Sigh I Got Everything Figured Out (ish.) So Im Back For Now But That Was Stressful.

i am a painter.

bakugou , coach ukai , atsumu , terushima , tsukishima , hawks, nanami

WHY ARE YOU SENDING ME FLOWERS? ｡｡｡

↳ 「 itoshi sae 」 ␥ 糸師 冴.ᐟ

you’ve been receiving flowers from your neighbour, sae, for 2 months and you finally decided to confront him

first smau in months </3 i Hope this was okay idk

@kameyyy :3

PAPARAZZI INTROS — TOPHIACHU FANCLUB

masterlist | song of the day!

notes :

— yachi & yn are roomates

— i was too lazy to add timestamps on the youtube videos but their videos always last from 58 minutes to an hour and like 45 minutes

— the link does indeed take you to a video if you know you know 💙

— hinata's comments are filled with "hinata def played [insert other sport here] in another life" (he doesn't understand it's a joke) (yachi started the joke)

— oikawa has a fan page of himself because he's scared of his pr team finding him (everyone knows its him)

— the cat in iwaizumi's tweet is carrot

— carrot bites y/n and yachi harshly but he means it in an affectionate way <3

— iwaizumi might be the only normal one in the gc

— i made this running on 3 days of no sleep so it’s not funny stone me already

taglist:

@kissunday @megumismyhusband @tsugumihoshino @galaneiaeris @corvid007 @itsdragonius @evesfairytale @beabamboo @kzoyu @sailanne @rirk-ke @your-mum3000 @lizbix @shozuken @in-the-marina-trench @livteracts @rriwyu @nobodybutnnoorr @r4veeen @ottocre @kukkurookkoo @mythblossoms @jayathelostdragon @ningninjas @tojirin @twiishaa @chilledraft @sophiahearttss @heyhihellowhatsup @thea-herondale @thatmf-jay @gumims @honeycrispappletree (bold users can't be tagged, pls check ur settings!)

divider credits: roseraris

MEND (soz, ma)

what do you do if toji snaps during an argument and breaks your favorite flower vase

wc: 978, angst to fluff, gn reader, tw is in the summary it’s nothing much, i lowk hate the way i wrote reader soz not soz, not proof read

toji does his best not to angry at you. he really, really does. but this argument has been squeezing his brain like a knotted muscle, something he couldn’t relax or sooth. and now, his usual patience has worn thin, and with a sudden, swift move, he shatters the flower vase closest to him, big arms taking up the whole proximity.

you flinch back, freezing with terror in your eyes as you watch water pool on the ground, hearing heavy breathing from your boyfriend. his eyes are covered up partly with his eyes and his big hands clutch on the nearest furniture, hunching his back over. not even a minute passes before he straightens his back and walks towards the small genkan, slipping his shoes on before leaving without another word, leaving you to deal with the scraps of glass and flower petals scattering on the ground.

toji doesn’t return until three and a half hours later, some time after midnight. the jingle of his pair of keys echo in the dark entryway, head hanging low as he watches himself slowly take off his shoes next to your smaller ones. he scoots them a little closer with the side of his feet, gazing down at the difference in style and size for a moment before stepping in. he brings a hand towards the wall to flick on the soft glow of the hallway lights, casting a shadowy path towards the kitchen. his other hand holds a small grocery bag gently rustling in his hands. it spills out with a bouquet (he did his best to find whatever store was open, staying for a good twenty minutes searching for pretty flowers that had even the smallest hint of your favorite color) and two new flower vases similar to the ones he had shattered.

fushiguro is already placing the bag down by the small, circular dining table, stripping the flowers out of its plastic with whatever quietness he could make and cuts the stems at the inch and angle you always scold him to cut it at. without any haste in his movement, he carefully arranges the two vases with whatever creative talent he had. he pulls back a chair and sits heavily, not minding the creak of it. no, he’s too focused on the two vases anyways. and how he should apologize. fuck, he should apologize right now. wake you up and literally go on his knees.

he leans back on the backrest, running a hand through his hair as his vision blurs and sees the world upside down. and just as he’s almost convinced that his eye sight has gotten worse, he sees your figure standing a few feet away from him. he stumbles in his seat before quickly getting on his feet, a hand gripping on the backrest as if he was about to pass out, needing it for support.

