Nevermind I’m Done Being Emo Instead I’m Thinking Ab Fucking Retired Army Sergeant Bakugou And How

☆Art by: king_bong_8 on twitter!☆

everyday i wake up and i am thankful for

amen

ive been reminded of my love of kyotani unfortunately

taste test- poly vampire!matsuhana/f!reader (lil follow up to 'cutting teeth')

“Okay, try this.”

Hiro’s knees knock against yours, overeager and a little clumsy as he presses a glass into your waiting palms. He keeps his hands cupped around yours, lifting them in time with your own as you bring the drink up to your lips, his eyes watching you intently over the brim all the while.

“What is it?” you ask before you risk taking a sip, the cool edge of the cup resting against your bottom lip.

“It’s nothing bad,” he promises you.

“Takahiro, you’ve said that about everything else, too,” you complain, your eyes sweeping across the various items that litter the floor around you both—a selection of food items in bright plastic packaging and neon-coloured beverages discarded haplessly after you’d tasted them and voiced your dislike.

“Well, they weren’t bad either,” he says with a laugh, “you just didn’t like them.”

“They tasted awful,” you sniff, and the scent wafting up from whatever is in the cup Hiro’s waiting for you to sip from makes your stomach turn. You pull your face away from it and press the cup back into his hands. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Hiro whines. He takes a big sip from the cup. “It’s strawberry flavoured!” 

You wrinkle your nose. 

“Why would I want to drink that?” you pout a little as you say it. “None of this stuff tastes nice to me anymore.”

“Hiro—“ 

Your head snaps towards the doorway where you see Issei standing, quietly watching you both. You’re not sure when he arrived, but you suspect that was his intention. He approaches, crouching down behind you where you’re sitting on the floor in front of your pink-haired snack pusher.

“—If she doesn’t like it, don’t force her.”

“I know,” Hiro sing-songs in a disappointed key, pouting. “I was just trying to see if she got any of her taste back.”

You blink a little, peeking again at the treats that surround you. They’re all things that you had once enjoyed, things that you distantly remember craving and enjoying. Now a single taste or the mere smell is enough to make you feel nauseated. 

There’s only one thing you like the taste of now.

“Will that happen?” you ask quietly, and Hiro’s red eyes flicker from Issei’s face to yours. He nods enthusiastically.

“Not like it was,” Issei is quick to temper Hiro’s enthusiasm. His large hands slip up your arms gently, squeezing when he reaches your shoulders. “But over time, food will become a little less unpalatable than it seems to you now.”

You tip your head back until it rests against his chest, peering up at him.

“Does any of this taste good to you?” you ask him.

Between the two, Hiro has a much greater fondness for food. It’s not unusual at all to see him snacking on or slurping some processed, deeply unhealthy bit of junk food. The kind that people are supposed to eat in moderation—if at all. Issei rarely consumes anything as far as you can tell, maybe a glass of wine here and there. A whiskey every so often. A bite of something Hiro offers him, if only just to please him because it always earns him a kiss.

Issei laughs a little at your question, brushing a piece of your hair back from your face. “Not particularly. My sense of taste is still muted, so I tend to prefer the things that humans find bitter since the flavour is sharp enough to come through. Coffee. Dark chocolate. Aged liquor. Cigarettes.”

You frown. “But you’re old.”

Hiro laughs gleefully. “If he’s old what does that make me?”

You tip your chin down again to look at Takahiro, who’s watching you warmly. He grins lopsidedly, propping his chin up in his hand with his elbow resting on his knee. His mouth is stained pink from the drink in his hand.

“Ancient,” you supply wryly, smiling a little yourself. 

It’s easy for you to say, not least of all because it’s true. The entirety of your existence in comparison to Takahiro’s is a mere blip on the timeline. A drop of water in the ocean’s depths. Even Issei has been around long enough that your short life would seem, well, inconsequential by comparison. But if in the hundred years since Takahiro had turned him Issei had still only developed a taste for the few foods that he had, your own newly-immortal lifespan in comparison would surely prevent you from deriving any pleasure from the things Hiro is trying to feed you at present.

“If you knew I wasn’t going to like any of this, why did you make me eat it,” you complain, batting at a bright red candy-bar wrapper resentfully.

