Latest Posts by whimsical-idiot - Page 5
Pls reblog if u vote :)
Pls reblog if u vote :)
Reblog if you’re over 20 and still read/write fan fiction.
I’m curious!
Bonus:
Bakugou: expert gift buyer, amateur gift giver
MISAminesweeper on twitter
definitely
Casting a spell on you that makes you happy, by the way. Your day tomorrow will be pretty good. Something nice will happen, maybe.
Just casual conversation.
final girl. ☆ surely all the girls being murdered in your town having something that fits your own description is a coincidence… right?
izuku midoriya x female!reader
4k words | part 2 (tbp)
cw/tw : yandere!izu, quirkless/loserboy!izu, stuttering, stalking, drugging, thighfucking, facial, male masturbation, noncon, somnophilia (kinda), alcohol, oc side character, kidnapping, murder (mentions).
“you’re not seriously going out, are you?” comes from your doorway, you turn towards the voice in just enough time to catch sight of your roommate inviting himself into your room, as he always does, before plopping himself down on your mattress.
you sigh before answering, knowing he’s about to spout some of his repetitive nonsense.
“of course i am, fuzen.” he blinks at you with his usual unamused expression, heterochromatic eyebrows slightly raised in a way that you’ve come to learn is a signal for you to ask more about what he’s saying. you take the bait. “but, why do you ask?”
“you’re the target of that serial killer.” you purse your lips at his immediate and dramatic response to stop yourself from laughing, you really shouldn't entertain him all the time. he’s mentioned a few things that could probably cost him his job for disclosing the, in his words, eerie similarities, that you have had with all the victims of recent murders.
it started with things like how they all had your eye color, or that they were all described to have your height and build. you passed those off as generic things, but fuzen didn’t. it spiraled into things as specific as one of them having your hair. well, their hair, but it was the same length as yours, the same color, and her body was found with it styled with the same way that you’d fallen in loved with and wore repeatedly that week. one girl was found with copies of the jewelry that you frequently wore, another even had her nails done almost exactly like your new set.
the longer it went on, the more insistent your roommate became about you listening to what he had to say. but you always changed the subject, figuring that the less you know the easier it’ll be to shake off the cold feeling on your back you sometimes get after leaving the apartment.
“i thought you were a stealth sidekick,” you laugh him off, yet again. ”when did you get demoted to a detective?”
“why does your room feel weird?” he asks suddenly, adjusting his sitting position like he’s been made uncomfortable while he looks around your space. “has someone been in here?”
“uh, yeah, me.” you suck your teeth at him before turning back to your vanity and get back to finishing getting ready.
“why don’t you believe me?” he asks, you can tell he’s a little irritated and it makes you feel bad for always brushing him off.
“‘zen… i know you care about me, i’m sorry.” you meet his gaze in the mirror, finding him already looking back at you. “maybe you’re just overthinking because you care about me?”
he nods slowly, before cracking a grin and shaking his head, “nah, i’m probably just jealous because i don’t have a stalker.” he rolls his neck and you wonder how much truth is in his words. “though i’d probably prefer it without the murder.”
“i don’t have a stalker.” you retort while he chuckles to himself before standing.
“you know,” he stretches his arms, fingertips touching the ceiling as the hem of his shirt lifts to reveal his toned stomach, something you quickly look away from. “that habit of immediately denying stuff that you’re anxious about is gonna bite you in the ass one day.”
his mouth is good at keeping you from being attracted to the rest of him.
“but not today,” you speak matter of fact, “because i do not have a stalker.”
“right, yeah.” he sniggers, clearly not believing a word from you. “didn’t you say you felt like you were being followed home the other night? you should think harder on the description—”
“anyways!” you cut him off, knowing that he’s not going to stop talking unless you make him. sometimes you’re not sure if he actually likes having conversations with you or just the sound of his own voice. “shouldn’t you get back to tying some red thread between the pictures and articles hung up on your wall mr. detective.”
“fuck off.” he flips you off from where he’s now lurking by your dresser, leaning against it as he’s focused on checking his phone. “i know you think i’m joking, but they put me on the west end so i’ll be patrolling over by the party if you–”
“oh! my rides here,” you lie, jumping up to slip past him and out of the conversation. “so, i’ll text you when i make it back home since you’ll be on patrol and i won’t see you again tonight, right?”