“… you okay ?” you whisper shyly, fingers twisting the hem of your sleepwear. toji notices the croak of your voice and the way your under eyes have puffed up and reddened, and he swallows a thick lump down his throat. despite it all, you’re still so kind to him. a pure angel.

“… yeah.”

“mm.”

you’re eyes flickered over towards the two vases, vibrant hues of flower petals shining beneath the light. your swallow back a shaky voice, but your remaking bottom lip doesn’t defend you.

“you bought new ones ..?”

“‘m so sorry, ma.”

your choke out a sob, bringing the back of your hand up to your eyes to wipe them gently, salty tears spilling out as you try to stop them, not wanting your eyes to be even puffer than they already were. toji catches the sight of your bandaged fingers and he takes a stride forward. than another. and another. and another until his big arms wrap around your smaller frame as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple.

“‘m sorry, ma. promise ‘ya i am.” he can feel you shake your head on his chest, trying to speak out a sentence without stumbling on your words. you know he isn’t good with his words, he’s never been. toji’s too cocky for his own good, and sometimes, in times of need like this, it becomes his biggest enemy.

“‘m sorry, ‘ji, i was talking and talking and—”

“nah, don’worry. ‘like it when you yell at me, anyways.” he pulls back slightly to see your face, all red and snot dripping down your nose as you fanned your face with a hand. toji grins slightly, bringing a big, calloused hand on your face to wipe off the fat tears away from your cheeks. “deserved it, didn’t i ?”

“no ..”

“well, i think i did. i broke your favorite vase ‘n everything.” he bends his back slightly to press a gentle kiss on your cheekbone, tucking in your hair with unfamiliar gentleness. that gets a weak chuckle out of you, but it was good enough for toji.

“… maybe you did deserve it.”

“yeah, maybe.” another gentle kiss is placed on your cheek, quickly trying to reduce the amount of tears in your glossy eyes. “flowers aren’t gonna fix it, isn’t it.”

you wipe the drool of snot away from your nose and toji grabs the edge of his t-shirt and lifts it slightly to wipe away your wet cheeks, crunching down a frown as he sees you stain his shirt with your mucus.

“it fixed a bit of it.” you sniffle out, giving him a weak smile before glancing back at the bundle. the table is messy and the air smells like a greenery, but that’s okay. well, maybe not okay. you’ll give toji a good smack on the head that’ll leave a bump for a few days and ban him to the couch for a while, but this is a step.

throws myself at a wall

"... it is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. and as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual."

- excerpt from the two-headed calf by laura gilpin

tw bllk manga spoilers, hurt/comfort

you see seishiro cry for the first time when he returns to you.

you're sure he must have let out all the tears, all the sorrow, when he saw his name up on that big screen. when the whole world did. but you're not entirely sure what it is that makes the dam break again.

"missed you."

and therein lies your answer.

you're not sure what to say to him. you can't really hear anything he's saying, either, what with his face being buried in the crook of your neck. his melancholy is new, and it is contagious. it renders you speechless, even more so.

somehow or other, the two of you find yourselves on the couch in the living room. it matters not whose feet were guiding and whose following, because in this moment you are practically one entity.

hearts beating as one. hearts aching as one.

neither of you speaks for what feels like en eternity, until seishiro finally pulls away, turning his head to look up at you.

"are you disappointed?"

"of course not." your reply is quick, and somewhat dazed as you gaze into his eyes - eyes that are soft moonlight streaming in through gauzy curtains. "never."

he averts his gaze just as quickly, body twitching away from your careful touch.

