Cold nails that yank your head back as they tangle in your hair, as heavy puffs of air brush over your neck. Instead of screaming like you know you should, your whispers only continue. You don’t know why. You’re not particularly religious. “Please, please, please! Plea-” 

The touch makes you choke. Your heart beats like a little rabbit mid-flight, and pumps so much adrenaline to your extremities it’s making you tingle. It smells like blood, heavy and thick and everything feels so much louder between your ears than it is and — the pain you wait for doesn’t come.

Your eyes slowly flutter open. With your head turned like it is, you can catch his jawline beside you, chin and neck dripping blood, exposed collar and chest pressed against your back. He’s still- panting like an overexcited dog into your temple. “P-please. I-” When you try to budge, the fingers holding your skull still tighten, and his nose buries deeper into your crown.

“You’re sweet.”

The deep, gravelly tone washes over you. Makes your back break out in goosebumps. Your fingers burn hot. Before you can respond, his other hand slides down your front along your body until it settles between your legs. “So fucking sweet, little bun.” His breaths are cold against you, and again you try and fail to escape the hold he has on your hair. Your hand hurts. Stings bad, a soaring pain that travels up your arm. Suddenly, your daze clears enough to feel the glass you’re still clamping your fingers around. “I don’t like my lunch so sugary sweet but-”

You slash at him. Wildly jam the glass where you can reach, and turn. It’s enough to release his hold on you and let you run back the way you came. Your feet splat on the pool of blood, hands reaching out to push yourself forward.

But it’s no use. You land hard, clattering teeth, as an impossibly huge, heavy body presses you to the cold floor. Your cheek scrapes the pavement when he forces you to look back, nails digging deep into your cheeks. “So cute… did that feel good?” His face is right on yours as he smiles, teeth all bloody. His tongue is stained a deep red. “Did you like hurting something for once? You wanna play rough?” 

“No, no, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

He shushes you, presses his lips over your pulse point. “That’s okay, bunny. Shh, shh, it’s okay.” Hot hands glide down your body as he leaves small kisses all along your neck to the crook of your neck, before breathing out. “Keep pressure on it, m’kay?” Teeth break flesh. And immediately, a biting pain takes over you. It’s acidic, burning as you pant out against the pain— it’s all you can focus on even when his hands pull your pants over your ass.

“Hold it,” he grunts when he pulls back, revealing that devilish mouth with your blood. Your legs shake from the adrenaline, as you do as you’re told. Wet, hot blood pulses between your fingers as you hold the flesh together that’s been bitten open. Spilling down your chest, down your forearms, it coats everything maroon when you pull back. “Let me see that pretty, frightened face.”

You’re turned around like you’re a ragdoll, too easily tossed between his legs. Olive greens peer down at you, gleaming in the low light, as he breathes out a chuckle. You know you’re crying. You were crying for the second he was on you- but now you start to choke on it, constricting your throat- it doesn’t move him. It’s so much feeling that you go umb to it. “There she is.” He pulls your pants down your calves as he bites his bottom lip. “Doesn’t it feel good, baby? So full of fear, all that adrenaline?”

The pain fades, though you know it shouldn’t. You’re bleeding out. Yet all you can feel is the icy cold of his skin on yours, leaving hot trails in their wake. Your stomach turns, as you stare back at him. It doesn’t scare him. “It does, don’t it?” He licks his wet lips, before pushing your knees apart. “I’ll make you feel even better. Just gotta part these- uhuh, that’s a good girl.” You’re too weak to stop him from pushing you open entirely, as his nails hook on the wet crotch of your panties.

Almost mockingly, he pulls the fabric taught before leaning down. His eyebrow lifts, irises completely black now. “Sweet, with such a wet little hole. You must make all the boys crazy.” Your legs tremble, and your pussy slicks up under his patient, prodding fingers, raking the touches all over your bottom half until your vision goes blurry.