“wait!” he calls after you, annoyed by your sudden escape, as you slip on your shoes. “text me if something happens with your ride and i’ll walk you back!”
“bye, fuzen!” you yell back, walking out the door. “love you!”
/// /// ///
maybe… fuzen wasn’t just talking to hear his voice. maybe, there’s a small possibility that you do have a stalker.
you could chalk it all up to your roommate giving you anxiety about the whole situation, or that you’ve had a few too many already. but you can’t deny the fact that from the moment you stepped out of your apartment building until you climbed into your ride’s car, you felt something watching you.
it was a hot gaze, a familiar one. it could’ve been a neighbor, you reasoned to yourself as you waited for kirishima to arrive, and that theory sounded best as you repeated it to yourself at the party, laughing with him and his friends and downing drink after drink. until the chill on the back of your neck reappeared, despite how warm your blood is from the alchol. and no matter how much you looked over your shoulder to try and find some kind of source for it, there just wasn’t anyone there.
“you good?” sero asks when you fail to reply to your name being called.
“huh?” you turn to him to find the whole group looking at you with concern, your face flushes at how ridiculous you must look, being so skittish. “oh, i’m fine,” you force a laugh, hoping it seems genuine. “think i just had a little bit too much.”
“no sweat.” kirishima nods towards the glass door behind him and you try to ignore how sero and denki exchange glances. “let’s go get some air.”
“yeah, okay.” you hope the earth swallows you whole as you follow behind him.
you regret coming, regret not shutting your door while getting ready, regret letting fuzen talk his mouth off at you for so long about it. you’ll chew him out about it tomorrow.
you take a deep breath as you walk out the glass door, kirishima’s large palm rubbing soothingly on your back helps settle the nerves. there’s a comforting warmth that takes over the anxious heat as you lean into him.
“sorry i’m being weird.” you mumble as he guides you into his chest, melting into him and the sound of his steady heart beat.
“you’re fine,” you feel the arm holding his cup raise, the pause between his words meaning his downing the rest of his drink that smells way too strong. “don’t worry about it.”
the two of you sway for a bit, his arms around you and your head on his chest with the muffled music as ambiance.
it could be blamed on the alcohol but in this moment, you’re thankful you have kirishima. thankful for how it took absolutely no time at all for you to get comfortable with him, how it felt like an instant connection when he silently prompted the two of you to play tictactoe in the margine of your notes. something that quickly snowballed from passing messages to walking you back to your dorm, and then hang outs as his frat house.
he’s always offered himself as a stress relief for you, making sure you’re comfortable while you’re with him and pressing you about it any time that you seemed tense. there’s been a few awkward moments where you thought he’d tried making a pass at you but he’s always been quick to clarify. plus he’s so warm, like… really warm. his arms feel like a blanket around you. god, how is someone so big and bulky also so soft? you could probably fall asleep like this, surrounded by him.
“hey.” you’re pulled from your thoughts, and from where you were tucked into him. “you knocking out on me?”
“sorry.” you giggle, at his ever playful expression. “you’re just so comfortable.”
the smirk on his face is a harmless one, you think. and it’s awfully pretty.
“bakugou needs me at the beer pong table.”
“i don’t need you, fucker.” you hear the blonde shout from where he stands at the door. did he yell at him before too? “they just don’t want me to embarrass them by beating their asses by myself.”
kirishima laughs. ”you stayin’ out here?” you hesitate, but nod. you feel better, but the thought of facing his friends again so fast is a little too intimidating. “i wont let anyone come out here and fuck with you.” he squeezes your hip before chasing his friend inside. “come watch me when you’re ready!” the redhead calls to you from where he now hangs out the door, his toothy grin clear as day even from this distance.
you only wave back, your dizziness telling you it’s not a good idea to raise your voice right now.
you let yourself stumble back against the wall before pulling your phone out. you try three times to call fuzen and it immediately cancels before you realize you have no service where you’re standing. you curse under your breath as you push off the bricks and force your legs to carry you around the corner of the house. finally a full bar of service, you have to focus on the blurry phone icon while your thumb finds its way there.
why is everything so hard?
you manage to fumble your phone before you’re able to start the call. it feels like there’s a brick in your skull with how heavy your head becomes as you bend over to reach for the device. just as your finger tips touch your screen, there’s big, rough ones which grab at your hips. you don’t have time to scream before your arm is wound behind your back and used to press you against the brick of the house. you lose any hope of grabbing your phone and yelp as your chest and cheek sting at the harsh contact. your vision spins as you blink in the dim light, you can’t even make out the shape of the person behind you.
