#holy shit i forgot abt that this time

[ultimateluckystudent-writes]

Melting, Burning, What's the Difference?

You and Hajime have realized Nagito's not going to seduce himself. At least, not with that attitude. It's time for some drastic measures: eating ice cream on the beach. It sounds less convincing out loud.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.6k

Tags: Hajime Hinata/Reader/Nagito Komaeda, PWP, Fluffy Romantic Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Beach Sex, Island Mode!AU, Polyamorous Relationships, Established Relationships, Slight Body Worship, Temperature Play, Food Play (Popsicles), Gratuitous... Licking, Gender Neutral Reader, Second Person POV, No Other Pronouns Used for Reader

READ ON AO3

A/N: The only way to pamper Nagito is to take him by surprise *gun emoji*

If anyone really wanted to know, the best thing that had happened to Nagito during the entire course of their school-sponsored, stress-free, summer vacation on a private island was his popsicle melting onto him.

Despite that, at the moment, he thought he was going to faint from heat exhaustion. It had happened before and it had felt remarkably similar. The only working part of his brain wondered if Hajime could feel his racing, pounding heartbeat as he licked up the trails of the sugary dessert from his chest.

“What a mess...” You giggled softly in his ear. He was leaning far enough back against you that you could rest your chin on his shoulder. The slow, cool breeze on the shoreline of the second island’s beach blew his hair back and it tickled your face and chest. If your hands weren’t occupied, you would have tucked it around his ear. As it stood, they were each busy with their own important task. One held his upper arm, rubbing the bare skin with your thumb idly. On its own, it might have been a comforting gesture, but the way you were arranged had Nagito’s hands pinned behind his back, trapped between the two of you. The other held the remnants of the blue raspberry popsicle he had been eating, holding it so it dripped onto the sand. “I told you you should have taken napkins if you were gonna eat that, didn’t I? You’ll have to thank Hajime for helping you clean up.” When he didn’t answer, you nudged him slightly, teasingly. “Nagito?”

“Wh- uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

Hajime’s bright, intense gaze moved up from Nagito’s chest to his eyes. You felt the subtle tensing of his muscles, the hitch in his breath. Hajime broke from the path with his own chuckle. He had noticed it, too.

“Oh no.” Hajime gave a great sigh and sat back. Nagito shook his head and moved to sit back up, clearly reeling from what had just happened. Or at least, he tried to. You didn’t release him. In fact, your legs came up and slid around his waist from behind, keeping him further in place. He turned slightly, his wide eyes flickering between you and Hajime quickly.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. You didn’t particularly aim the question at either of them, honestly, or perhaps you had meant it for both. Regardless, only one was in a state of mind to answer.

“Now it’s dripping all over the beach.” He didn’t bother containing his efforts to bait the two of you. The grin on his face was as wide as yours, even though Nagito could see him. He nodded his head towards the popsicle, where sure enough, it was beginning to melt down your hand and onto the sand. “I wonder if this counts as littering?”

“Well, we can’t take the risk, can we?” You moved your hand at once from off to the side of your beach towel to over Nagito’s chest, right in front of his face. Nagito let out a small, surprised noise as the cold, bright blue drops began to drip onto his chest at once. “Hurry, Nagito-kun.” The coo in your voice had an edge, which surely only felt more intense to him with the way your eyes watched his every move. “Lick it up.”

The only hesitation in him at all was the second he let out a quiet, but no less desperate, moan. Then he immediately obliged, his tongue meeting the bottom of the ice, flicking against the tips of your fingers in the process. In a slow, indulgent movement, he licked to the very tip of it.

It was now your turns to be stunned. You both unconsciously leaned forward in your spots to witness it even better. You craned your neck and back to watch his work. You were rewarded with him continuing without any prompting. It was only a matter of time before his confusion wore off and his lovely obedience and clear attraction to the two of you kicked in, but neither of you had expected it to be this quick.

He wasted no time being coy with it. You two had that one covered. Instead, he began to swirl his tongue around the tip of his treat when he reached the top. He let out small, breathy laughs and moans, though muffled by his own actions, clearly drinking in the reactions he was getting just as much. Hajime was the first to break.