“I don’t- I- I-“

Only then does he push his only article of clothing down his meaty thighs, and wipes the back of his hand along his mouth. A loud pulse beats between your ears, and your hands are warm and sticky, but you don’t move. You’re frozen under him, extremities cold. Once he’s done undressing, he heaves himself above you so you’re face to face, and those soulless eyes glint amusingly. You’re staring.

His cock is big, and veiny, and almost mockingly, the only color left in his body is the red blood flowing under the skin. It’s cruel. The aching pain all over your body hasn’t faded, it’s just- less important when you meet his touch, allow him to cup your cheek. “Want it?” You want him to fill you up entirely, spill out into your body until you’re whole. He lifts one leg aside to wrap around his hips, before pushing into your unprepared pussy hard. It makes you squeak, head falling back.

“Oh, god. Oh my- fuck, agh-ah. No, no, please.” The push is too tight for only a few pumps before you start to melt, and his nose buries into your hair to breathe deep and overly loud. It’s gross, it is, but your body doesn’t comply. It only blurs the edges of pleasure and pain further, taking over your vision in wobbly black spots— and your body melts into his with each pump.

He’s so heavy. Heavier than any human has any right to be, crushing you into his touch and forming to his shape, as he takes your air and forces kisses onto your mouth. “Smell like fucking toffee apple, baby.” He presses another kiss to your lips as you’re mumbling pleas, then forces your hands away. “Let me see. You’ve made me all hungry.”

He licks his gums, before pushing your head further back. He tangles your fingers with his as he bites down, just enough to take you breath away as he fucks you open. The ache is soft as soon as his teeth pull back. The blood pools in his mouth, and spills over onto his chin. “Just a little more.”

[noosayog]

he's not subtle! ft. ojiro aran

maybe he’s not one for over-the-top declarations, but it’s all the same when he makes it this obvious

wc: 1.2k

for @seiwas's and there's something, this feeling collab! happy 1 year anni selly belly and thank you for letting me join <3

1. social battery low

You dump the rest of your sugary drink down the drain before tossing the plastic cup in the nearest trash. Then, you weave through the hordes of people, all mingling, laughing, and drinking.

Except for you. 

“Hey, baby.” You hear your boyfriend’s voice before you feel his warm presence by your side. 

“Aran,” you relax, turning to give him a hug. He reciprocates and as much as you’d love to nuzzle your face further into his neck and lose the noise of the party in him, you know that he would notice something wrong instantly. 

“Havin’ fun?” 

Wordlessly, you nod. 

Your boyfriend opens his mouth but he’s cut off when another friend of his joins you two to say hi. To you, his introduction goes in one ear and out the other as you tune the conversation out while Aran talks animatedly.

You watch Aran laugh at what the friend says and give him the man-handshake. Another person joins in on the conversation, and then another, and then another. Soon, your boyfriend has a harem around him, all ribbing him and making jokes. As much as you try to laugh along and respond when it’s polite, you begin to withdraw, going silent. 

“Hey,” Aran murmurs in your ear. “Wanna ditch this party?” 

Your eyes snap open. You know how much Aran has been looking forward to seeing his friends and he seems to be having so much fun. 

You force a smile on your face. “What, no! Let’s stay.” 

Aran chuckles. “Nah, I wanna go. Let’s go get some food.” 

You let him usher you out and when the cold outside air hits you, you ask him, “what gave me away?” 

His eyes crinkle when he smiles down at you, gaze tender as it always is. He says nothing, only intertwining your fingers with his own and walking the two of you to the nearest fast food joint. 

2. something he saves for you

Aran needs to suit up today. Besides the few sponsorship parties and interviews, he hasn’t needed to tie a tie since his high-school uniform days. That being said, it’s like riding a bike – once you learn it, you don’t really forget how to do it. 

That being said, he doesn’t argue when he sees you emerge from the bedroom, hair a mess and eyes bleary. You trod over to him, plopping your forehead into his chest while your arms dangle as deadweight by your sides. 

He chuckles a bit, happy to hold you up, until he feels you tug at the fabric around his neck. 

