🦒🍊sooo Tiny

art request of koganegawa alerting hinata of tsukki wearing the pink rio shirt 🤣

distracting myself from the political and economic state of the world sorry

ちゅパワー！💋

Captain yamaguchi has it rough..

the other nerdjo i had in my pocket

Promise- I. Midoriya

Izuku’s got your heart, but he’s still too afraid to give you his.

Notes- quirkless au, late teens/early twenties, mentions of of sex, mentions of drinking, angst, hurt no comfort

In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have met Izuku Midoriya at all.

That’s what you tell yourself, wrapped in the soft covers on your bed for the umpteenth night, crying your eyes out

You wish you never met him.

You wish he never looked at you the way he did, like you were something rare, something special. You wish he never kissed you like a promise he never intended to keep. You wish he never held you on those sleepless nights, whispering secrets he swore he never told anyone else.

You wish you never went to that stupid fucking party.

Almost a year ago now, your coworker, Ochako had invited you to a housewarming party for the new apartment she’d gotten with her girlfriend. A casual night, board games, chatter, charcuterie, and the most beautiful pair of green eyes you’d ever seen.

You felt captivated by him, he was beautiful, and so respectful in a way that had you swooning.

You wish you were casual about it. You should have looked away. You should have smiled politely and kept your distance. You should have let him come to you.

But you didn’t. You went to him. That was your first mistake.

You introduced yourself, and he said your name like he was tasting it, like he wanted to remember the way it felt on his tongue. And you let yourself believe—for just a moment—that maybe this was something more than just a fleeting connection at a friend’s party.

Izuku was magnetic, but not in the way you were used to. He wasn’t the loudest person in the room, didn’t demand attention with arrogance or charm. No, he drew you in with his quiet intensity, the way he listened like your words meant something, like you meant something.

And God, you fell so fast.

He asked for your number st the end of the night. You’d giggled about it with Toga and Ochako for hours after the party ended, replaying the moment over and over in your head. The way he had smiled—shy but certain—the way his fingers brushed against yours when he took your phone.

Maybe he’d text you. Maybe he wouldn’t.

But God, you really, really hoped that he would.

He texted you the next afternoon.

Hey, I had a great time talking to you last night. Hope you got home safe—though I wouldn’t mind an excuse to see you again soon.

It wasn’t too much, not overly confident or pushy. But it was enough to make your stomach flip, enough to have you rereading it a few times before finally typing out a response.

From there, it was easy. Conversations that stretched late into the night, playful teasing that made your cheeks warm, moments where he’d say something just suggestive enough to make your heart race—only to follow it up with something sweet that left you wondering if you were imagining it.

Texting turned into lunch, lunch turned into dinner, dinner turned into something more.

Late-night drives, parked somewhere far from the noise of the city, R&B humming through the speakers as you lay side by side beneath the stars.

You remember it vividly—wrapped in blankets, the cool night air nipping at your skin, but the warmth between you keeping the chill at bay. Lingering glances, soft touches, murmured compliments that made your breath hitch. The way his fingers traced idle patterns on your wrist, like he was memorizing the feel of you.

And then—the brush of his lips against yours.

It had been slow, tentative, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. And when he finally kissed you—fully, deeply—it felt like the beginning of something.

You told him things you’d never told anyone else. You trusted him.

God, you loved him.

And you knew—you just knew—that he loved you, too. He had to… right?

So you told yourself to be patient.

Because he had told you things too. About his childhood, about nights spent listening to his mother’s quiet sniffles when she thought he was asleep. About how much she had sacrificed, how hard she had worked. He spoke of her with nothing but admiration, and it made you beam, knowing how deeply he loved her.

But you also knew what he didn’t say outright.

He had never seen love done right. Not between parents. Not between partners.

You couldn’t blame him for that.

Maybe he was scared.

Maybe if you waited long enough, if you were soft enough, patient enough—he would see what was right in front of him.

Maybe he would finally choose you.

He never made you question if he wanted you—not at first. He was attentive, thoughtful in a way that made your chest ache. He remembered things you mentioned in passing, sent you pictures of things that reminded him of you. When you were together, he looked at you like you were important.

And maybe that’s why you ignored the signs.

The way he deflected whenever your friends teased about you being his girlfriend. The way he never posted you, never introduced you as anything more than a friend.

The way he kissed you like you were his, but never actually said you were.

And now, almost a year later, you were still just something to him. Never nothing, but never quite enough.

You should have walked away months ago.

But you didn’t. And that was your second mistake.

Still, you let it slide. Again and again.

Because when it was just the two of you, it was easy to believe.Easy to believe that the way he looked at you meant something.

Easy to believe that the soft way he said your name, the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the way he pulled you close when he thought no one was looking—meant something.

The thousands of pictures of you on his phone. The little heart next to your contact. The way he touched you—gentle, reverent—like you were something precious. The way he whispered in your ear, soft and low, moaning your name like a prayer, pressing kisses to your skin between murmured praises. It had to mean something.

Didn’t it?