”don’t scream.” the stranger speaks in your ear, though slightly muffled, it still makes you freeze all the same. the adrenaline delays the recognition of the cold blade at your back, a knife. how were those girls killed again? you immediately nod, further scraping yours skin against the jagged edges of the brick. fear courses through your veins as he takes hold of your free arm and brings it back with the other, wrapping a large hand around both to keep them in place.
you try to plead with him when his knife moves from your back, the threat of it gone, or maybe all the alcohol making you bold enough to speak.
“i haven’t seen your face.” you whisper, hoping it was low enough for him to allow it. “you don’t have to kill me, you could just let me go.”
“let you go?” he asks, surely it’s your intoxicated mind, but he sounds genuinely confused, almost hurt by your words. “i can’t,” he mutters and you whine as your heart hammers in your chest. “i f-finally have you.” you hear the man sigh behind you before he presses his face into your neck, you can hear the echo in whatever metal he has wrapped over his face as he inhales deep against your skin and your body instantly reacts with chills shooting up your spine. “you smell so good.” he begins to pant as his free hand gropes at your body. “so m-much better than any of them did.”
“please… don’t,” you beg when he reaches your breast, where he squeezes it just enough to hurt before clumsily rubbing his fingers over your nipples through the cloth.
“but i knew you would.” he continues as if you didn’t speak, as if your words don’t matter. “you’re the b-best, the only good one, only you.”
his hand drags from your chest down to your waist where he starts to struggle with your bottoms. and your eyes begin to feel with tears at the inevitable.
“please just let me go.” you try again, hoping for just an ounce of pity. “i really won’t tell anyone.”
“i’m sorry.” his body pressed up against you, shoving you farther into the hard wall, ”i’m sorry, angel,” you finally realize just how much bigger the man is than you. “im just–i can’t stop. i need you.” his grip on your arms disappears as he opts to use his large stature to keep you pinned, with both of his hands to work your bottoms down to your knees before he’s humping against your ass. “i wanted to wait– wanted our first to be special.”
the deadweight feeling at the back of your mind aches to takeover, the dizziness, the fear, the effor it takes for you to just breathe right now it far too much, so you succumb to it all– making you completely helpless. all you can do is stand there and hope he’ll let you go once he’s had his fill. not that it’s easy, there’s bile churning in your stomach when you hear the click of his belt, feel the shuffle of him tugging his own pants down.
you have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from crying when you feel the heat of what has to be his cock prodding between your thighs. the only thing keeping any distance between its heat and your most vulnerable parts is the underwear holding the last bit of your dignity together. but once he wraps his arms around you—which squeeze you so tight you think you’ll burst— and he angles you so your hips stick back enough for him to rub between your thighs while pressing up against your cunt, you’re sure you’ll throw up regardless.
he, however, groans at the contact. “s-so warm.” you can hear him begin to pant as his hips start rhythmically pressing into yours, the force alone enough to jolt your body against the wall. “f-feel so good.” you can taste blood as you hold back your sobs. it feels like an eternity passes, each groan and inhale against your nape makes you more nauseous until your body has had enough.
being pushed too far from the fear, the drinks, and the pain, it causes you to collapse on yourself. everything seems like it fades as you fall slack in the stranger's arms. maybe if you die while unconscious, it’ll be okay. at least you won’t feel the pain.
sounds come in and out like you have bad radio service, your eyes too heavy and body too weak to get a good sense of what’s happening, but you hear—
“t-this? my girlfriend drank too much s-so i’m j-just—“ comes from somewhere around you, somewhere close.
“awww!” you hear, whiney and dragged out from some girl who definitely had more than you tonight. “you’re such a good boyfriend for babysitting.” your heart aches when you try to fight, to move, to scream and you’re far from successful.