Long ago, he had told you that you don’t need to see him off on his early mornings, but you had been stubborn, insisting that you at least help him tie his tie on suit days. As he does with any and all of your demands, he had given in, making sure to let you know the night before any suit days. 

Routine now, he leans down to indulge you. 

In your drowsy state, eyes hooded, you reach both arms up and begin to fumble with his tie. Aran continues to hunch down, hovering his lips over the crown of your head while you go through the motions. 

When you’re finished, you give the tie another tug, which is both a signal that you’re done and that you’re ready for a proper good morning kiss. He obliges, gently tilting your chin to drop a sweet kiss to your waiting lips. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

You say nothing, but keep your arms wrapped around his neck to cling on for just a second longer. 

Aran knows how to tie his own tie. When you tie it, your knot is messy and one side of the neck never seems to be properly tucked into his collar.

But he doesn’t mind. He can’t say no to you, after all.  

3. designated seat 

“Can I do this to you?” 

A phone is shoved into Aran’s face. He cranes his neck back to avoid getting cross-eyed. 

He eyes you above the phone. “Why don’t you just do it on yourself?” 

“Yours are longer than mine. It’s not really fun with mine.” 

He sighs. “Now?” 

Instantly, your eyes glaze over with excitement. “Yes please!” 

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t need to. You dart into your shared bedroom before returning with an eyelash curler and a tube of mascara. Aran settles deeper into his seat on the couch while you sidle up next to him, on your knees to hover over him. 

Before you start though, he grabs hold of your bare thighs, fingers just brushing the openings of your flimsy sleep shorts. “Here,” he grunts as he picks you up and plops you down in his lap, your knees straddling his thighs. 

You wiggle, getting comfortable before holding the contraption up to his eyelashes. “Keep your eyes open, okay?” 

He nods, earning him a swat to the chest and a “don’t move!” 

Aran watches you as you press the curler to his lashes. Surprisingly, he barely feels it. He takes advantage of the quiet to just look at you, eyes roaming over your cheekbones, wrinkling of your nose, and tongue darting out the corner of your lips. His thumbs absent-mindedly stroke the sides of your thighs where he has yet to let go. 

“Aran.” 

“Hmm?” he doesn’t look away. 

“Your hands are distracting me.” 

His gaze continues to roam shamelessly. He hardly registers the words coming out of his own mouth. “It’s this or nothin’” 

You finish curling each lash, applying a coat of mascara to both sides. Aran only blinks when the wand gets a bit too close, but keeps them wide open, not wanting to miss a second. 

When you finish, you sit back, plopping your butt on his legs. A big toothy smile streatches across your lips when you appraise your work. Both of your hands come up to squish his cheeks. 

“Pretty,” you giggle. 

“Yeah,” Aran murmurs. “Real pretty.” 

4. through the wire

“... Hello? Hello, babe, you there?” 

You say something in your drunken haze, further muddled by the fact that you’re face down on your pillow. 

“Did you get back to your hotel?” 

“... Mmmm.” 

“Did you go back with everyone?” 

“Mm.” 

“Did you have fun?” 

“...” 

He chuckles, enjoying the sound of your evening breaths against his ear. It may be through the phone, but he can imagine your drooping eyes and limp body sprawled out on the little hotel bed. It’s just shy of his essential daily fix of you, but it’s going to have to do tonight. He continues to ask you questions about your trip, your night, what you wore, what you drank, even though your answers have long tapered out to a nondescript hum or nothing at all. He listens to your sounds with rapt attention, pressing the phone closer to his ear, even though he joked yesterday that you’d miss him way more than he’d miss you.

It’s cute. Your voice, your breathing, your drunk dial. It’s all so so cute. 

He can’t help but tell you as much. Maybe you don’t hear him, maybe you’re not awake to register it, but he can’t help it. 

His eyes are crinkled and his lips are curved upwards. He has an urge to squeeze something tight, preferably you. His voice drops an octave, his tone more tender than he thinks possible. 