"let reo down. let you down."

and you have nothing to say to that. nothing that sounds sincere enough, nothing that can capture what you want to say to him.

finally you settle on: "is it selfish that i just wanted you back here with me?"

"of course not."

"really?"

"never."

seishiro exhales slowly, and when his head dips, it’s not in defeat, but in quiet surrender - to this moment, to you. he leans into your touch this time, lets his forehead rest against yours like he’s grounding himself.

"i missed you," he repeats, as if it’s a secret meant only for the space between your breaths. his fingers find yours, hesitant at first, but when you don’t let go - when you squeeze gently, just once - he does too.

you both sink further into the couch, the world outside forgotten. the moonlight wraps around you like a blanket, binding your bodies and souls together, and though nothing is better, nothing is perfect -

this is enough for now.

and sometimes, enough is everything.

a/n: heh... i am Coping Well i think

@dearru

“kiss me.”

those two words are already enough to make iwaizumi’s poor, alcohol-muddled brain come to a screeching halt. he gapes at you, unsure if he’s heard you correctly.

“iwaizumi,” you say, “i know this is sudden and weird and strange, but i need you to kiss me, like, right now.”

he blinks at you, hard. “you’re drunk,” he states, though his own words are slightly slurred.

“i am,” you confirm, nodding. “but that’s not the point.”

he squints, trying to piece together whatever mess you’ve roped him into this time. the party is still raging behind you, music thumping through the walls, but here in the dimly lit hallway, it’s just you—flushed and desperate, fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve.

“what exactly is the point, then?” he asks warily.

you glance over your shoulder, then back at him, urgency clear in your expression. “that guy over there won’t leave me alone.”

iwaizumi frowns instantly, body tensing. “who?” 

“not important. what’s important is that you kiss me so he gets the message.”

his stomach does a weird flip, and he can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you’re looking at him like you’re actually considering—like it’s not just some convenient excuse.

“c’mon, iwa.” your voice drops into something softer, almost teasing, but still urgent. “it’s not like you haven’t thought about it.”

his brain short-circuits for the second time tonight.

before he can respond, you’re tugging at his shirt, and suddenly, your lips are on his—warm, and tasting faintly of whatever cheap cocktail you’ve been nursing all night.

iwaizumi stiffens at first, hands hovering uncertainly in the air, brain scrambling to catch up. he’s drunk, sure, but not drunk enough to miss the fact that this is you—his best friend barring oikawa, the person he’s known for years, the one person who shouldn’t be kissing him like this.

but you are.

and worse? he’s kissing you back.

your fingers twist into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, and a little noise escapes the back of his throat before he can stop it. his hands finally move, one settling hesitantly at your waist while the other cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. you smell like your shampoo, the same scent he’s gotten whiffs of on his hoodies after you’ve stolen them, and everything is too much.

he pulls back slightly, breathing hard. “you—” his voice cracks, so he swallows and tries again. “you sure that guy’s even looking?”

you blink up at him, dazed. “huh?” 

“i mean, if you were just trying to make a point—”

“oh. oh!” you glance over your shoulder, looking a little lost, then turn back to him with a sheepish grin. “yeah. i forgot about that.”

he lets out a rough, incredulous laugh. “you forgot?”

you nod, still gripping his shirt. your thumb brushes against the skin at his collarbone, and his stomach flips again.

“wow,” you say, quieter. “you kiss really well.”

iwaizumi lets loose a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. his heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore—if he should step away and put distance between you, or if he should just pull you back in, consequences be damned.

you must notice the hesitation because you’re much closer, now, tipping your chin up and whispering, “we can stop if you want.”

it doesn’t feel like you want to stop. and god help him, he doesn’t want to stop either.

his fingers tighten at your waist. “you’re gonna regret this in the morning.”

you smile, all soft and lazy. “guess we’ll find out.”

#3. a breathy demand, “kiss me”, and what the other person does in response.

me also? you could say we wrote like we needed it to survive…

remember when i was pushing out stuff like everyday? one could say i was… writing like i was running out time…

i got a new theme idea for this acc..