“i wish my boyfriend let me drink that much.” if you could just tell one person what’s happening, if you could just show even a little bit of struggle, someone could save you. “you’re even carrying her! so cute!” if someone could just see your face, maybe they’d see that this is not who you arrived with, someone could tell kirishima. “you guys get home safe~!”
you feel like a boulder is set on your chest, the weight of your failure weight bearing on you when everything’s quiet again.
/// /// ///
you don’t know how much time passes before you’re able to bring yourself out of your useless state until you’re finally able to blink your eyes open and take in your surroundings. it’s all blurry at first, but the furniture in your line of sight slowly starts to resemble that of the setup you have in your room. there’s your vanity, your nightstand, this is your comforter, a weak smile works its way onto your lips.
you could cry from the relief. whatever happened, whether it was all a dream or something you won’t be able to remember, you don’t care. you’re home.
you toss your head back into your pillow, taking in a deep breath, catching the smell of what's likely your own sweat before you try to stretch your arms out, the needles stabbing into your hands making you feel the need to shake them to fix your blood flow. but they don’t budge, and the sound of metal clanking makes you shoot your eyes open and then you feel it.
your grogginess to blame for you not being able to the cuffs that encase them before. nor the sinking weight that kneels beside you, a large figure looming over you looking that much more daunting with the light behind him illuminating only his towering figure as he hunches over you, huffing and whining with his cock only inches from your face.
your lips tremble when the false sense of safety washed away and you look up past the movement of his hand, slowly taking in the dark green mess of hair that falls around his face, the chunky metallic mask that causes each of his heavy breaths to be echoed before you meet his eyes, the wide, terrifying green gaze that burns back at you makes you wish you were still unconscious.
“o-oh.” he’s so loud as he shoots out his load across your face and the bare parts of your chest, thick and hot where it lands. you cringe as your name is chanted off his lips and you squeeze your eyes and mouth closed, not wanting to let yourself be any more violated than you already feel. your head pounds as you feel the urge to cry, but you can’t seem to force yourself to.
“i didn’t—i didn’t finish earlier,” you hear him mutter above you, “and it hurt—looking at you,” a hand smoothes along your hairline, making you jump at the contact, and he retracts. “s-sorry… you’re just… so pretty.”
“can i…” he starts and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to answer if he actually asks you a question. “can i take a picture? it’ll only be for me, i promise.”
“please…” your voice is weak and you have to try and gather some spit to swallow to allow yourself any more volume. “don’t…” your request is sure to be ignored, he’s seemed to do whatever else he’s liked.
“you’re r-right,” you feel the mattress rise once he disappears from beside you, “another time.”
you try to test your voice again, you’re not sure how long it’s been since what you can last remember, but if fuzen wasn’t on patrol, he’d be in bed. if only you could scream.
“i’ll clean you up, is that o-okay?” you don’t reply, only tense when the warm cloth wipes at your skin. “sorry, again. i feel like such a pervert.”
you open your eyes again once they’re clean, and staring at your curtains, you try to think. you can’t even speak, can’t move, can’t fight. how long are you going to be so helpless?
“are you okay? i know i probably scared you…” you wish you could scoff. “could you at least look at me?”
you don’t move to face him, not wanting to look into those horrifying eyes again. just the thought of him, next to you now, staring at you with them makes you shudder with fear.
“look at me.” he grips your jaw, reminding you how big his hands are as he forces you to turn towards him. you avoid meeting his gaze. not wanting to know if it’s just as piercing as before, instead, you take in the green mess of curls, how they stick about and fall into his face. you can see him staring at you, but still, skip over making eye contact and make out the freckles at peek out from behind the metallic mask that seems to be slipping, making you close your eyes again.
if there was any small chance of you getting out of here alive, there’s no way you can see his face.
“hey–”
“your mask,” you whisper, and his grip loosens as soon as you speak.
“oh,” he mumbles back. you can hear what you guess is him toying with it, but you realize as you peek up, was him removing it. “guess i don’t need this.”
with his face fully revealed, you can feel yourself sinking into acceptance of your fate.
“you’re staring…” you can visibly see him swallow, his eyes darting between yours and the floor. “am i attractive?” a soft smile grows on his lips at him complimenting himself as if you’d really said it. “i’m happy you think so.”
“i have a roommate,” you speak, voice cracking.
