loverryxx

[loverryxx]

How to survive Akaashi Keiji

Synopsis:

Every Thursday and Saturday at five pm, Keiji Akaashi occupies the same café seat, orders the same black coffee, and reads the most absurd books you’ve ever seen. You, the barista who definitely doesn’t memorize his routine (or his sharp jawline, or his perfect hair, or-), are determined to crack his stoic shell.

Cw: gn!reader, Akaashi is canonically weird (and a nerd), coffee shop au, fluff, meet-cute, neither of them knows how to flirt.

Wc: 1.5k

Not beta read!

A/n: this took me quite some time because I really wanted to capture Akaashi's personality properly. Not sure if I managed to or not lol but I really hope I did a decent job.

Btw all the book mentioned are actually real! I put hyperlinks in case anyone wanted to check them out.

The fourth seat to the left, just by the window. That was his spot.

Every Thursday and Saturday at five PM, like clockwork, he would walk through the café doors— Tall, composed, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on that same corner table. The one bathed in golden afternoon light, where the hum of the coffee machine was just distant enough to not be distracting.

Not that you kept track or anything haha.

You also totally didn’t peek at his ID card that one time it slipped out of his wallet when he was paying. Nope. You just… happened to hear someone say his name.

Akaashi Keiji.

You repeated the name in your head as if it might unlock some deeper understanding of the mysterious man.

He looked like something out of a film. And his hair—god, his hair was always perfect, dark and slightly tousled. His eyes, sharp and observant. His thick eyebrows, his soft, kissable lips—

Ahem.

Anyway.

Akaashi always had the same routine: black coffee, no sugar, and, if he was feeling indulgent, a chocolate muffin. You’d memorized his order by the third visit.

Today was no different. The warm glow of sunset spilled through the glass, catching the sharp lines of his face as he turned a page in his book. You’d been trying to get a look at this week’s read, but he had a habit of angling the cover just out of view. Today, however, luck was on your side. As you set down his coffee, you caught a glimpse of the cover:

"How to Survive a Garden Gnome Attack: Defend Yourself When the Lawn Warriors Strike (and They Will)."

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Well. You loved an educated man. Even if the said education was… questionable.

Then, against your better judgment, let out a tiny snort.

Akaashi’s eyes flicked up— very aware of your reaction.

“Problem?” he asked, voice smooth but edged with amusement.

“Nope,” you said, a little too fast. “Not at all. Just, uh… interesting reading material.”

One brow arched. “You’d be surprised how often gnome-related violence goes unreported.”

Was he… was he joking? You couldn’t tell. His expression gave nothing away, but there was something in the way his lips twitched, just slightly, that made you unsure.

“Right,” you said, nodding solemnly. “I’ll keep an eye out for any suspicious lawn ornaments.”

A beat of silence. Then Akaashi’s mouth curved into a small, real smile.

“Good,” he said, lifting his coffee. “Survival starts with vigilance.”

That damn smile didn’t leave your mind for another two weeks.

The next Thursday, Akaashi’s book was different.

Not The Zombie Survival Guide. Not How to Identify Alien Shapeshifters. No, today’s choice was somehow worse:

"How to Fight Presidents: Defending Yourself Against the Badasses Who Ran This Country."

You nearly dropped his coffee.

“Really?” you said, sliding the cup toward him with deliberate slowness. “So, what’s the plan? World domination, or…?”

Akaashi didn’t look up. “Andrew Jackson once beat his would-be assassin with a cane. After being shot in the chest.”

You stared. “That’s… horrifying.”

“Also motivational.” He finally met your eyes, his expression unreadable. “Unlike William Howard Taft.”

“The one who got stuck in his bathtub?”

Something sparked in his gaze—recognition, delight—as if you’d just spoken a secret password.

“Exactly.”

On Saturday the book was still there—How to Fight Presidents—but today, something was different.

Akaashi wasn’t reading it.

Instead, he was watching you, chin propped on one hand, as you fumbled with the espresso machine. Like he was studying you instead of the page.

You nearly burned yourself.

“Uh.” You wiped your hands on your apron, suddenly self-conscious. “Did you… need a refill?”

“No?” he said blankly, like your question didn’t make sense.

“RIght, uh, okay.” You swallowed and tried to get back to work.

Two weeks later, you slid a loyalty card across the table with his usual order.

Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“You’re officially our most consistent customer,” you said. “Ten stamps, and the next coffee’s free.”

He examined the card, then you. “You’ve been keeping count?”

“The café has been keeping count,” you corrected, cheeks warming. “Corporate policy. Very serious stuff.”

Akaashi hummed, amused, slipping the card into his book as a makeshift bookmark. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep coming back.”

The shift was gradual. At first, your conversations with Akaashi were brief—comments about the weather, the coffee, or the concerning piece of literature he chose for that week. But over time, they stretched.

Five minutes became ten. Ten became your entire fifteen-minute break spent perched on the chair across from him, sipping your own coffee as he explained the linguistic shift of the crying emoji.

And—most surprisingly—he listened when you talked. Really listened. Like when you ranted about your literature professor’s vendetta against happy endings, and the next week, he slid a marked-up copy of Jane Eyre across the table.

He seemed to soften up a bit too. Or maybe you just started to understand him more.

The micro-squint when he was amused but refusing to smile. Or the way his thumb tapped the edge of his book when he was deciding whether to say something.The rare, devastating half-laugh—more a sharp exhale through the nose—that made your pulse stutter.

So now you spend your break Googling “advanced latte art” and attempt a swan after Akaashi asked you to ‘surprise’ him with coffee this time.

When you set it in front of him, Akaashi studies it for a long, silent moment.

“…Is that a…pigeon?”

“It’s abstract,” you mutter.

He takes a sip. Pauses. Takes another. Your stomach knots.

“Well?” you prompt.

“The coffee is excellent.” He sets the cup down. “The art is a crime.”

You groan, but he’s already reaching into his bag. He slides another book toward you: Latte Art Techniques for Beginners.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, but you’re already flipping through it. “And a nerd.” you added.

“I’ll return it when I’m done,” you mumble, fighting a smile.

Akaashi nods. “See that you do. I’ll quiz you.”

“What.”

Akaashi’s routine never wavers, he always came at the exact same time on the exact same day.

It was a rainy Saturday, half past five. His seat was empty

You tell yourself it’s fine. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe it’s because of the weather..

Maybe he got tired of this.

You wipe down the counter for the third time, glancing at the clock. 5:45 PM. The rain drums harder against the windows.

Finally the door opens and you let out a small sigh of relief.

There he is. Hair damp. Jacket soaked. No umbrella. Gorgeous as ever.

“You’re late,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Akaashi runs his hand through his wet hair with a sigh. “I was fighting presidents..”

You stare.

He stares back.

“So…Traffic.” you assume.

He grins and pushes his fogged-up glasses up the bridge of his nose with his finger. “Yep.”

He doesn’t go to his usual seat. Instead, he lingers at the counter, watching as you make his coffee.

“You noticed,” he says, in an almost teasing tone.

"Hm?" You pretend to focus very hard on the steam wand.

"That I was late."

"Sorry, can't hear you!" you say loudly, gesturing to the grinder. "Wow, this thing sure is loud today, huh? Haha!"

Akaashi doesn’t respond, he just watches you, amused, as you slide his coffee across the counter.

Your fingers brush, just barely, and your stomach does that stupid flip again.

His grip lingers for half a second longer than necessary and you can’t stop smiling for the rest of your shift.

When he finally fills the loyalty card, you hand him his free coffee—except you’ve swapped his usual black coffee for a mocha.

Akaashi eyes it with hesitance.

“You’ve been branching out in your reading,” you eye the “Why Cats Paint: A Theory of Feline Aesthetics” book peeking out of his bag, “so, branch out in your taste too.”

He takes a sip. And another. “...Acceptable.”

You chuckle. “High praise.”

Akaashi sets the cup down and pushes the full loyalty card back toward you.

“Start a new one,” he says.

“That’ll take another ten visits.”

“I know.” He holds your gaze, deliberate. “I’ll be here.”

And as you take the filled out card from him you notice scrawled on the back in neat, unfussy handwriting:

A phone number.

You bite your lip, but the grin breaks through anyway. When you look up, Akaashi's watching you over the rim of his mocha, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Reblogs and comments are appreciated though!