And then one night, it all came crashing down. A party, a few drinks, a conversation you weren’t supposed to overhear.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he had laughed, voice light, casual, unbothered. “We’re just… y’know. It’s nothing serious.”

Nothing.

You had stood frozen in place, stomach twisting, head spinning. And that was the moment you finally understood.

He was never scared.. even if he was

He just never planned on choosing you.

All those nights, all those moments—had they only meant something to you?

You wanted to storm out, to scream, to demand an answer. Instead, you turned on your heel and slipped away before anyone could see the way your hands trembled.

You ignored his texts that night. Ignored the calls. Ignored the way your heart clenched every time his name lit up your phone.

But the worst part? You knew it wouldn’t last.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you wanted to walk away—

You weren’t ready to let him go.

You kept telling yourself you would stop responding, that you wouldn’t let him back in. You deleted his texts, turned off your notifications, even scrolled past his name when it popped up. But every time, your finger hovered, your heart betraying you, like it always did.

And when you finally caved—when you answered his call a few days later, voice shaky, but determined to be calm—he acted like nothing had happened.

“Hey, you okay? I’ve been thinking about you. Sorry if I was distant the other night. Just been dealing with some stuff, you know?”

Dealing with some stuff?

You wanted to scream. You wanted to ask him how he could say that, how he could act like he hadn’t shattered something inside you with that one offhand comment. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let out a long, shaky breath and said, “Yeah, I’m fine.” And he believed you, of course he did.

You hated yourself for it, but you let him believe it.

Because when he looked at you with those wide, earnest eyes, when he pulled you close like you were everything he needed in that moment, it was impossible to remember why you should walk away.

You were so tired of trying to be strong.

It wasn’t fair. You had given him everything. Your trust, your heart, your time—and all he’d given you in return were moments of fleeting affection. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop loving him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And maybe that was your biggest mistake of all.

A few more weeks passed, and you fell back into the same rhythm, the same cycle. You’d push away, only to let him pull you back in with a soft text or an unexpected visit. Each time, the same promises without words—those lingering glances, those half-smiles, those gentle touches that said you matter to me but never I want you.

It was always on his terms, always when it suited him. He’d reach out when he was bored, when he was lonely, when he needed someone to listen, someone to be there without asking questions. But when it was time to take things further, when it was time for him to actually decide, he pulled away.

It was late one evening when it hit you the hardest. You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, both of you talking about nothing in particular—just the usual casual chatter you’d gotten used to. Then, out of nowhere, he paused, his fingers grazing the back of your hand. “You know,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him, “I really don’t know what I’d do without you around. You’re like… my safe place.”

His words should have made you feel warm, should have been the affirmation you’d been desperately searching for. But instead, it felt like a dagger to your chest.

A safe place.

Your heart sank. You wanted to ask him why—why you couldn’t be more than just that, why he didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you didn’t. You never did.

Instead, you swallowed your pain, gave him a tight smile, and muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

That night, you left his place earlier than usual, the familiar weight of disappointment pressing against your chest. You wanted to tell yourself that you were strong enough to let him go, that you deserved more, but each time you thought about it, you felt the pull of him—his warmth, his laugh, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

But the truth was undeniable: He wasn’t ready for what you wanted. And you weren’t going to keep sacrificing yourself for a version of him that didn’t exist.

So you stayed away. You tried to.

falling back into the rhythm was easier than you’d care to admit, the way he whispered your name, the way his touch still felt like home despite everything. You kept convincing yourself that this time would be different—that he would change, that he would see you, really see you, the way you’d always wanted him to.

But the cracks were still there, even if you ignored them.

The empty promises were still there, buried underneath the soft kisses and late-night conversations. He would kiss you with the same urgency, whispering things in your ear that made your heart race, but when it came time for something more—something real, something lasting—he pulled away. You could feel it in the way he hesitated, the way he’d get distant when things felt too serious.

It wasn’t fair. You knew it. You were supposed to be stronger than this. But each time he came around, you let him back in.

You were lying in his bed, tangled in sheets, and even the quiet stillness between you felt heavy—like it was all just too much to ignore anymore. His fingers traced patterns on your skin, but his touch felt distant, almost absent. You could feel it, like a cold draft in the air, the way something unspoken was hanging between you two.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, though you could hear the edge of uncertainty in his voice. He was waiting for you to tell him everything was fine. You knew he was.

“No,” you said quietly. “I’m not okay.” “I think we should stop this. You keep doing this, Izuku. You keep pulling me in and then pushing me away, and I’m done pretending like it’s okay.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. You weren’t going to let him hide behind his words this time.

“11 months. 11 months of this… this back-and-forth, this whatever we’re doing,” you continued, your voice growing stronger, fueled by the hurt and the anger you had buried for so long. “You tell me you want me, you kiss me like I’m the only one, you act like I’m the most important thing in the world—and then you disappear. You tell people it’s not serious, like I don’t matter. Like I’m just temporary.”

His mouth opened and closes then he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he repeated, as though trying to convince both of you.