“what?” his eyebrows drawn together, face set in a scowl before he pushes himself from your bed. “you need some water.”
“he’s a hero.” you try again, even as he walks away and you’re sure you’re out of earshot. “a strong one, and he’ll be home soon.” you pick your head up to watch him throw the door open, and all of your hope for your roommate saving you drains as you stare down a hallway that doesn’t belong in your apartment; you’re not home…
if you saw any typos, no you didn’t !!<;33
reblogs + asks + feedback appreciated !
reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts
ONE BED !
୨୧ how they are in bed (sfw)
୨୧ cw: fluff???, crack, mild language, gender-neutral reader
୨୧ characters: Katsuki Bakugou, Izuku Midoriya, Shoto Todoroki, Ejiro Kirishima (in order)
୨୧ a/n: ya'll really seem to like my headcanons even tho I hate them, so here it is. Also, I know this is like a really overused idea but do I give a fuck.. no.. and im trying to get out of writers block..
୨୧ credit to @divvision for the divider
Katsuki Bakugou:
bro sweats buckets.. no really, im not joking
he could be wearing nothing but boxers and be burning hot that you literally could cook a three course gourmet meal on his chest
and this motherfucker mid-way of sleeping lays his WHOLE body on you
he's lucky you love him
Izuku Midoriya:
he says the weirdest, out of pocket shit
his head on your shoulder and leg thrown over yours
and he's like "Babe, why the fuck didn't you let the rabbits kill you???" all while he's asleep
you could have a whole conversation with him while's asleep
the reason you know this is because insomnia was hitting like a bitch and he said something and you were like "Why the fuck not?"
And in the morning he's like "Hun, you wouldn't believe what my dream was!" -_-
Also he's the person that kicks in his sleep
Shoto Todoroki:
im convinced this man drools in his sleep.. like idk he just seems like that type of person
insists on not having any blankets.. which who the fuck doesn't sleep with a blanket except during the summer??
and the thing is at first you didn't understand how the fuck you wouldn't die from hypothermia in your sleep
but he gets so fucking warm in his sleep he's like a weighted blanket when he's sleeping your chest
the downside is that you wake up with drool on your shirt..
Ejiro Kirishima:
he's probably the most normal sleeper out of ALL of these
the only thing is that when he went over your place for the first time and you guys slept in the same bed, it was a pretty small amount of space on the bed
and im not saying he's like a giant.. but like he's big, he's buff, he's muscular and it was a one person bed, which you felt stupid about because why the fuck didn't you think of the possibility of a one person bed being too small for TWO people
he probably sleepwalks sometimes idk
I feel like it's when he's especially stressed
୨୧ a/n 2: why the fuck did I add a second author's notes????????????
there’s something so bittersweet and lovely about fanfic, at it’s core. it’s so impermeable, because it’s so individual. fics don’t get finished. fics get lost because they were typed out and sent to friends, in the 70s, and somewhere along the way someone packed it up in a cardboard box and their kids shuffled it to the attic. websites go down. archives get built, but then people lose faith in the story or the canon or the creator and delete them. you read it at like, 3am, and can’t remember the title months later when you look for it again.
the tiktok these comments are from was lamenting about the loss of a favourite fic—it (the tiktok) had 85k+ likes, and over 700 comments, mostly similar to these. people talking about downloading fics to read on a tablet only for them to disappear the next day. using the wayback machine and combing through results, just to find something they loved. i think it’s sweet because it’s so human—how easily we love something, and how easily we lose it. i used to print out my favourite fics, as a kid—i still have a binder of them, buried under yearbooks and the old journals i kept during those topsy turvy preteen years. i could tell you the overarching plot to a Cardcaptor Sakura fantasy AU i read (and loved; it became my personality for months afterwards) but i can’t remember how it ended, or if it even did. i finally broke down and signed up for an account on AO3 specifically to bookmark an old, old fic that i had read somewhere else, years and years and years ago and found again on AO3 only because i accidentally stumbled on the author here on tumblr (i had only found the fic in the first place all those years ago because of a playlist). i used the same shade of lipstick for years purely because a fic i really liked had the main character apply it (it was a limited edition one at the time; i bought my first one from a ebay seller in the UK at double the retail price, lmao) while the love interest watched them, but i can’t remember the name of it, only how it made me feel (and how, for years afterwards, i would wear that shade whenever i felt like the day had something promising to it).