“You’re cute.”

[u3pxx]

darling ur my ANGELLLLLLLLLL

[ministarfruit]

hq doodle pages because I'm reminiscing ✌️

[sincerelyhunnybee]

LIMITED TIME MENU - YUME CREATORS' MARKET 2024

CLOSED NOW - not taking any more requests

what's offered: selfship doodles and drabbles ! only available from nov. 11th-18th

— hosted by the lovely @mlkbwunnies -> event info

what to do?

╰┈➤ visit my inbox and talk to me about ur selfship. details i need will be you and your fave's names, a brief description of your dynamics, and a picrew/drawing of u two. after a little time, you will receive a drabble or a doodle of your selfship

pls understand that the more info you give me the better

» fandoms: haikyuu!!, attack on titan, jujutsu kaisen, and baldur's gate 3 ONLY

⋆⋅☆⋅ rules ⋅☆⋅⋆

➜ this is for 18+ only, minors will not be allowed to interact under no circumstances (pls stay away from me i will start barking)

➜ no explicit nsfw drawings but suggestive is okay

➜ one selfship per person

➜ there are certain topics i am not comfy creating for, therefore, i have the right to refuse a request, if that ever happens i will lyk but feel free to send a revised one after

➜ if it gets too crazy the event might run longer than intended or even close early to accommodate everyone

disclaimer ! art takes time, and love, and effort. i am a law school student with finals coming up but i wanted to do this as a way to maintain my creative outlet. that being said, please be kind and patient with these requests.

in celebration of selfships, i will be posting little snippets here and there of isajima (iykyk) :)

looking forward to all of your requests <3

[mermorfeo]

I finished this!! I wanted to do my hq girls (and Daichi because my beloved) because I love them a lot aaaa

In order:

Green haired girl: Yoshinaga Marena (shipped with Daichi)

Brunette girl: Fukuda Yuna

Blond girl: Yoshinaga Aurora

Hope you guys like this!!!

[ariowl-arts]

Some soft n' warm bokuaka art collabs with @iremg-art 🦉🦉🌅

I did the lineart for the first piece while she coloured it and vice versa for the second one! These was so much fun to work on!! ^_^

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ i left my keys on your bedroom floor | miya atsumu

wc: 2.4k

summary: atsumu is the clumsiest guy you've ever met; nothing ever goes to plan, especially when it comes to love. 

contains: f!reader, use of ‘misus’, mostly fluff with a bit of misunderstanding, reader wears heels, some swears, atsumu thinks he’s going to have a heart attack but it’s just him being him, atsumu is an idiot in love 

a/n: not related to the plot, but take a chance with me and fearless remind me of atsumu’s feels in this one (and paper rings will forever be an atsumu song for me)

part of how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas)

Atsumu thinks this is the dumbest fuck-up he could have ever fucked up. 

Wood isn’t supposed to feel this cold, but his leg is freezing rested against it. 

Is this what it means to be weak in the knees?

Out of all places, of all times, Miya Atsumu finds himself knelt down on one knee by your bedside, legs feeling like jello at his attempt to look under your bed for his apartment keys. 

This wouldn’t be a problem at all, really; he kneels down all the time—for lunges during training (the bane of his existence if you ask him), for helping his Ma plant those herbs he’s sure she does for Osamu (he hates how the soil sticks to his skin), and for buckling the straps on your heels even, when you need him to (he doesn’t like it, only because he prefers you much more comfortable in softer shoes, unchafed ankles and all). 

So, kneeling isn’t really that big of a deal for Atsumu—

—but you’re there, standing by the bathroom door, staring at him with overwhelming surprise, evidently anticipating something serious enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

This is wrong. It isn’t at all what you’re thinking—he was just looking for his keys. 

“‘Tsum…” you choke out, mouth partially covered by your shaky hand. 

Fuck, if this isn’t the worst way he could possibly do this. 

