Your Son Is In That Age Where He's Throwing A Lot Of Fits For Not Getting What He Wants, And You Get

where were you when the hq longfic fandom died

STOP I JUST REALIZED I DIDNT PUT THE PHOTO OF MINE i got the mary sue one LMAO FHSJKSKA

bruh i am failing half my classes bc i haven’t turned in sm of my assignments

tagging: @nhixxx-s @23soong @smolmo and anyone else who wants to <3

Y’ALL OK IMMA START A TAG GAME

which y/n are u hehe

PLS I GOT PINING ROMANTIC I FEEL SO ATTACKED COS THIS IS ACCURATE AF I LITERALLY DIDN’T KNOW THESE PPL LIKED ME LMAO AGH SHAMEEEE

tags: @mendesxruel @holden-caulfield @faeinorbit @anchoeritic @lcvemalfcy @slutforsalvatore @fives-cup-of-coffee @hey-there-angels @fjorelaant @gxtitobxby @hellounicorn @samineisntmyname @hellohellook @railmeharrypotter @harrysweasleys @harrysnosebleed @potters-heart @gwlvr @sfdlm @justadreamyhufflepuff @mullthingsoverinthehotwater + anyone else i forgot im sorry im so hyped rn

here y'all go, just a simple fun one this time around! take this quiz and tell me what kind of cat you are! (=^･ω･^=)

Oh no I'm thinking of giving cowboy Kirishima all the babies he wants so we have "little helpers" on our ranch

hockey au sero, who looks so much beefier with all that padding–

he wipes his broken nose on the back of his glove and sheepishly tells you that, yes, he’ll wear his helmet during practice from now on– he’ll wear his helmet ALL of the time

he’s always drinking mass gainers and protein drinks, begging you to go out to dinner with him after practice even though he’s all sweaty and tired, because he’s trying to keep his weight up during the season 

take it easy baby, make it last all night - iwaizumi hajime/f!reader (1.5k) tags: cali!iwa, college!iwa, tit worship, dry humping, mentioned cumming in pants, no actual sex (sorry fellas), bi iwa is canon and if you disagree you're a coward xo!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+

iwaizumi's biggest culture shock when he moves from japan to california for school isn't the different language, the heat, or even the party culture at UCI. 

it's the SKIN.

hajime has never stopped to consider the conservative conventions of his home country at any great length, since it's all he's ever known. but suddenly he's in sunny SoCal, and everywhere he looks he's met with glimpses of exposed skin—of parts of strangers' bodies he never thought he'd see. 

it flusters him at first; never quite sure where to look when he's speaking to a girl in a low-cut crop top, or a guy he meets out on a jog who'd forgone a shirt. but he acclimatizes to it eventually. comes to appreciate it in many ways, too.

take the humble tube top, for instance.

sure he likes bikinis, and mini skirts, and those skimpy skin-tight dresses girls wear on nights out. he likes those tiny running shorts that ride up on the track teams thighs when they go out for runs on campus near the athletics building, muscle tees cut low under the arms that the guys at the gym wear, or those grey-sweatpants whose infamy hajime has come to understand.

but there's something about tube tops that he just adores.

or, at least, something about you wearing one.

he's been watching you quietly for most of the night, flitting around the party like you normally do, nursing your drink in small sips to make it last. your tube top clings snugly to your chest, and fuck he's pretty sure you're not even wearing a bra underneath it. he watches the way your body moves, the way the top moves with it. the way your tits lift and settle again, pretty and soft, each time you subtly adjust the top with a little tug. 

you gravitate towards him in intervals throughout the night, like a moth to a flame.

that's another thing hajime's come to like about america: no one bats an eye at PDA.

you sit comfortably in his lap on the sofa at the house party, playing with his fingers where his hand rests on your thigh. your body is warm. his body is warm. the party's crowded, the little house off campus jammed with students and driving the temperature up, but still he keeps you exactly where you are with his arm looped around your waist.

"hey," you say, peeking back at him over your shoulder after a while of idly tracing your fingertips along his knuckles. "you having fun?"

he is, but probably not for the reasons you think. he couldn't care less about the merriment around him: the happiest he's been all night are the moments where you've drifted back within arm's reach. he nods anyway.

you pout a little, and it surprises him.

"you wanna get outta here?" he asks curiously, picking up on your unvoiced disappointment. your eyes watch his lips as they shape the question, and then flicker back up to his.