one of the first anon’s i ever got, in the early days of this tumblr, was someone who asked me if it was okay if they downloaded surrender—and of course it was. of course it is. there was a point, during the final stretch when i was trying to write the last chapter, that i almost lost the entirety of what i had written for that fic—and i mean, it was on AO3 by that stage so it would’ve only set me back a chapter or so, but it goes to show how fragile things can be. how sometimes fics only last in tiny ways—because of the unfinished PDF file someone downloads. The patchy memory of someone’s who’s jumbling it and three other fics together. Because someone wore the same shade of lipstick you mentioned, off-hand, for years afterwards.
(this is a love letter to the silent readers; the silent savers. the lurkers. fandom and the internet at large is made of lurkers (eighty-five thousand likes. seven hundred comments). people who saved fics and waybacked them and will reread them, even uncompleted. telling each other we did a good job, that we liked this or we liked that is wonderful, and fun, and a great (and important) way to build a community and has also given me my current friends—but sometimes something you make will matter and live on in a way you will never, ever know. and it’s just how it is. it’s part of the fun and it’s part of the charm. it’s just how we work as people.)
i crumble completely when you cry
ph! katsuki bakugou x fem! reader summary: this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, but sometimes mistakes yield the best results contains: proposal!! (for @/pityslash <33), kinda ooc soft bakugou but im blaming it on him getting a concussion, mentions of injury, lots of fluff hehe word count: 1.8k words masterlist
Katsuki awoke to a darkened room with white, tiled speckled ceiling cut into rectangles and an IV in his arm; you were sleeping in the plastic chair at his bedside, head leaning against the wall and your mouth slightly open. It was probably about two or three in the morning, judging by the dimmed light coming from the hospital hallway.
Fuck.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
He shifted around slightly under the thin sheets, grunting as he tried to move his (apparently broken) right arm to fit in the pocket of his hero costume. A sigh of relief pushed past his lips when he felt the little velvet box still stashed away, thankfully left untouched.
And god– fuck did his head hurt… but this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.
You were still dressed up — makeup and all, heels sitting next to you on the floor, the pretty black satin dress he watched you show off before you both left for dinner: now bunched up in your lap between your palms as you slept.
You were definitely going to complain about the crook in your neck when you woke up from the way your head was angled against the wall. You should’ve just gone home and slept properly in bed: but he knew arguing with you would’ve been fruitless — you’d refuse to leave his side like you always did.
Katsuki let out a small huff as he stared back up at the darkened ceiling.
This was supposed to be your anniversary. He had it all planned out: flowers, dinner, taking a walk through the park near the apartment to get ice cream, proposing in the little ramada he’d gotten Hanta and Eijirou to decorate with fairy lights and flowers. His mother’s old engagement ring was what he’d nervously tucked away into his suit pocket earlier that evening; she’d given it to him the first time you met her — as if she just knew the outcome of your relationship.
And yet, not even halfway through dinner he’d gotten a call about a villain spiraling out of control.
He knew his apology was lacking when he pushed himself up from the table, telling you he’d be back as fast as he possibly could; and he could tell how disappointed you were at the fact he was leaving despite how you playfully urged him to hurry before you ate all the dessert without him.
He’d slipped the ring in his costume pocket thinking he would make it back in time for your walk in the park — but that went out the window the second he was caught off guard and blasted through an apartment building.
You shifted slightly, against your spot on the wall. Katsuki almost thought it was because he was thinking too loud.
Your eyes opened after a moment or two, and blinked once or twice at him before realizing his eyes were also open.
“You’re awake?” you asked groggily, scrubbing your eyes before pulling yourself up from the chair. “Let me go get the nurse–”
“S’fine,” he stopped you before you could get out the door, lifting his head off the pillow because he knew you would come over and scold him for it.
Shit he felt dizzy.
“Don’t move right now,” you chastised him — immediately abandoning your mission to rush back to his side and help him lay his head back down on the pillow. “Is that comfortable?”
“Yea,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Don’ get the nurse yet… I don’ really want more fuckin’ needles in my arm right now.”
“...fine.” You pressed your lips together, concealing the lecture he knew you wanted to spew: him never being careful when he promised he would be being main point among those you wanted to address — yet you pulled the hard, plastic chair you were sitting in up to the bed and leaned against the mattress.