He’s sure his eyes are wide, brows furrowed by a mixture of worry and regret. 

“Wait,” he holds two hands up, slowly coming to a stand, “S’not what ya think.” 

This is seriously the dumbest way he could fuck this up. 

The expression on your face drops, warmth rushing to your cheeks. If Atsumu could describe how you look, he’d call it worse than heartbreak—the horror in your eyes flashing embarrassment and the creases between your brows screaming rejection; what once were lifted cheeks have now sunk, turning into an undeniable frown. 

There are tears threatening to spill from your lash line, for a different reason now, he thinks, and it’s all his fault—it makes his heart break that he’s the sole culprit. 

And the sick thing is, despite all this, he still finds you the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, backlit by a halo of fluorescent white that he’s tempted to drop everything he originally planned just to do it right now. 

“O-oh,” you mumble, “sorry, I just thought–” you close your eyes, taking a deep breath, “nevermind, that was stupid of me, Tsum.”

When you open your eyes, a single tear falls, and he tries not to comment on how you wipe it quickly, feigning a smile as you walk past him, mumbling something about making breakfast and preparing his lunch for when he heads out.

And, well, he feels shitty, that’s for sure. One, for making you cry, and two, for even making you think, just for a second, that he doesn’t want to marry you. 

It wasn’t stupid of you to assume he was proposing at all. He’s hinted at it enough in the past few years, calling you ‘the misus’ enough times when mentioning why he’s heading home early from post-game dinners and parties. His Ma keeps a photo of you and him in his childhood home, and Osamu’s given you a family discount at Onigiri Miya now, too (which is only 1% higher than the friends one, but it’s the fact that he considers you as family that makes it feel much larger). 

He likes coming home to you, likes that you don’t force him to do anything. That if he chooses to stay out, it’s all fine by you—he’s just stopped looking for that kind of life anymore; it’s a lot more fun getting to cuddle up on the couch with you. 

His legs still tingle, and he crouches down again with a big sigh. The silver key is there, glistening from the light directed from his phone, and he reaches to grab it, fishing for the metal that, if he’s being quite honest, hasn’t fully served its purpose in the past three years anyway. 

Four years together, and Atsumu has lived with you for most of them. The only reason you still have separate places by name is because of the apartment he owns in Osaka, meant for training season and game days. 

Other than that, home has always been your place. 

And lately, he’s been thinking of moving somewhere where home can now officially be both of yours—it’s the whole reason he was looking for his keys in the first place, with property managers and realtors coming in to assess the space. 

The new place—he’s hoping for it to be somewhere in the middle of both you and him, maybe a bit bigger, who knows? He was planning to ask you about it after the proposal—the one he’s planned and has been trying so hard to keep a secret from you. 

It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep it this hush so far. He’s got the ring, the venue, the speech, and has even asked Osamu to take the video (even though he knows he’ll never let him live down every jitter and stutter he’s bound to make). And the date, the oh-so-important Valentine’s day that you’ll both remember forever. 

The living room is awfully quiet when he steps into it, no sign of you and your usual humming to whatever song’s been stuck in your head. He walks to the kitchen counter, eyeing a plate of eggs with a bit of fried rice; you packed his lunch, just like you always have—fatty tuna with some rice and vegetables on the side.

Atsumu thinks he could cry, his upper lip already trembling as he stares at the piece of paper in front of him. 

Written in your delicate handwriting is a short note: ‘grabbing some grocery, be back later.’ signed with nothing—no ‘love you’, no ‘see you later’, no x’s and o’s. Just nothing. It sucks even more because the grocery is your place, your one escape when he’s upset you enough that you can’t even look at him. 

Yet, you still made him breakfast, and you still packed his lunch—that’s the only thing giving him hope that he hasn’t fully fucked this up. 

.

“Samu, I think am g’na die.” 

The scenery beside him whizzes past quickly, creating a blur of blue, green, and white. His head leans against the window, and he adjusts an earbud, increasing the volume to hear the call better. 