“I’m trying to get you started early,” Hiro counters, like a parent might justify their decision to feed their child vegetables. He shakes his head ruefully. “The sooner we start the quicker you’ll get used to it. I spoiled Issei and look how he turned out.”

You tilt your head back again, slumping into Issei’s broad chest. 

“I think he turned out just fine,” you say softly, and a small smile pulls at the corner’s of Issei’s mouth. He runs his fingers over your cheek, dipping down and kissing you softly with a hum.

By the time his lips part from yours, Hiro is right in front of you. He’s on his hands and knees, with his palms pressed to Issei’s thighs behind you, so close his nose brushes yours when you tilt your head back down. The speed that Hiro moves used to startle you sometimes, but you can follow it with your senses now. You laugh breathily at his proximity.

“That’s not fair,” Hiro says, but he’s not genuinely upset by the show of affection. He knows you care for him as much as you care for Issei. He cares for Issei as much as he cares for you, too.

You kiss him next to placate him, his mouth soft and warm and eager as it always is as he parts his lips against your own. He crowds closer until you’re properly pressed to Issei’s chest, and you feel Issei’s hands begin to wander as Hiro takes more and more of the ground you freely give him—sucking noisily against your tongue when your lips part in a quiet gasp at the feeling of Issei’s fingers creeping up under the hem of your dress and pressing against the front of your panties.

Hiro's kisses always make your head spin, always make you feel warm and flustered and inundated with a want so sticky-sweet you can almost taste him on your tongue. It's always been like this, ever since the beginning.

And as Issei's fingers loop under the waistband of your underwear, and Hiro helps to lift your hips so he can pull them down, you realize that you were wrong when you said there's only one thing you like the taste of now, because there are three—and two of them are crowding you in their embrace from either side.

LAST SEEN WITH:

LIKE A HIGH SCHOOLER, ATSUMU MIYA

DESCRIPTION: apparently, you know nothing about your best friend. apparently, she’s friends with nearly the whole national japanese volleyball team. she gets tickets and, oh, she’s inviting you?!

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: profanity. pro vball player!atsumu. uni student!reader. ooc!yachi, probably. love at first sight if you squint reeeeeaaally hard.

word count: 2,072.

“yachi. yachi, yachi. yachi, what do you mean you have tickets for the fucking olympics?”

the blonde girl in front of you glances to the side, gauging the reactions from the nearby people in the coffee shop. “um,” she hesitates, letting out a little giggle. “i went to high school with some of the team? i was the club manager- haven’t i told you this before?”

“i mean, probably, but!” you shake your hands, obviously frazzled. you can’t wrap your head around the fact that you’re about to go to the olympics. “you never told me that they made it to the national team!”

she shrugs and takes a drink of her tea. “it never came up.”

two weeks later, you’re sitting in one of the front rows at the japan v. germany volleyball game, popcorn in one hand and a soda in the other. yachi sits next to you, decked out in merchandise from some players—a hat with bokuto koutarou’s number on it, a jersey with kageyama tobio’s number on it, and a large sign with a baby picture of hinata shoyo.

“this is insane,” you note, leaning forward to get a better look of the court. it’s huge, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen. “i mean- holy shit, yachi, we’re at the olympics.”

she laughs and nods. “i know, y/n. wanna know something even cooler?” you look at her and tilt your head. she leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “you get to meet the team after this.”

your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open to say something, but loud music erupts from the speakers and both of your heads snap to the court. from a door in the far corner of the arena, a crowd of men enter. they’re wearing red jersey’s and you realize it’s the japanese team. cheers sound from everyone around you, including yachi. when the german team walks out of the same door, you don’t pay attention; your gaze is stuck on your team, eyes roaming over their faces, trying to see who looks familiar.

hinata shoyo, bright orange hair; kageyama tobio, tall and bored looking; bokuto koutarou, loud; ushijima wakatoshi, intimidating.

you don’t recognize anyone else, but there’s a head of blonde hair that entices you to no end. he’s rough housing with one of the other players, laughing and smiling wide. and, even from your spot in the bleachers, you can tell he’s handsome. the kind of handsome that people only see in movies.