“11 months, Izuku,” you spat, voice trembling with both anger and hurt. “11 months of back-and-forth, of you acting like you wanted me. I trusted you. I gave you everything, and you’ve just kept me at arm’s length like I’m some kind of… option. Like I’m just here when it’s convenient for you.”

Izuku’s face fell, guilt flickering in his eyes, but you were too far gone now. Too far from the illusion of him ever being the person you needed him to be.

“Y/n I swear I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion, reaching out to you. His hand hovered near your arm, but you pulled away. “You have to know that. I care about you so much. I really do.”

“You care? You never gave me anything more than sweet words and empty promises. You kissed me like you loved me, like you needed me, but then when it came time for something real, you’d pull away. Every time.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip soft but firm, desperate. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you. I just… I don’t know how to be the person you need me to be. I don’t—”

“What the hell does that even mean? You don’t know how? I’ve been here, trying to be patient, trying to show you that I care. I’ve been fighting for us and for something real, while you’ve been pretending you don’t want it.” Your voice cracked, but you held back the tears. “I gave you everything, and you couldn’t even give me one thing in return.”

He flinched at your words, but you didn’t stop. The dam had broken, and you had no intention of holding back anymore.

Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, refusing to break down in front of him. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, voice raw. “I can’t keep being your safety net, the person you turn to when you feel like it. I deserve more than this. I deserve someone who doesn’t just talk about wanting me, but shows me.”

“Maybe I’ve been stupid. Maybe I’ve been trying to make something out of nothing because I thought you might change. But I’m done. I’m done letting you play with my feelings.”

You stood up, grabbing your clothes, your hands shaking as you tried to keep it together. “I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

Izuku sat up, clearly struggling to find the words to fix it, but you couldn’t stay. Not anymore. You gave him one last look, shaking your head. “Goodbye, Izuku.”

And this time, you walked out, not looking back.

You wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

A/n- I just wanted to write for Izuku differently.. I like to think that boy knows nothing about love and its foolish tendencies! he does not have positive examples of romantic love! No I’m not projecting a personal experience! Shut up!

Tags— @poemeater @beebunsx @beabamboo @superlegend216 @mimzyu

I think about them a lot

Guys r u thinking what I'm thinking

02162025

cw suggestive as hell, suggestive in public, dancing during carnaval, mdni

the sea of bodies swarmed around the young couple as the streets pulse with color and sound, lanterns of light swung overhead as the air hummed with the rhythm of drums and laughter. amid the revelry, their bodies moved together—a dance caught between the wild abandon of celebration and something entirely more intimate, something only the two of them seemed to understand.

his chest pressed flush against her back, every beat and every movement pulled them closer together. his hands found the curvature of her waist, calloused fingers burning through the fabric as as he guided her through the dance, their bodies in perfect sync under the warm golden glow of the street lights. the thin fabric between them was barely a barrier, clinging to their skin, soaked in heat and anticipation.

she gasped softly as his lips brushed against the side of her neck, the touch featherlight at first–nearly teasing. his hot breath sent a shiver down her spine as his mouth found her pulse point, warm and insistent. he pressed slow, open mouth kisses against her flushed skin, her fingers reached back to tangle in his ginger hair, anchoring him to her, wordlessly asking for more.

“amorzhino…” his voice was low, velvet-soft against the sensitive spot just below her ear, laced with something heady. he lingered there, letting her shiver beneath him before dragging his lips away. “i can’t resist you.”

the way he spoke, voice so full of longing and desire, made her heart flutter; a delicate, thrilling ache that began in her chest and spread through every nerve. it was the weight of his words that pulled her closer, as if they tethered her to him in a way nothing else could. she felt his touch deepen, her breath caught in her throat as her fingers tangled in his hair more, pulling him closer, her body humming with a desire only he could fulfill.

the music swelled around them, but he only followed the rhythm of her breaths, the way she trembled when he dragged his lips to all her weakest spots, tasting salt and skin. the world spun–bursts of color, voices singing, confetti spiraling through the air–but none of it mattered.

not when he had her like this; lost in the moment, lost in him.

brshoyo, 2025 -> please do not copy or repost my works without permission

okay yeah i see where you're coming from with the hinata + oikawa hooked up in brazil but you know what else is fun? the idea that they didn't, but everyone thinks they did, and they cannot convince anyone otherwise.

kageyama: pfft. like i need you're opinion. you got one second alone with the great king and became one of his fangirls!

hinata, losing his mind: FOR THE LAST TIME-

iwaizumi: What, none of the brazilian girls were biting?

oikawa: I DID. NOT. HOOK UP. WITH HINATA.

---

three days later, Hinata gets a text from yachi that just reads: OIKAWA???!!!?!?!?

they just. cannot convince their friends that this did not happen. it haunts them. all they wanted was to play beach volleyball. they cant even figure out who started this rumour or where it came from

it calms down for a bit until the allstar match when someone makes a joke about their reunion and Ushiwaka casually goes "Oh, because of their sexual history?" and Oikawa goes absolutely rabid.