miruac

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FUCK BEING THE BIGGER PERSON, I'M GOING TO START BITING PEOPLE.

[miruac]

The ghost in my room at 3am listening to me talk to myself about the fic I’m reading

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i can't get over these two idiots

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i wanna eat his food and him(not in a cannibalistic way in a cuteness aggression way)

i think osamu is the type of husband who has a series on tiktok titled “cooking for my spouse so they don’t divorce me” and i think that’s beautiful

[miruac]

How I be looking at 3am on tumblr and Ao3 when I gotta be up at 6am for lectures

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Who needs therapy when nanami kento fanfiction exists 🙏

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chunky baby me 2 twin

Mama Miya knew early on, that Osamu would be a big eater. She had caught him as a toddler plenty of times climbing onto the kitchen counter and squatting by the open rice cooker, eating the sticky white grains by the handful while Atsumu stood guard, expecting spoils himself for a job well done, realizing too late that his brother had emptied the supply all by himself.

[miruac]

We finally did it, y’all! We’re married 💍

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WOOZI's 2024 mama awards speech. congratulations for winning both artist of the year and album of the year ♡︎ (translation 1, 2)

[miruac]

your first kiss with osamu feels so weird, you were used to his boldness, his flirty comments, and his touchy hands. so it comes as a bit of a surprise when the only thing you recognize in him is shyness.

he's not sure what to do, he has kissed people before. but it was always meaningless, and with you it's different. it's important. special.

he doesn't want to ruin it but he might be thinking is a little too late for that because confusion is plastered all over your face when he looks at you after that weird kiss. so he panics, you can see it in his eyes, the wave of fear clouding those grey orbs that you like so much disappears as quick as it cames and when you open your moth to question him you're met with a handful of rice shoved into your mouth.

because obviously, one awkward moment wasn't enough. he's so charming, isn't he?

[miruac]

i sooo wanna gossip with them....

Catching up

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When a character does something inexcusable to the reader and I’m sat there thinking of all the ways we can get revenge but then I’m hit with the ‘I forgive you just don’t do it again 😃’

NOOO HAVE SOME RESPECT FOR YOURSELF PLEASEEEE IM BEGGING YOU🙏

Especially if they cheated like how are you forgiving that????

Makes me like this fr

[miruac]

hi guys. i think im gonna go on a little hiatus. i dont know how long ill be offline, but everythinge okay ♡. i've been having depressive episodes very often recently, and i would like some time offline. i promise when i get back i will publish and finish up any works i plan to post. yours,

- miru

[miruac]

nanami whose laying down beside you as you rant on about your stupid little annoyances throughout the day, speaking just above a whisper because it fits the nights atmosphere.

you find him staring at you with dreamy brown eyes, a smile resting his lips. handsome and slightly tired.

you can't even get mad at him so you just softly question, "are you even listening?"

"mmh." he admires you, and god—he swears its his favorite way to end his day.

[miruac]

HEAT WARMER OSAMU

“if ‘yer stomach’s hurting that much, jus’ stop eatin’.” osamu frowns at you, pointing the ends of his metal chopsticks at your slouched form. you give a shaky nod, slowly lifting the spoon closer to your mouth before taking slow chews.

“don’t wanna,” you muffle out, wrapping one arm around your stomach in pain. “‘s too good.” osamu sighs dramatically at this, setting his chopsticks down beside his bowl and heads towards the kitchen. he takes a few minutes before coming back, picking up his chopsticks and taking a few left over bites of his dish before going back, a faint beeping noise dragging him.

… what the hell is he doing ..?

despite your overthinking, he comes back to you with a small mug, the tag of a teabag hanging loosely over the rim. osamu sets it in front of you and takes his seat again, lifting his chopsticks to reach for a side dish.

“you ate too fast ‘n that’s why ‘yer whinin’ to me ‘bout your stomach.” he chews lazily and keeps the ends of his chopsticks in his mouth, staring down at the various containers of side dishes as if he was in a predicament.

oh, you think, staring at your boyfriend, then down at the mug. the colors of the herbs are seeping out to the warm water, the tag revealing the expensive brand that osamu only ever uses when guests come over.

you slowly pick up the cup, the gentle porcelain warm on your fingertips. a small grin hides behind it as you slowly come to the realization that yes, osamu will force you to lay down later and yes, he will rub your stomach with his big warm hands, soothing it until it gets better.