“who is that?” you point down at the court, turning to yachi. “number eleven, the blonde one.”

“uh.” her brows furrow and she follows your direction. “oh, that’s atsumu miya. he and shoyo are really good friends; they played on MSBY together. bokuto and sakusa, too.”

you don’t ask who sakusa is—you don’t care. you direct your gaze back to the blonde and are surprised to find him seemingly staring right at you. in fact, four or five of them are staring directly at you and yachi.

“yachi!” hinata yells from the court, waving his hands wildly.

you look at her just as red begins to creep up her cheeks. she sends a wave back at them, smiling nervously. it hits you that he’s not staring at you, he’s staring at yachi. disappointment fills your stomach and you shove a handful of popcorn into your mouth.

of course, japan wins. it’s a close call, germany tries their best, but to no avail. the aftermath is crazy—cheers from your side of the arena, groans and complaints from the other side. yachi is losing her mind, screaming at the top of her lungs, shaking you aggressively. you’ve never seen her like this, but, with a laugh, you decide you like it.

she drags you up by your hand, gracefully maneuvering through the crowd of people until you exit into an almost empty hallway. you’re not sure where you are—you’re not sure how yachi knows where you are—but anxiety thrums through your veins.

“uh, yachi? where are we going?” she’s still leading you by your wrist. “are we lost?”

“what?” she glances back at you, laughing. “no, we’re not lost. we’re going to wait outside the locker room.”

you blink a couple times at the back of her head. “w- won’t they have to, like, talk to the press or something? and- and sign stuff? kiss baby’s on the forehead?”

again, she laughs. “yes, they have to talk to the press. we’re going to wait until they’re done and then we’re going out for dinner.” she comes to a stop in front of a door and you nearly bump into her with how abrupt it is. she looks at you and smiles widely. “are you nervous?”

“me, nervous? just because i’m about to meet the entirety of japan’s national volleyball team? of course not!”

“perfect.” she rolls her eyes playfully, ignoring the sarcasm. there’s a pause and then she wiggles her brows at you. “not even nervous to meet atsumu? i saw the way you were ogling him.”

your head doesn’t leave its position, but you look at her out of the side of your eye, glaring. “that’s so not funny,” you say monotonously. “i wasn’t ogling him. what am i, a high schooler?”

she just hums, rocking back and forth on her heels.

after forty-five minutes of small talk and teasing from yachi, the door to the locker room opens and a gaggle of men all rush out, talking loudly to each other. your veins go ice cold, a stark contrast to how sweaty your palms get.

“yacchan!” a large man shouts—bokuto koutarou, you recognize. he rushes to the girl and sweeps her up in a hug, spinning her around. “we got gold, yacchan! did you see my awesome spike at the end? i totally won the game for us!”

he seems to have no volume control, and yachi doesn’t seem to care. “bokuto! yes, i saw! good job, you guys all did so good!” a couple other men walk over, parting from their team. hinata, kageyama, atsumu, a tall brunette man, and a curly-haired man.

you cross your arms over your chest and take a step back, hitting the wall. you want to give them time to visit, time to catch up. she regards them all by their names—suna and sakusa, the two men you didn’t know. they talk for a small moment before yachi turns to you, surprising you when she introduces you.

“this is y/n, she’s my best friend.” when you don’t move, she raises her brows. “say hi, y/n.”

you press your lips together, narrowing your eyes, then turn to the men and bow lightly. “hello. it’s nice to meet you all. you played a very good game.”

without meaning to, you let your gaze drift to atsumu. god. he’s still slightly sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead just a bit. now that you’re closer, you realize that, yeah, he’s hot. he smiles at you, wide and unabashedly, and you look away immediately, choosing to look at yachi again.