"yeah."

the first year hajime spent in california, he lived in a tiny UCI dorm. the second, he moved into a small apartment off campus with some friends he'd met at school. the apartment isn't luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. it's austere; spartanly decorated; and with four college-age boys living in it, it isn't always the tidiest place. but one thing he appreciates about his living arrangement is that on a friday night, the place is usually empty.

not to mention it has a double bed.

hajime has you sprawled across it almost as soon as the two of you stumble through his bedroom door. you laugh a little at his eagerness as you tip back onto the mattress, bouncing lightly atop the padded springs, and then he's crawling in overtop of you, pressing his mouth against yours.

he's greedy as he kisses you, like he's making up for all the times he thought about it while he watched you that night from afar. his hands are just as intrepid, drifting along your body in careful but keen grazes and gropes. everything about you is so soft—it makes his head spin how delicate every part of you he touches feels. the soft swells of your curves, the silkiness of your skin, the little sounds he pulls from you when the presses against the places you like most.

he leans back on his knees, poised between your parted thighs as you lay flat on your back underneath him, and finally—after hours of praising its very existence—hajime tugs down the neckline of your tube top.

your chest spills out as the thin material is drawn away by a single finger looped under the edge as leverage. as your skin, all of your skin, is bared to him, hajime finds himself once again so so pleased with his decision to study abroad. 

god bless america has never rung so true.

"fuck, you're so pretty," hajime groans, cupping a hand around each of your tits and pressing them together. you laugh but it's a breathy sound, more air than anything. his thumbs skim gently against the edges of your nipples, working them into stiff little peaks. after a moment, he dips down and catches one in his mouth, closing his lips around it so his tongue can take up the task.

he continues like this for a while, alternating between each breast, switching from his hands to his mouth as he lavishes your skin with attention and sates the thirst that had built throughout the evening. when he opts to use his hands, his mouth quickly finds its way to somewhere else, keeping itself occupied—your collarbones, your throat, your jaw, your lips. he kisses every inch of you that he can reach, but pays special attention to any little freckle or mark he finds along his way, dragging the tip of his tongue against them like he's savouring the taste of them most.

the two of you have been grinding lazily against each other while he devours you. iwa’s straddling one of your trembling thighs, his knee pressed firmly against the seam of your tiny denim shorts, and his painfully hard cock is pinned against your hip as he holds himself up over you. your tube top is still rucked down around your ribs, and iwa’s own t-shirt had been hastily tugged off over his head at some point during the excitement.

"hajime," you pant, tugging against the short hair at his nape as he suckles a bruise into the top of your left breast. he draws back only enough to meet your eyes, though his are unfocused and heavy-lidded, and his warm breath catches on the wet mark of spit left where his lips had just been attached. you look similarly wrecked: lips swollen and kiss-bruised, your stare glassy, your skin dewy with the flush of perspiration. your lips are still parted after having uttered his name so desperately.

that’s another thing iwa likes about it here. he likes being called by his name.

especially like this.

hajime rocks his hips against your own again, pressing his knee against you a little harder, groaning and he dips down and nips at your skin once more.

“i think i’m gonna cum,” he admits through gritted teeth, half-embarrassed and half-recklessly chasing the high he feels cresting in the pit of his stomach. he’s barely even touched you yet—at least not in any way that counts—but seeing you like this in his bed, tasting you in the way he has been, feeling your body react underneath his own, it’s all just a bit too much.

you could chide him for his clumsy eagerness and he wouldn’t even blame you for it, he feels like a pent-up teenager when he gets like this. but you don’t tease him, or reprimand him. instead, you take his cheeks in your hands and guide his lips back up to yours, letting his tongue slide—hot and wet and indecently noisy—against your own.

“cum then,” you whisper into his mouth, canting your hips up to meet the next roll of his. “wanna feel it, haji.”

and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

iwaizumi moans brokenly, his hips picking up a steadier rhythm as he ruts against you. he’s being greedy, he knows that, but how could he deny you your request when you posed it so sweetly?

but he’ll make you feel good afterwards, just like he always does. unclasping the button at the waist of those tiny shorts, peeling them down with the same reverence he’d paid to your top and turning his rapt attention to what he bares there in just the same way too.

it’s friday night in sunny southern california, after all. and hajime intends to make the most of every minute.

geto being the quiet best friend of gojo alone makes me horny, the fact you’d only ever see him laugh or smile with gojo, the way he’d seduce you in an entirely different way fudhdldnfkkslsksks

I do believe in the power of sitting in your car just a little longer before heading inside, lying upside down on the couch, cloud gazing well into adulthood, taking the time to learn something new, humility, recollecting your dreams, pressing something warm against your belly, small talk w strangers, odes to romance, a lit candle on your countertop while you cook, having a sense of humor about life

pretending to get married to your best friend so you can schedule free cake tasting with shops all over town and slowly falling in love along the way

Hey if you’re ever not busy can you do a Suna fic where he just got his wisdom teeth removed😭I’ve seen it done on so many haikyuu characters but Suna and I think it’s so cute. You also write him the best😓

THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS AND THE ADORABLE PROMPT 😭💖💖💖

—-

The nurse told you that they’d used a strong anesthetic because of how impacted his teeth were, but when it took them quite a few times to finally wake him up, you knew you were in for a ride.