“Fuck.” His hand reached out to grab Nagito by the chin suddenly, but he was met with no resistance. His mouth still hung open, waiting and ready for you. “You’re not doing it fast enough.” He was trying to keep up the facade, but his throaty voice shook around the words. “Still getting it all over.”

“You’re right.” Nagito tried to nod his head, forgetting about the hand keeping it still. “I’ll try something different.” He didn’t need any more encouragement before taking it into his mouth instead of just licking. His continued unadulterated eagerness was beginning to make a not-unpleasant burning feeling inside of you flare up hot enough to rival the summer sun. Slowly but surely, he worked it further and deeper into his mouth, moving his head back and forth across it hypnotically. He made no effort to quiet the sucking noises he was making. Now, a mixture of it and his spit dripped down his chin, but you weren’t going to say anything, and from the way Hajime’s mouth hung open slightly as he watched, you had a feeling he wouldn’t either.

You began to move the popsicle in and out of Nagito’s mouth for him. His own pace slowed bit by bit until he came to a stop, and you were the one pushing it in and out of his lips. Despite the reality of the situation, the complexities of the relationships between the three of you, how you had even gotten here in this position, everything felt so simple as you moved it further and further into his throat- slowly, carefully. Regardless of the fact that it was only possible due to a decent portion of the ice melting or already being eaten, the sight of his lips wrapping around the bottom of it made you two visibly react. Hajime’s hands came up to rub at Nagito’s pale waist and torso almost greedily. 

This drew your attention to Nagito’s blue trunks, sitting low on his hips. His prominent bones were visible over the top of them. Hajime’s tan torso and chest blocked the rest of his bottom half from view, but that wasn’t an unpleasant sight at all. Hajime was sweating from the heat, droplets running down him in almost a matching fashion to Nagito. His own broad, slightly toned chest worked in contrast to Nagito’s pale, thin one. The image of them, in front of a sparkling ocean nonetheless, was one of the most gorgeous landscapes you’d ever seen.

If the popsicle hadn’t fallen apart, the three of you might have been there forever. However, the last chunk of ice broke off and slipped down Nagito’s torso. It didn’t stop at his chest like the rest of the sticky mess, though, and slid right down to his crotch. He hissed at the feeling.

“Ha, it matches your swimsuit,” You teased, picking it up in an unhurried motion. You deliberately traced the skin right above his waistband slowly with the ice and your fingertips. He squirmed against you, shivering from the feeling for multiple reasons. You could see the muscle underneath tighten and flex from the sensation. “You look so good in blue, Nagito.” You dragged it up and over his stomach to his chest, going over his right nipple as you did so. The cute pink bud hardened with the cold. Nagito whimpered, still showing no signs of unease or distaste. You traced a large heart onto his skin playfully, over both nipples this time, laughing as Nagito shook and shuddered.

“Give me that, before you do any more damage.” Hajime’s voice was fond despite his chastisement. He opened his waiting mouth and closed his eyes. You slid the small piece of ice over his lips along with your fingers. He accepted both readily as you dragged out the action of removing your hand, taking your time with the soft, hot sensation until the ice was completely gone. 

Still slick from Hajime’s mouth, you brought your fingers around to circle one of Nagito’s nipples once more. He’d gone from quietly choking out noises to moaning now, pushing his chest up for you to alternate rubbing, pinching, and tugging each one.

“Look, he’s almost as sensitive as you!” You smirked at Hajime. As always, he found a way to manage shame even in this situation.

“Hey! Shut up!” He exclaimed, his hand coming up as if to cover his large chest. Even Nagito laughed a bit.

“That explains the fixation on my chest from you. Does Hajime not let you touch his like this?”

Now it was your turn to squeak out a protest as Hajime laughed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You gave one last particularly rough squeeze before your hands tugged at the strings of his swimsuit. “This is all dirty now. Hajime, won’t you help me take them off of him?”