[miruac]

Just wanted to say that I love your writing so much! Your works are so cute and sweet especially the osamu one where u meet his mom </3 ugh it made me smile so much

-@lqjaeger

wait omg this is so sweet :((( thank you so much i actually hate 'meeting mama miya' i felt like it was so rushed and everyone was ooc, but im glad to know you and so many others like it ♡

[miruac]

malewife...malewife nanami...

nanami kento does not consider himself a selfish man.

or, at the very least, he tries not to be. he lives his life with careful moderation—his money, his time, his affections, all portioned out in measured amounts. he makes rational choices, follows reason rather than impulse, and never allows himself to take more than what he deserves.

and yet, he wonders if he has been selfish with you.

it happens in quiet moments, in the stretch of time between work and home, in the silence of his own thoughts when he watches you move through life with a kind of weightlessness he can’t remember ever having. he sees it in the way you smile at the world like it hasn’t disappointed you yet, the way you move through crowded streets without the slightest trace of exhaustion, the way you speak with excitement about things he long stopped caring for.

you are all brightness, all warmth, all untamed energy.

and he—he is the opposite.

he prefers quiet spaces and stillness, the kind that lets him breathe without feeling the pressure of the world creeping in. he wakes each morning out of habit rather than anticipation, drinking his coffee in contemplative silence while you hum some song he doesn’t know, twirling around the kitchen in one of his oversized shirts, looking at him like he is something more than just a man getting through another day.

sometimes, he wonders if he is keeping you tethered to something you are not meant to be part of.

but then you turn to him, and everything in his mind stills.

the small, peaceful smile on your face as you ramble about your plans for the day is enough to make him forget his own plans, although they probably weren’t as exciting as yours. and then, you are suddenly so close to him, just content on standing by his side and beam down at him while you sip on your tea and his arm reflexively wraps around your hips, craving your warmth.

it’s easy to get distracted with you because you are so distracting, you consume all of his thoughts and all of his emotions and sometimes, nanami is fine with it.

other times, he is instead consumed by his own doubts and you, the angel itself, are already there to save him from drowning.

you’re straddling his lap, the weight of you grounding him, your body soft where he is firm, warm where he is cool. you cup his face in your hands, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones, your gaze searching, steady, knowing.

“you’re frowning again,” you murmur, voice hushed.

his hands rest against your waist, hesitating before settling. “am i?”

“mm.” your fingers trace along his jaw, featherlight. “you’re always thinking.”

he exhales. you know him too well for him to argue.

your touch lingers, drifting down to his collar, to the half-undone buttons of his shirt. “is it me?”

“no,” he says, too quickly, and your lips curl, amused but gentle.

“then what?”

he should lie. brush it off, let the moment pass. but your eyes are patient, waiting, and for some reason, it makes him falter.

“i wonder, sometimes, if i’m the best choice for you,” he admits.

you pause. your fingertips still against his skin, just for a moment. then, slowly, you tilt your head, considering, before a soft laugh slips past your lips.

“that’s a funny thing to say,” you muse.

he frowns. “i don’t see how.”

your arms loop around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair, twisting strands absently. “because if you weren’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

he wants to argue. tell you that people make choices all the time that they later regret. that one day, you might wake up and realize you deserve something more, someone more.

but then you lean in, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his, and everything else fades.

“i know what i want,” you say, quiet but certain. “i know who i want.”

your hands slide down, fingertips slipping beneath the open fabric of his shirt, tracing over his skin, slow and deliberate. he feels the warmth of your palms against his chest, the lazy drag of your touch, the way you press yourself just a little closer.

“and if you’re going to worry about anything,” you murmur, lips brushing against his jaw, “it should be about how i’m trying to seduce you, and you’re too busy thinking to notice.”

his breath hitches, and you smile against his skin.

“unless,” you say, softer now, more teasing, “you’d rather keep worrying?”

he doesn’t respond right away. he is too caught up in you, in the feeling of your body pressed against his, in the way your hands map the shape of him like you are memorizing him all over again.

there is a moment—a single, fleeting moment—where he thinks he should stop this. that he should pull away, put space between you, remind himself why this is a bad idea, why you deserve more.

but then you kiss him, and all those thoughts unravel.

he lets himself sink into you, into the way your lips move against his, the way your fingers curl into his shirt, the way you make him forget, just for a while, that he ever doubted this at all.

because the truth is—he cannot stay away from you.

no matter how different you are, no matter how much he tries to convince himself that this is a mistake, no matter how much the logical part of him insists that you would be better off with someone else—he is selfish when it comes to you.

and maybe, just maybe, you already know that.