“...do you feel dizzy?”
“Yeah.”
“You got a concussion from your fall,” you turned your head to look towards the side, and he couldn’t see your expression anymore in the dimmed light from the lamp next to his bedside. “You also broke your arm from landing on it.”
“You saw?”
“It was on the news.”
You sounded on the verge of tears. He needed to apologize. He’d ruined your night.
“M’sorry,” he let his left hand drift over to where yours was laying on the bed next to him, his fingers catching between your own — grabbing you out of your dazed attention — “M’sorry I ruined our night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything Katsuki,” you shook your head, but he could hear the little edge of pain in your voice. “It’s not your fault… I was just worried.”
“I did, though,” he continued. “Tonight was s’posed to be just us walkin’ through the park n’ getting ice cream.”
“You had it all planned out huh?” You finally faced him again, tired eyes and a small, sad smile on your lips.
“F’course I did, would y’expect anythin’ less from me?”
“Of course not,” you humored him, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before planting a kiss over a small scab and pressing your cheek against it — staring faraway, somewhere his mind could never find yours.
“Why didn’t you go home?” he rubbed his thumb against yours. “Could’ve changed and been comfortable.”
You let out a small huff — “I couldn’t just leave you here. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”
“You didn’t have to worry about me, baby. Y’should’ve slept comfortably at home, come and seen me in the morning.”
You didn’t answer; instead, pressed another kiss against his knuckles before letting his hand come back down to the bed.
“If you saw what I did, you wouldn’t be saying that.” — was all you left it at — you tried to get up to get the nurse, but he didn’t let your hand go. “Katsuki–”
“Just let me be a lil’ longer,” he slurred, drowsily. “Come lay down with me.”
“Kats–”
“Please.”
“How could I–”
“Please.” He repeated, and you gave up to the pleading look in his eyes. “Can’t sleep properly without you there.”
He shifted himself over slightly, watching you hold your tongue once again with a little snort, before patting at the spot next to him. You climbed up slowly, carefully, trying to be as light as possible to not let the little hospital bed creak under both your weights — letting yourself melt next to him, your hand resting over his chest. You didn’t say anything, just nestled yourself into his shoulder with a yawn.
Something about the way you were positioned made it feel like you were hesitant to touch him — as he was as fragile as glass. Even with your fingers resting over his abdomen, he barely felt them there.
“What’s got your mind all worked up?” he asked after what felt like hours of silence.
“...nothing.”
“I know when yer overthinkin’ baby.”
You looked up to him, sad eyes and all. “I was really worried.” You sniffed, burrowing yourself back next to him. “I was just sitting in the restaurant finishing my food until I got a notification on my phone about the news — and I clicked it and saw the video of you being blasted through the building. There was so much debris, I almost thought–I don’t know what I thought… It felt like I couldn’t breathe or–or think… I just ran out of there as fast as I could so I could get to the hospital. And then, when you wake up, your first concern is that you ruined the night?” You huff, angrily and under your breath but you didn’t let him see it. “I can’t believe you sometimes…”
“M’sorry,” he repeated, this time drowsily— despite the disapproving click you let out in response, he wrapped his arm around you: rubbing small circles in your arm to soothe the tension you continued to let off. These situations were the only times you both switched roles; the only time he was the one who had to calm you down when usually it was the opposite.
“Stop saying that.”
“I am though,” he continued anyway. “For making you worry and cry when I should’ve been careful. I got a little reckless tryin’ to get back to you quickly. I just… didn’t wanna leave you stranded there.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” you almost scolded him. “I’m used to it, I understand what your job is like.”
“Told you though, I had it all planned out n’ shit — stupid bastard ruined it all…”
“It’s okay,” you pacified him. “It was just dinner, we can always go out another time.”
“It wasn’t just dinner though…” He stopped himself from continuing, but looking down at your furrowed brow knew that he’d have to give an explanation.
“We’ve talked about marriage before—” he started again after a moment of silence. A moment to catch his breath, to let his racing thoughts and heart subside slightly. “—about us staying together like this because we couldn’t really ever see ourselves with anyone else.”
You nodded.
“And I thought–I knew that we were both ready… So I was gonna propose.”