Deviders are by @/thecutestgrotto

[loverryxx]

🏐 — love of the game !

tooru oikawa x f!reader social media au

SUMMARY — being tobio kageyama's twin, it was no surprise that you were one of the karasuno managers. yet even after seeing team after team, there was only one player that caught your eye. the problem? he plays for the rival team, not to mention the deep history between him and your brother.

status: ongoing | taglist: open

genres: social media au, (american) college au, modern au, strangers to friends to enemies to lovers (itll get really complicated tbh), angst, fluff, crack, etc

warnings: swearing, kys jokes, maybe ooc oikawa in “court swap” portion. will update as story progresses

playlist: [wip] love of the game. (feel free to suggest songs to add !)

additional notes:

concept inspired by @aestherin’s keep my heart, would highly recommend reading it if you’re into genshin impact

i couldn’t come up w actual names for colleges so i just reused the high school names

the college system reflect the usa college system, though majority of the cast (except [name]) will still be referred to by their last names for consistency (and all characters are 18+)

not completely new to writing smau’s, though it’s been a while. unsure if updates will be consistent.

time stamp DO NOT matter unless stated

dividers courtesy of @cafekitsune

written chapters (if any) will be denoted with a ☆

warm up & introductions . . .

passers + barely passing | seijoh more like say joe mama

set one !

1st point: stfu kageyama

2nd point: barbecue dinner

3rd point: late night practicing ☆

4th point: make it up

5th point: study date with gojo

6th point: in my guest room? ☆

7th point: seijoh girl for today

8th point: immovable kageyama vs. unstoppable [name]

9th point: monday rest day

10th point: understand ☆

11th point: managers secret

12th point: game of truth

court swap

set two !

taglist (open) (18/50?) | @sophiahearttss @s6rine @l0ckedtomb @mey-archive @idexmids @jadebat7 @katemira @linaaeatsfamilies @ajtheidk @corvid007 @sevriizy @rabbitcola @roses4lex @wiggly-yrath @woncloudie @katarinaablu @depressinglyobsessed @yueriasblog

send ask/comment to be added to taglist! if you don’t see yourself added after 2 updates, send an ask!!

[loverryxx]

[loverryxx]

infrunami — oikawa tooru !

tags. fem reader, best friends (i have a problem), idiots in loveeee who miss each other sm and decide to kiss like bro…, wc 2.1k

you might just have the worst best friend in the world.

all tooru has ever done is prove to you how terrible of a flake he can be, skipping hangouts for practice and cram nights for dates. lately, your chat has become a minefield of “sorry, can we raincheck?” texts, often sent when you’re ten minutes deep into waiting for him.

and yet. here he is, standing by your gate with a sheepish smile, hair messy and free of gel. his glasses sit a little crooked on his face, like he’d forgotten them until the very last minute.

you have half the mind to shut the curtains and pretend he didn’t buzz in, rambling about making everything up to you and becoming a better best friend—but don’t tell iwa that, he’s gonna get jealous.

but it’s too late. tooru has spotted you, brown eyes lighting up like he’s seen the sun for the first time, and he’s grinning. like he knows you’ll unlock the gate and open the door for him—it’s just a matter of when.

your heart shouldn’t flip. it does anyway, tumbling behind your ribs like a lovesick washing machine.

you hate him. hate his stupid face, stupid hair, stupid grin and stupid dimples. hate the way he pushes up his glasses.

you especially hate the way that makes you feel. like you want to punch and kiss him at the same time, which leads your stream of consciousness to the thought of his glasses pushing up against your face if you ever kissed.

would they fog up? god, would he do that thing, rip off the frames and go in hungrier?

“hello?” tooru calls from the gate. it’s muffled by distance and the window, but it’s him all the same.

the guy you’ve missed for the majority of high school. the guy who only ever shows up every blue moon, assuming ushitoshi or whatever his name is doesn’t mess things up.

“i promise i won’t bail!” he yells again. flaps his arms and turns out his pockets for show. “i only have my phone, for emergencies!”

you jam the button meant to unlock the gate. you hope you don’t regret this, you think as you open the door.

tooru’s already on the other side, smiling with something fond blooming in the corners of his eyes.

says a soft, “hi,” and you have to pretend that you don’t notice the way his adam’s apple bobs.