Osamu sighs on the other end, the sound of clinking pans and crinkling plastic muffled in the background. 

“Y’said that t’Ma the last time, what’s it now?” 

Atsumu groans, the memory still fresh in his mind; when he called his Ma a little over three years ago, he was a stuttering mess, breath unsteady and voice shaky at 1:00 a.m. The pounding in his chest would not stop, he thought for sure he was going to have a heart attack. 

His Ma diagnosed him all right, called it a serious case of ‘in love with you’—because, when he recounted everything he could have done to cause any potential uptick of his heart rate, all he could talk about was you. How you held his hand and laughed at his jokes, called him handsome even when he was sweaty and gross; how you nursed him to health even though he was probably stinky and dehydrated from an insane diarrhea episode. 

All these years later, and he’s even more in love with you. 

“I fucked it up, ‘Samu. The plan ‘n everythin’? Poof.” he gestures with his hands, even though he knows audio call doesn’t allow him to be seen. “Dunnow if there’ll even be ‘nyone t’propose to.” 

Then, he tells Osamu everything—the search for his keys, kneeling on the floor, the mistaken proposal but how he would have done it there, how he wanted to but didn’t because he actually managed to plan something and didn’t want to throw it away.

But then he said it all wrong, then you cried, and he really did mess it up; he wasn’t even able to say goodbye. He’s miss-called you thrice and you’ve only replied with ‘can’t talk right now.’ (which he knows is suggested text because you always say ‘later, baby.’ or something else more time-efficient). 

“Ya dumbass,” Osamu sighs again, words still sharp but tone a bit more rounded, “just give it time, ‘n stop catastrophizin’. Y’ve put y’self in stupider situations ‘n hav always made it somehow.” 

Atsumu feels like crying, again, but Osamu’s always right. He lets out a tear or two, maybe a sob for another five minutes, and when he recovers into small sniffles, Osamu tells him to get some sleep to clear his head—he’s holding the line in Onigiri Miya during peak time. 

.

His Osaka apartment feels even emptier than usual even though it shouldn’t be all that different. Meetings with realtors and property managers finished an hour ago and all they need is the go signal from him before they put the property up for lease. 

He was supposed to stay here until the end of the week, to meet with PR for sponsorship deals and brand campaigns throughout the year. But, the only (non-suggested) text he received from you today was an indication that you were home and heading in early for bed (which, he knows is a lie, because a new episode of your favorite show is airing tonight and there’s no way you’re missing it after last week’s cliffhanger). 

And he can’t, just can’t, leave you thinking that he doesn’t want to marry you. 

So he decides, fuck it, and packs it up—books a last minute train ticket back to you and hopes to god that he gets the words right this time. 

. 

He’s never been this nervous in his life. 

The olympics is a close runner-up, but nothing compares to this, standing outside your door with his finger hovering over the doorbell. It’s funny, because he has your keys, knows your passcode too—but it feels wrong entering your space without the assurance that you still want him to. 

What makes him ring the bell is the sickening twist in his stomach that warns him: this fuck-up could make him lose you.

So he presses it once, then twice for good measure, and before he can do it thrice, you’re opening the door, in sweatpants and a hoodie (his hoodie) as you rub the puffiness out of your eyes. 

You’re beautiful like this, too, he thinks—dressed in his clothes, staring at him with those eyes, standing in front of him and looking like the rest of his life. 

“Please don’t break up wit’ me.” 

The words stumble out of him freely, with barely any time for him to process it. Atsumu feels each pounding in his chest and knows now, just as his Ma said, that it’s all the love he has yet to let out.

“I–” he begins, hesitating. He’s still wearing the same joggers and bomber jacket from this morning.

His hands clench into fists and he pushes them in his pockets, unsure what to do with them; the bottom of his lip trembles and it’s starting to make sense why people tell him and Osamu apart by ‘the one who always cries’. 

“T-this mornin’,” he looks up to find you leaning against your door, listening, “Was lookin’ ‘round cos I left mah keys on y’r bedroom floor.” 