@dearru oh i’m crying…

It’s hard to argue with Suguru.

Not like it is with Satoru, who fights loud, two tempers crashing, both of you saying things you don’t mean but at least saying something. At least with Satoru, everything’s out in the open. Honest. Even when it hurts.

Suguru is different.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t combat your words. He just... tightens. Folds inward. Smiles a little too tightly, makes your coffee just the way you like it, overplans your days to “help.” He does everything for you, but never with you. He says he wants peace. Harmony. Love. At first, it felt like being cherished. Now it feels like you’re being caged. Never actually tells you what’s wrong. He’ll go passive-aggressive, clean the entire kitchen in silence, disappear into his thoughts for hours while insisting he’s fine. He’ll bottle everything up until you’re the only one spilling over. Until you look like the one who’s too much.

You try to bring it up - you try. That you feel smothered. That he never talks to you. That his silence makes you feel like you're the only one bleeding while he stands there pretending he’s not even scratched.

But he doesn’t respond. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even look at you. Just sits there, staring at the floor, leg bouncing, fists tight on his lap like it physically pains him to have this conversation. You hate raising your voice. But you feel like you’re screaming into a void.

And when you finally slam the bedroom door shut, frames rattling, it’s not because you’re angry. It’s because he stopped trying. He stopped meeting you halfway. Stopped seeing you.

He doesn’t follow, just sits there, biting back the tears. Biting down the words he wants to say but doesn’t know how. “Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Please tell me how to fix this.” But nothing comes out.

Because if he lets the fire out, he’s afraid there’ll be nothing left.

Hours later, when the house is dark and your breathing’s turned soft in the guest room, he creeps in. Picks you up carefully, warm palms slipping underneath you. Carries you back to your shared bed. You stir, but don’t wake, and he thinks maybe that’s a blessing.

Pulls you close, tucks you against his chest, arms wrapped around you like he’s trying to glue the pieces back together without you noticing. Then, quietly, he cries. Doesn’t sob. Doesn’t shake the bed. Just lets the tears roll down his cheeks, one by one, into your hair. His fingers curl tightly into your shirt. His chest rises and falls with the kind of grief he’s never spoken aloud.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, again and again, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I make it so hard to love me. I’m sorry I keep breaking things. I don’t know how to stop.”

You don’t move. Maybe you’re still asleep. Maybe you’re pretending.

He doesn’t mean to cry. He’s so careful, always so careful, with you, with the house, with the weight of everything he carries but never speaks about. But when he lays you down in the bed, when you shift just slightly and curl instinctively toward him even in sleep, something in him buckles. Brushes the hair from your face with trembling fingers. The pad of his thumb drags gently beneath your eye, wiping away the last of your tears, but his own are already falling.

His broad shoulders start to shake, just barely, like he’s trying to hold even his grief in check. A soft, broken breath leaves him, one he bites down on so hard it sounds more like a choke than a sob.

“I don’t know how to keep you,” he whispers, voice raw. “I don’t know how to stop ruining it.” Closing his eyes, pressing his face into the curve of your neck. Tries to breathe you in like you’re still his. Like he hasn’t already pushed you too far.

“I just wanted to make it perfect. I thought if I could just... if I could make everything perfect, then maybe you'd stay. That nothing would go wrong.”

He swallows another sob, muffles it into your skin. Every apology he didn’t say earlier pours out in pieces now, scattered and soft and full of everything he buried beneath that calm mask.

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to talk. I’m sorry I make you feel small. I just - ” his voice breaks again, “ - I was so scared. I’m always scared.”

He thinks you’re asleep. Thinks you don't feel the way his strong body trembles. Doesn’t know you’re awake now, barely breathing, listening to the truth he only speaks in quiet moments. You realize he’s not trying to control you out of malice.

He’s just a man surrounded by love, who never actually learned how to love.