“hey,” you say, taking him in.

soft sleep shirt, the bright alien one with a hole in the side and a fraying collar. sweatpants, from the aoba johsai team kit. he looks good: taller than the last time you saw him, and bigger too.

the shirt clings to his shoulders, broad enough to know that tooru would sooner be scouted for modeling than beating his impossible dreams. it’s kind of wrong, how he doesn’t even seem to know how much he’s changed. like a secret he hadn’t meant to keep from you.

tooru closes the door behind him with a gentle kick, the lock clicking back into place.

he stares, and you hold it, challenging. silent questions pass in your head, mostly about who the hell had their hands in his hair, because it’s too messy to be casual.

and then—

“race you upstairs.”

that bastard. catching you off guard like that, it’s cheating.

you sprint after him, bounding up the stairs while he takes two at a time with his freakishly long legs.

“oikawa, when i catch you—”

“if,” he singsongs, already in your room. when you burst in, he’s already sliding a dvd into the player, grinning wide. then he turns to you, pouting. “what happened to tooru? tooru, i’ll kill ya! tooru, i missed you!”

he says it in a pitched voice that definitely isn’t yours. and he has the gall to still laugh to himself as he clicks through the movie intro—one that he chose by cheating.

“well, that’s what happens when i don’t see you for a week, stupid,” you grumble, throwing yourself onto your bed. “and you’re a cheater.”

tooru gasps, half offended, half dramatic. “you were just slow.”

he pads over, settling in while you still lay messily tangled with the blanket. he tugs on it, jerking your body. “come on, i said i’ll make it up to you.”

“by making me watch a scary alien movie, or what?”

the opening scene plays, and you realize that no, you aren’t watching one of those scary movies your best friend chooses to piss you off. instead, it’s a sappy romance drama, one you’ve cried your eyes out to a million times.

“i’m not that mean,” tooru says, patting the space beside him. “plus, i meant it when i said i missed you.”

you give in, crawling to curl against his side.

and some things really don’t change. he still smells like the cologne you and iwaizumi picked out last christmas, the one iwaizumi said would wow his fangirls and grinned smugly when you got annoyed at the notion.

you had hugged tooru once after that, and that cologne lingered for days on your sweater. made you feel like one of his fangirls, hiding it until the smell had disappeared.

“hey,” tooru whispers. he’s close enough for his lips to be brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. barely five minutes into the movie, and he's already bugging you. “so, shikumi from class two wanted me to pass his number to you.”

“who the hell is that?”

tooru laughs softly, slings an arm around you to pull you closer. he’s warm through the thin shirt, and you swear you can feel his abs against your side.

“told him you’d say that.”

you do know shikumi, though. he’s the kind of jerk who thinks that if he looked like tooru, handsome and all that, he’d get all the girls.

not true. tooru gets girls ‘cause he’s cute, sure, but they like him for his kindness and dedication to volleyball. it cancels out the less-than-swell parts of him, like the fact that he’s annoying and has a girl best friend.

alright, the girl best friend part isn’t completely ignored. in fact, people try going through you to get tooru’s number. and each time, you revel in the knowledge that every girl in the school wishes they could be you.

tooru runs a hand through his hair, puffing. now that you notice it, he’s been playing with his hair for a while, fixing it this way and that.

“i just,” he pauses, thinking of what to say. the movie is long forgotten, probably because you’ve seen it so many times. “i wish there was a way to keep our fans away.”

“our? i didn’t know you were including my singular suitor, mr. worldwide handsome,” you laugh, pushing up to look down at him.

tooru stares up at you, something hesitant swirling behind his glasses. he’s so pretty like this, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. like he’s waiting to see who makes the first move.

“i mean, having fans is fun and all, but sometimes they get in the way,” he sighs out. his hand trails up to your wrist, squeezing lightly. a reminder that this is real. “and i know shikumi, he’s relentless.”

“so what are saying?”

“we…could hold hands at school…and not have to deal with it.”

you frown, glancing at the movie out of the corner of your eye. this exact scene is playing out between the love interests, except at a library where they’re five feet apart.

not like the two of you, pressed flush together and sharing a bed. as friends, obviously.

you laugh, half in disbelief, and jab your thumb at the screen. “dude, acting should be your second choice.”

tooru laughs with you, a little too wide, too many teeth. “yeah, i was kidding. now shut up and watch with me.”

you settle back down, closer now. chest to his side, arms wrapped around each other. you put your hand on his sternum, feeling the way his heart works at a hundred meters an hour, ignoring the way it matches yours.

he goes another ten minutes—a world record, at this point—before speaking again.

"hey," he says again. by your ear as always, glasses making a little ticking sound when he pushes them up. in this otherwise silent room, it's like an explosion. "it was a good idea, right?"

you shift your head, looking up at him. the movie plays in the reflection of his specs, bright colors of romance and high school plastered over the planes of his face.

pretty, you think, and then you push that thought down.