You nod, tilting your head to urge him on. 

“And I was kneelin’,” he breathes out, “and y’thought it was somethin’ else, but I said it wasn’t. And I shouldn’t ‘av ‘cos it came out all wrong and it wasn’t what I planned. Then ya cried but still made me breakfast ‘n lunch and it was good, just like everythin’ ya make is. But ya went to the grocery, and baby,” he chokes up, tears falling, “‘m sorry. S’not what I meant. Please don’t break up wit’ me.” 

Atsumu is a bumbling, stumbling, stuttering mess as he cries in front of you, his incoherent rambling a jumble of all his mixed-up feelings. He’s sure he looks dumb as hell right now, a fully grown man in tears at your door—but your brows furrow in concern, jaw tightening as the pout on your lips deepens. Then, you take a step closer, arms stretched out to pull him into your shoulder for a hug. 

This is why Atsumu loves you—

This is why Atsumu has never been more sure of the future he wants. 

—because, even when he’s fucked things up and has made an absolute mess of himself, you’re always there, picking him right back up. 

“T’sokay Tsum,” you hush, rubbing circles on his back, “there’s no need to explain.” 

He sniffles, tucking his face against your neck. It’s impossible to miss the sadness underlying your comfort. 

You’re wrong—it’s not okay, and he absolutely has to explain. 

After he’s calmed down and the tears have subsided, he pulls away, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and apologizing for all the snot he left on your hoodie. 

You look confused and a little bit surprised as he takes a step back away from you, his hand immediately reaching inside the pocket of his joggers. 

“Y’know I can’t keep anythin’ from ya, right, baby?” he flashes you a small smile, a little nervous. 

You nod, because it’s true. Not a single birthday or celebration has ever surprised you because Atsumu’s always ruined it; he just can’t keep a secret from you. Either that, or things just never go accordingly. 

“Well, I kept this one real good. Planned it ‘n all. Had everythin’ set.”

The velvet box in his pocket is smooth to the touch, his fingers turning it over. It feels tangible and real now, a moment’s away from his life being changed, forever. 

He feels like crying again. 

“Was g’na do it on Valentine’s, ‘cos I had it all rehearsed ‘n shit.” 

Realization dawns on your face, eyes wide and your chest caught on hold—as if you’re expecting the wrong assumption again. 

But when Atsumu gets down on one knee, reaching from his pocket to present to you a ring hidden in red velvet, his fingers tremble when he says, “Know s’not Valentine’s, but can I be your forever Valentine?” 

You blink once, then the tears fall—the smile on your face is a little bit wobbly but an awful lot in love. You kneel on the floor with him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss.

The both of you are a tear-y mess on the floor, but when you part, he leans his forehead against yours, ring held up between his fingers as he asks just to be extra sure, “So… s’not a goodbye kiss is it?” 

You smack him on the chest before slipping in your finger. 

“S’a yes kiss, Tsum.”

thank you notes: @augustinewrites for suffering through this atsumu train with me & @soumies + @mysugu for helping me with tsumu characterisation and for listening to me ramble abt this fic!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[saenora]

ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝓒𝓘𝓝𝓔𝓜𝓐͏͏𝓣𝓘𝓒 '𝓨𝓞𝓤'𝓝𝓘𝓥𝓔𝓡𝓢𝓔

ARTISTS’ COLLAB EVENT | closed [ NO DEADLINE ]

[ ♡ ] CELEBRATING ARTSITS’ SHIPS !

To celebrate selfship / oc ship community i have decided to open small collab event for all the artists! it is my first event so i am very excited to share this little idea with everyone.

!! RELEASING SOON IN YOUR NEAREST CINEMAS !!