You didn’t say anything, and he didn’t dare look down at your face — not when he could feel the heat rushing up to his face like he was about to pass out.
“I uh, had this whole speech planned out n’ everything,” he stared at the ceiling once more. “Even had Ei n’ Hanta set up flowers and candles in the park near that cherry blossom tree we always picnic near.”
You still didn’t say anything.
“M’sorry for just bringing it up now, and spoiling the surprise ‘cause I could’ve just done it later…”
“...are you really apologizing for telling me that you were going to propose?” you spoke after a moment.
He could hear the slight crack in your voice, and he looked down to see that his suspicions were correct — you were crying.
“Don’ cry,” he tried to wipe them with fail because he could only use one arm. “You know I get sad when you cry.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know that this isn’t where you probably expected to get proposed to, but everything I said is true — I wanna spend the rest of my life with you n’ get those little moments with you. N’ honestly, as long as we have that, I don’t think it matters where this shit happens.” He shifted around slightly, before you could stop him: sitting up to properly face you and pulling a little velvet box out from his pocket. “Marry me?”
“Of course I will,” you tried to wipe away your tears before falling into his embrace — pausing after he let out a hissing sound. “I’m calling the nurse for real now.”
Happy birthday to the best boy in the world 🎀💕
reblog not for a “bigger sample size” but because polls like this are a fun way to help people reinforce their own self-concept and passing it along so that other people can also have the opportunity to strengthen their sense of self by pressing a button is a cool and nice thing to do
My friend tries to impress girls by drawing realistic pictures of a Ford F-150.
He’s ….a pickup artist.
When cats yawns they look terrifying, I love it.
Rats vs Mice
(To be clear, this is not an anti-mouse post. Small cute animals should be allowed to be a little fucked up.)
If you can’t reblog this, unfollow me now.
Big brother Touya + Little Shouto who just found a bestfriend
I really like the word “smitten”. because at first glance you just think of sappy lovey-dovey stuff but also you have to remember this is a word that’s born of the word “smite.” a devastating word. a word that, summarized, means stricken. smitten means stricken as well — struck with devastating affection.
My alphabet be like...
Inactive Twitter accounts will be deleted
So like I understand the need to free up usernames that were taken and then never used again, but what about accounts of people who died ?
Its unclear if the criteria for an inactive account’s deletion is both “No log in for years AND zero tweets made by the account as a whole,aka empty accounts”
It could very well be “No login for years and zero tweets made during this inactivity”
Which would sucks cuz theres a lot of cool stuff made from accounts who are inactive, and again, all that some families have left from their deceased loved ones is an inactive twitter account.
Back in 2019,this concern was brought up, and Twitter said they wouldnt delete accounts to free up names without making it possible to memorialize accounts of a deceased person first.
Now, Under Elon, i dont know if it will be made.
So if you know an inactive account you really loved.. make sure to save its tweets into the wayback machine, take screenshots, etc.
Just in case.
Also they dont even specify how many years. We’re left in total darkness regarding questions we have.
Also im encouraging you to please REBLOG as to further warn people.
Also hey maybe if enough people Ask Elon about not deleting inactive accounts who do have content in them maybe hell only delete accounts who are empty ??
Check out my ongoing comic Crow Time. It has crows, and also neat pantheons of epic beasties.
Twitter ppl returning isn't bad bcus the annoying people™ are coming back; literally every one of us on here has been on tumblr for at least 5 years, we are unsalvageable. However, it IS bad because Tumblr has barely any content moderation (that isn't lazer focused on eradicating boobs from the site and deleting black people's blogs when they get "too" political) and a new crop of trad caths, terfs, and other sundry reactionaries are about to make Tumblr their home.
In the last week or so, I've been followed by about 20 former Twitter users, so I'm going to pivot this into a PSA. you may feel the urge to engage with these people when they comment on your posts. I urge you: DON'T. just block them. Keep yourself and the users around you safe and block them. If you reblog and comment,you're exposing anyone you're mutuals with, anyone who reblogs that pithy comment from you, to potential harassment. It is not uncommon for reactionaries on here to form chain hate mobs. I spent a whole week getting death threats and blocked almost 400 people by the end of it.
This is not twitter. Do not argue with them. Shut them down.