"i dunno," you say, frowning. "you want to—what, be my fake boyfriend?"

"yeah."

and it's stupid, how his immediate response makes your stomach flip. like he's eager to do it, pretend that you're more than friends.

tooru fixes himself, brushing his hair away from his forehead nervously. "i mean—just—i don't want slimeballs like shikumi going after you, okay?"

"and i'm not supposed to want crazy fangirls taking you away too?" you respond, dry.

he raises his brows, looking at you pointedly. "why do you think we haven't had a movie night in a month? and don't answer with another question."

that's a good point. it's become all too regular for you to join the going home club because tooru's fans keep him in the gym hours after practice has ended. iwaizumi complains to you over text on the sidelines, talking about how his knees hurt from standing and waiting for your mutual best friend to finish up.

instead of answering, you intertwine your fingers together. his palm is rough from years of dream-chasing. the touch sets something off in your chest, scorching your ribs.

you hope he can't hear your heartbeat. hope he doesn't know that your brain is on the edge of bull-wild, thoughts about having him all to yourself wrecking havoc on your body.

"is this fake enough for you?" you murmur, just to have something to fill the silence with.

your eyes flick up.

tooru looks at you with something cracked wide-open in his eyes, vulnerable. he bites the inside of his cheek, humored, inadvertently making the dimple he has dip into his cheek.

you decide at that moment to hate his dimples. it's just there to taunt you, like one of those stupid kids who throw rocks and then say 'come and get me!'

"i told you not to answer with a question," he says, quieter than you. the sound of his voice, low and bordering on raspy, stirs heat in your stomach. your fingers twitch against his.

then tooru is yanking off his glasses with a pin-drop click, cupping your face with his free hand, and you're—

kissing.

it's textbook and chaste, like those first kisses on tv. a brush of lips for two seconds, and it still makes your pulse rocket to a dangerous high.

he's everything you've ever wanted, you realize, and none of this is real.

tooru pulls away, having the gall to look shy. you aren't—yearning, when you pitch forward to reciprocate. you swear that you aren't chasing. just getting a little revenge, right?

he meets you in the middle, tilting his head to let you in, and this time things move faster, a little hungrier. mouths sliding together like it's the most natural thing in the world, like you've been made to kiss each other.

sweetly, tooru runs his thumb along the crest of your cheek, shifts so that he's leaning over you. and then it's your turn to pull away, breathing hard and blinking up at him.

you feel like a deer in the headlights, frozen and trying not to look at the smooth, hard outline of his upper arm propped beside your head.

"uh," you say. sage words for someone who's just been kissed stupid.

"uhhh," tooru teases, softening the moment with a smile. your heart hurts a little, knowing that you can't go back.

he pulls you close by your still-twined hands, and whispers into your ear, "was that real enough for you?"

the movie is still playing, volume turned all the way down. you don't remember tooru having done that, but you suppose that you don't know a lot of things about your fake boyfriend.

like how he's a damn good kisser, and how pretty he is without his glasses. you feel like a changed person looking at him from a whole new perspective.

you swallow, mouth suddenly a desert devoid of moisture. your tongue feels like cardboard, still tingling. "though we weren't asking questions."

tooru laughs. "got me there."

—

notes. title from steve lacy. ive been stuck on the concept of situationship final boss and oikawa is just perf for that ykkk

if u enjoyed and have time, please reblog or comment!! i love love feedback and i promise i will think about u forever ᢉ𐭩

[loverryxx]

blood on women is sexy if it’s someone else’s. blood on men is sexy if it’s theirs. hope this helps.

[loverryxx]

i'm rewatching mha and just remembered how clinically insane dabi is. what do you mean he burns people alive, commits arson, participates in terrorism and kidnaps people 😞 he's literally just my baby boy leave him alone

[loverryxx]

suna rintaro who responds with "that's crazy, i was thriving." when you tell him you miss him.

suna rintaro who leans close whilst you're talking, enough to fluster you and have your breath hitch, pretending like his hand isn't resting high on your thigh. he blinks passively, "what? i'm listening. keep on going."

suna rintaro who stares with the coldest look in his eyes when somebody throws shade at you, his voice sounding bored but you know him, know the sharpness in his tone, the concealed annoyance at somebody insulting you. though, once he shames that person away, he turns to you and directs that look at you, "anyway, you still suck. don't think you're hot shit now."

he keeps you close to him the rest of the evening, hand curled against your waist.

suna rintaro who pretends to break up with you over every little thing. the amount of times he slowly stands up when you steal his food?