CO—STARS

@sugurini x gojo — Barbenhiemmer ♡

@mi-soleil x atsumu — First Love ♡

@king-of-dreamers x inumaki — Somewhere in Time ♡

@x-noechi-x x chigiri hyoma — Promise ♡

@deliqwuette x miguel o’hara — The Wedding ♡

@okkotsuus x yuuta okkotsu — Spiderman 2 ♡

@esspeon x izuku — House of the Dragons ♡

@fictionfordays x rin matsouka — The Princess Bride ♡

@saenora x sae itoshi — About You ♡

@mrskenmakozume x reo (Your Name)

@mrskenmakozume x tbd

@ryosami x getou

@ryosami x gojo (Barbie)

!! A MOVIE STARRING YOU + YOUR FAVOURITE(S) !!

you’ve watched that movie/series… you’ve imagined it how its gonna be with you & your favourite… but that idea just always got pushed back! WITH THIS LITTLE EVENT CINEMATIC ‘YOU’NIVERSE I WANT YOU ALL TO BRING THAT IDEA BACK TO LIFE ! A FANTASY SAGA.. LOVE TRIANGLE? KIMI NO NAWA? THERE IS NO LIMIT! MAKE IT AS DRAMATIC AS YOU WANT IT TO BE!

Rules:

open for all ARTISTS. (non followers | followers | mooties). multiple entries are allowed. and all art styles are welcomed from rough - edgy - sketchy to chibi - dreamy - fantasy.. your art style!

ALL SHIPS (SELFSHIP / OC X CANON / CHAR X CHAR) ARE WELCOMED AND NO AGE LIMIT. MULTIPLE / CROSS SELFSHIPS ARE WELCOMED TOO!! NO PROSHIPS.

it can be a movie redraw scene / a movie poster or something a mix of your imagination. sky is the limit!

please make sure you give your movie a title… and add it in the artwork with all the little tiny production details to give it a feel! it can be a previously released movie with you and your faves as the new co-stars or word/phrase of your choice! a small follow up blurb/plot (your choice) is optional but is encouraged to add to the suspense!

there is no deadline for this event for the near future and is open!

tag your artworks with #cinematic.draw and make sure you tag me!

dm me or send an ask with your ship if you want to participate!

thankyou for reading! Would love to see your respoenses <3

dividers by @benkeibear 🤍

#: @ryosami @mrskenmakozume @deliqwuette @solliie @teetoru @nkogneatho @amachira @benkeibear @touyaspeach @king-of-dreamers @enchantedforest-network

[mitiafrapp]

Sousou no Axel

[plotbunnybreeder]

Crows, Claws & Paws

After Kei spent his middle school years as a loner and was dragged along to hangouts with Hinata and Kageyama during high school but never brought them home, Akiteru refuses to allow his little brother to go off to college "depressingly alone". He gifts Kei a cat, and honestly, Kei loves the feisty furball, especially when it picks up on Kei's moods and swipes at people who annoy him.

His love for his cat is tested when, only days after moving into town, his cat adopts a dog and refuses to leave its side. This is not the scenario he imagined for his attractive neighbor to ask him, "Should we take this to your place or mine?"

Why Tsukishima walks his cat outdoors:

Hinata: I never see your cat, why doesn't it ever go outside?

Tsukishima: It doesn't need to go outside.

Hinata, pointing at a stray cat: Why's your cat not like that one?

Tsukishima: Because I love my cat?

Hinata: So you have it trapped in your basement?? That's weird, bro.

Kageyama: That's not-- that's not how cats work, idiot!

Hinata, still looking at the stray: Uh huh, sure... Are you bringing your cat to beach day? There'll be fish there! Cats eat those, right? Or are you weird about your cat's food too?

Tsukishima: sigh...

[blxckgym]

hinata and kghn's kid when kgym isnt home

[sincerelyhunnybee]

happy valentine’s day to @qichun !!

i was your cupid, so i went ahead drew one of your selfships: calyhiro ! i was super inspired to draw it since i love makki sm and i love that you take the time to describe and provide visuals for your selfships c:

if you would like me to fix anything in the piece just lmk and i’d b happy to help :0

thank you to @enchantedforest-network for hosting this super cute event ! <33