“nice to meet you, y/n!” hinata exclaims, pushing through the crowd to approach you. he sticks his hand out to you, presumably for you to shake, and grins. “i’m glad you could come and support us.”

you shake his hand, giving him a small smile. this is so overwhelming. yachi clears her throat, like she can read your mind, and claps her hands together. “all right, who's hungry?”

the restaurant is barren. you later learn that yachi had rented the entire place out, then briefly wonder how much money she makes to be able to afford that.

you’re sitting at the end of the table, yachi on one side, hinata on the other. atsumu is sitting across from you, sparing you quick glances every so often. he’ll look at you, smile, cover his face with a hand, then look away. if you’re being honest, it’s freaking you out.

you pick at the skin around your nails under the table—a habit you’ve never been able to get rid of. yachi leans forward, talking to bokuto, who sits next to atsumu. you haven’t said a single word, too nervous to join the conversation in fear that they’ll think you’re weird.

“so, y/n,” bokuto looks at you. the use of your name scares the crap out of you and your knee jerks up reflexively, hitting the table. he laughs and you feel your face heat up. “where do you work? with yacchan?”

you shake your head. “oh, no. i wouldn’t even know where to begin doing what she does. i barely know how to work photoshop.” it earns a laugh out of a few people and you exhale, feeling your nerves dissipate. “i work at an animal shelter, for now. i’m studying kinesiology at university though. i want to be a physical therapist.”

“no shit?” atsumu chokes out, setting his water down on the table with a clink. he coughs again and wipes the side of his mouth, cheeks getting red. “jesus- i mean, really? the team is looking for a physical therapist.”

“oh, well, i don’t have my degree in anything yet.” you shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh. “and i don’t think i’m quite experienced enough to work for the national team, y’know?”

he hums, putting his chin in his hand and leaning forward. his eyes bore into you, seemingly staring straight into your soul. the energy is so charged, so tense. you’re not sure how you should feel. you turn to yachi for help, but she just laughs quietly and returns her attention to bokuto.

“do you like school?” atsumu’s voice is quiet, barely audible over the chatter of the table. you meet his eyes—his beautiful brown eyes.

you swallow hard and shrug. “it’s okay. a little stressful, but, hey, i can handle it.” you laugh, hoping to calm yourself. “um, what about you? do you- do you like volleyball?”

“yeah,” he laughs, nodding, “it’s alright. i’ve been playing since middle school.”

suddenly, it seems like no one else is at the table with you. atsumu talks to you, his voice low and just raspy enough and—god, you’ve never felt this way when meeting someone for the first time. time flies by quickly, talking about family and high school and anything under the sun. before you know it, it’s 10 o'clock and sakusa is paying for everyone’s dinner. you all walk to the parking lot, talking loudly, as usual, and laughing. you walk next to atsumu, peering up at him as he recalls one of the many pranks he and his twin brother pulled in their childhood.

“—and she didn’t even see it, ran right into it,” he says, barely able to finish his sentence because of how hard he’s laughing. the story isn’t even that funny, but you can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of your throat. “god, we terrorized that poor old woman. we got in so much trouble.”

you laugh again, covering your mouth to try and be quiet, but it fails. he looks at you and, for a moment, it’s quiet again. you arrive at the passenger side of yachi’s car and a pang of disappointment shoots through you. is this it? you talked all night, but is it just going to end here? you look up at him and smile, tight-lipped.

“you’re real funny, y’know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. the rest of the team is clambering into different cars, saying their goodbyes, promising to text yachi more.

you duck your head, smiling. “you’re funny too, atsumu.”

the car beside you rolls down its window, revealing sakusa, stone faced. “atsumu, hurry up. i will leave you here.” the window rolls back up and both of you laugh.

“can i–” he cuts himself off, taking a deep inhale. “god, that makes me sound like a high schooler. can i get your number?”

so that’s not it. he wants to talk to you again. you reach for your pocket, fumbling for your phone, before unlocking it and handing it to him. he punches his number in, then hands it back. “it was really nice talking to you, atsumu,” you say quietly, reaching for the door handle.

he smirks, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “yeah, it was nice talking to you too, y/n. i’ll see you around.”