Rintaro always hated the dentist. Always. He blames it on childhood trauma (he didn’t have any. He never brushed his teeth and that was his problem) but up until last night, months after his dentist told him he’d need an extraction as soon as possible, he’d been trying to get out of it.

Deep down, seeing him so relaxed in the chair was a relief. The teeth were out, now he has to heal. Easy enough.

You smile as you make your way over to his slowly waking body, taking his hand gently in yours to be the first thing when he woke up. Kissing the knuckles finally had him stirring, and he blinked those bleary green eyes open at you, you practically saw the hearts forming in them.

“Morning, sunshine,” you coo, moving your free hand over to card the messy locks of hair from his face. “How do you feel?”

He tries to speak, but it comes out as a croaky ‘guhhh’ and from a few feet away, the nurse chuckles.

“He’ll have some nasty cotton mouth- literally- for the next few days, but communication should be normal as he starts to wake up,” she says, snapping the gloves off her hands. Then, she passes you the care directions, “no rush. If you need anything, just press the buzzer.” At this point, Rintaro has taken the liberty of grabbing all the gauze he can to put in his mouth. You assume it’s to absorb all the spittle.

“No, no honey,” you chuckle, gently grabbing his hands and pulling the damp cloth out easily. “Be careful. We can change your gauze when we get home.”

“I ‘ont wonna shange my gods,” he mumbles, resting his hands on yours. “‘Ike my gods.”

“Gauze, baby,” you titter. You lean over to plant some kissed onto his forehead, hoping your affections will ease him back more. “The nurse said you might be woozy when you stand, so let’s take it slow okay?”

“Yesh, bosh,” he slurs out. He blinks his foggy eyes before letting them wander around the room, over the sharp objects and wooden cupboards, all before wandering back to you. They widen before a brow quirks in confusion, "who're you 'gain?"

"Me?" You snicker. "I'm the one who's gonna keep you alive for the next few days. Your parents are away, so you're stuck with me." You turn your head slightly, "though that may be the other way around."

"Keep me 'live?" Now, he gives you a small, messy smirk. "'re too schexy to keep me 'live."

"Are you hitting on me?"

He doesn't answer you. Instead, he lets out a small string of laughter, head rolling around his neck in haze. You snort before opting to move him up and out of the room, "come on Romeo. Before you pass out on me."

"nuh-uh," he argues. You, however, choose to ignore him.

It's hard to pay attention when there's a pile of 185 centimeter man on your right shoulder, saying goodbye to every hygienist, dentist, secretary, patron, and flower on the sidewalk on the way to the car. There's a slurp from the spittle in his mouth that rings in your ear and makes you want to gag, but you chose to count some of your blessings.

He's at least mobile- unlike the horror stories you've heard about Osamu falling asleep in the seat while Atsumu wailed about the bandaid on his arm.

Finally, you and your oaf are able to make it to the car, his eyes closed in an attempt to sleep, and you jostle him awake slightly.

"I need you to work with me just a bit longer, okay?"

"When'd we get ousside?" He slurs.

"Not long after you said goodbye to the flowers," you say, rolling your eyes. "Watch your head, babe."

He ducks under your guiding palm, but you're not fast enough before he bumps the crown of his head against the door frame, mumbling a soft "ow" before moving on. It takes everything in your power to not laugh at his poor expense.

"It's because you've got such a big melon head, booger," you tease, and he smiles softly.

"'Ike mewons."

"I know baby."

You buckle him in before closing the door. You give yourself a stretch before heading to the driver's side.

You hadn't had him out of your sight for 25 seconds before you open the door and see him with your chapstick, completely rolled up and making a move towards his mouth.

He's either eating it, or trying to apply it.

Neither sounds like a good idea.

“Rintaro!” You scold, reaching for the chapstick. “You can’t eat that! You’ll get sick!”

“You’re th'ick,” he grumbles, but he does release his hold on your chapstick. His head thunks back against the headrest, letting you buckle while he says one more round of goodbyes to the flowers.

"Gonna nap," he murmurs, and you chose not to fight him on it. "Don't pick mah nothe."

"Why the hell would I do that?" You ask, laughing as you start the car.

He doesn't answer you. He's too busy letting his jaw slack open and let out the wheeziest of snores. You put your hand on his thigh and squeeze lovingly, allowing the hum of the engine and warmth from the sun lull him to sleep.

He's out, he's comfortable, and you can't wait to tell him about how, even drugged out of his mind, he still tried to put the moves on you.

You'll have to leave out the head smacking, though. Let him blame himself for that bruising.