"it's been a good run. i'll always remember you. kind of," only to snicker when you tug him back from his sleeves, allowing you to whine in his ear about how he's so mean as his hands settle on your neck, thumbs pressing down on your mouth. when he pulls your lower lip down to inspect your teeth, the quick peek of your tongue has his dick stirring.

he thinks he might just make you swallow his spit like that.

suna rintaro who doesn't like to leave hickeys where people can see them. he likes to do them on places that you'll feel, that are meant just for him — low on your ribs, behind your knees, near your hip bones.

suna rintaro who has his hands underneath your waistband, fucking in and out of you slowly, thumb ever-present on your swollen nub only to murmur, "you're shaking already? that's cute, baby. i haven't even done anything yet," sounding so composed, loves having you open wide and dripping wet on his lap, playing with you for his sake, "you sound so sweet when you're desperate, can't even think straight."

suna rintaro who withholds his touch until you've satisfied his ego, who makes you ask, not just once but over and over until your voice is shaking and your pride is beside his feet on the floor, "say please. again. again. hmm, yeah, one more time. that's not how you beg, baby. try again. prettier this time."

suna rintaro who replays your voice audios, breathy, wrecked, stuttering and moaning his name, at the most random of times; who loves to watch you grow embarrassed, who imitates you because putting you on the spot like that has his pants grow tight.

who enjoys recreating it even more, pushing your face into the bed sheets, who has you choke on your spit, "you're so loud. you want the whole building to know how much of a slut you are? how good i fuck you? nuh-uh, don't hide your face, let me see it."

suna rintaro, everybody.

TAGLIST | @sodaneko ; @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ; @sugacor3 ; @boktuoafterdark ; @reignpage (just gonna drag you along on this suna brainrot, don't mind meee)

[loverryxx]

[loverryxx]

umm… ew??

[loverryxx]

[loverryxx]

Day 74

[loverryxx]

The derry girls would’ve killed pennywise with hammers I’ll tell you that much

[loverryxx]

NOT EVEN DEATH FT. ATSUMU MIYA

I don’t like to gossip — but a little birdie told me the best man is head over heels for the maid of honor.

eventual smut! minors do not interact with nsfw chapters. indulging: smau with loads of written content, best friends to lovers, f!reader with she pronouns, matchmaking, grief, angst, drama, check individual chapter warnings before reading.

taglist is open! comment on this post to be tagged (5/50)

MAIN STORY

listen while you read: series playlist / atsumu on aux

chapter zero — meet the cast.

dude, we’re getting the band back together!

chapter one — bonnie and clyde.

bachelorette parties, gender reveals. are we allowed to have strippers at both or would that be entirely wrong?

chapter two — mrs. iwaizumi.

after one too many emotional toasts and one too many champagne flutes at kiyoko’s wedding, you decide to play matchmaker. (written part included)

chapter three — quid pro quo.

grief is complicated. so is talking about it with your ex.

more loading…

SIDE STORIES

osamu miya — title pending 18+

you didn’t mean to babytrap your friend with benefits. but he doesn’t seem to mind? in fact, he seems more than keen on the situation at hand. or should I say, fingers.. (wc tba)

tba…

consider reblogging, commenting, or sending an ask if you enjoyed. thank you for reading not even death ! ❤︎ do not copy, edit, repost, or translate, any of my content on any platforms.

GUESTLIST

if your username is in green, please head to your settings -> general settings -> mentions, and enable them for your blog. otherwise, you will be removed from the taglist.

@pmgranate @silkloom @reidsworld @scoutings @nightcityaliens

[loverryxx]

Finding a fresh new daydreaming plot is honestly the best feeling.

[loverryxx]

river covered with cherry petals, japan 🌸

[loverryxx]

oh the thoughts I have

you and sae break up and you call oliver asking him to help you make sae jealous. oliver breaks it to sae mid-pass on the field that he’s fucking his girl

[loverryxx]

every woman thinks she's evil and irredeemable for making a few avoidable mistakes while every man goes about his day thinking he's normal after having emotionally tortured at least 5 different women