“see ya.”

megumi's teacher — gojo satoru x reader

tags/warnings: fluff. fem!reader. gojo beefing with an eight year old. 700 words.

ever since megumi started the second grade, it's been (l/n)-sensei this. (l/n)-sensei that.

gojo picks up megumi's favorite ice cream, only to be scolded by the young boy. "(l/n)-sensei's favorite flavor is strawberry, so that's my favorite now!"

gojo tries to help him with his math homework, and it's "(l/n)-sensei did it this way. that means you should too!"

gojo reaches down to tie megumi's shoes for him, before his hand is promptly smacked away. "(l/n)-sensei said big boys tie their own shoes!"

honestly, gojo is starting to feel a little jealous. megumi's known you for what? two months?

he's been raising megumi for the past few years, but does that earn him an ounce of the adoration the young boy seems to have for you?

apparently not, though he perseveres nonetheless.

he and megumi are spending the afternoon out in the city and they stop at a small bakery for lunch.

while megumi is distracted looking at all the sweets behind the glass counter, the bell on the door draws gojo's attention.

his eyes fall upon a pretty young woman. actually, you might just be the prettiest woman he's ever seen.

and of course, a smirk forms on his lips when he catches you looking his way. he's puffing out his chest, running a hand through his hair.

he's always had a certain effect on the ladies, and he's never been more happy about that until this very moment—

"megumi?" you call from a few feet away. the wide smile adorning your face makes you look even more radiant.

while gojo visibly deflates, megumi's head whips around at the speed of light. "(l/n)-sensei!"

oh.

gojo very quickly comes to understand why the boy is so enamored by you.

megumi launches himself at you, while you crouch to meet him with open arms.

"i'm so happy to see you!" he practically sings, clinging to your neck.

you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "i'm happy to see you too, 'gumi."

gojo clears his throat, hoping that megumi will take the chance to introduce you two, but he is completely ignored.

"what are you going to get? i'll buy it for you," he states proudly, despite having zero money of his own.

your gaze shifts to gojo for the first time, and having your attention even just for a brief moment takes his breath away.

"that's very sweet megumi, but that's alright." you ruffle his hair when he pouts at your words, standing back up. "who's this?"

"oh that's just gojo. don't worry about him," he states with a wave of his hand.

the white haired man gawks at him in response. the nerve on that kid! he silently decides megumi will be losing dessert privileges for a week. no, two.

you stifle a giggle before offering your hand to him and introducing yourself as megumi's teacher.

he repeats your name, taking satisfaction in the way it sounds rolling off his tongue.

"that's a pretty name," he compliments, trying to recover from megumi's dismissal. "heard a lot about you. in fact, the kid never shuts up about you."

this earns him a glare from megumi, but gojo is too preoccupied with the shy look that crosses your features to notice.

gojo insists on paying for your order, a show of appreciation for taking such good care of megumi in class. you chat with the pair of them for a little while longer before eventually excusing yourself.

"thank you again, gojo-san. i'll see you on monday, megumi!"

just as you're turning on your heel, gojo calls your name and you look back at him expectantly.

"when, uh," he struggles, scratching the back of his neck. "when do i get to see you?"

nice.

"oh! well, parent-teacher conferences are only a few weeks away! i'll look forward to seeing you then," you answer sweetly, misunderstanding the meaning behind his words.

you bid them goodbye once more and they both watch your figure disappear down the street.

megumi turns to look at gojo smugly. "weeks? that sounds like a really long time—"

"shut it, kid."

hot chocolate

kofi support food project interest form

gojo who accidentally puts up infinity when you overstimulate him.

he doesn’t mean to, its only a natural response to the overwhelming feeling that sends him twitching and yelping to no end. but then your hand is suddenly getting moved away from him by an invisible force, trying to shield him from the pain. and you just stare at him in surprise as he body heaves to catch a breathe.

his cock is a milky shade of white from how much he has cummed on himself, and you can’t help but find it cute and want to abuse it some more. so you glance up at him, pressing your finger as close as you can and purr his name.

it sends the white haired man snapping his head back to you. and even while he trembles and pants, he can see the look in your eyes. and so he gulps and hiccups an apology before focusing just enough to remove infinity.

alas he seems to regret it immediately as a pained cry is let out from when your hand wraps around his swollen, overstimulated tip. but at least he got you to coo at him for being so good.

Whalefall💫🩸

I saw this post and haven't known peace since

baki baki ni ore‼💃🏽 nani wo🤔❓kokoro wo dayoooo😁🤍‼konagona ni kudake🕺 nani wo❓❓🎤🎤