There was a small but heavy pause as Hajime didn’t react or move at all. You hadn’t really expected him to, even. Instead, both of you took the chance to watch Nagito carefully once more. He nodded. It was small like he was terrified to break the silence with anything, though it had been left for him. When he was certain of Nagito’s answer, Hajime smiled once more.

“Of course.”

You unwound your legs from the captive waist. Hajime had backed up enough that you could see the outline of Nagito’s erection. The sight made your mouth water. You couldn’t tell if the small, damp spot had really been from your teasing or from him. He let his trunks be slid off of him. The sight of his cock, free from its confines and slightly slick at the top let you know the mess was from both of you.

“C’mere, Hajime, it’s my turn.” Your hands moved up and down the inside of his soft thighs as Hajime carelessly tossed the clothes aside. He seemed off-put by the change in position, but only for a moment. While Nagito didn’t seem bothered to wait for you, completely naked, as Hajime scooped him into his lap and you adjusted yourself between their entwined legs, taking in his new position seemed to have its effect on him. Or, maybe his face had been that red the entire time because he was beginning to burn in the sun. 

You spread his thighs out more than was strictly necessary with an unhurried, purposeful motion. He shifted beneath your touch, clearly trying not to grind into it.

“Are you sure- completely sure- positive that you want this?�� His words came out jumbled together, fragmented and in one hurried breath. “It’s just-”

“Hajime?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yep.” Hajime placed a finger over Nagito’s mouth, shushing him. “That’s enough.” Hajime began to lead a trail of open-mouthed, lingering kisses down the long, pale column of his neck from his pulse point to his shoulder. Nagito’s eyes fluttered shut and he craned his neck, wanting to give Hajime better access to any part of his skin he desired. You ran your fingertips up and down his legs, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. As Hajime sucked at a spot and Nagito was in the middle of moaning already, you finally took him in hand.

He gasped, eyes flying open to look at you. You stroked him lazily, meeting his stare with a small, mischievous smile. Hajime kept his fingers pressed into his lips, prohibiting him from opening them, but Nagito made every noise of encouragement he could.

You all knew he was going to finish quickly. It was written in every reaction he’d had so far. The poor thing was already trembling just from this. Hajime had begun to run his hand up and down Nagito’s chest, circling his nipples as he saw fit. You kneeled down between his legs and held him steady to repay his earlier favor, sucking and licking at the tip of his cock like your own treat. Nagito’s brow furrowed and he was scrunching his nose like he was focusing really hard on something- in all likelihood, he was: not cumming. You had only just began to finally sink down around it when his cries became more and more urgent.

You could tell from the look in his eyes he was doing his best to warn you. If he could say something about it, you wouldn’t have heard the end of it. But you ignored him, continuing until you could almost touch the base of his dick with your lips. Hajime bit his lip as he watched you. He reached out, carding his fingers through your hair appreciatively. However, you didn’t realize it was his hand until it was too late.

“Go on, then. Nagito could take it all. I know you can, too.” You could hear the smile in his voice as the fingers in your hair tightened and he helped push your head further and further down onto his cock. 

“Ha- Hashime!” Nagito slurred a reprimand around the other boy’s hand, though it was quickly overtaken by his moans.

“It’ll all be fine. Look. Watch.”

He was right, of course. He wouldn’t have done this if he wasn’t. Still, you couldn’t help the thrill of him showing you off, because you knew that’s exactly what it was, and the pride in his smug voice. You moaned around Nagito, laving him with your tongue as you went down and down- until, finally, Hajime had your face pressed against Nagito, nose buried in his sparse white hair. You could smell the sugar all over him from here, it mixed with musk into something that only made you drool even more around him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-“ Nagito’s voice rose and rose until he cracked. Losing control, he thrusted up, further into your mouth. Between that and Hajime’s insistent hand, nothing else could fit into your mouth. Cum spilled obscenely around the sides of your mouth and down Nagito’s shaft. His head thrashed this way and that and Hajime continued to hold you there until the moment it felt like too much. It was like he had a second sense for that sort of thing.

You took large, gasping breaths, a mixture of bodily fluids dripping down your chin. Hajime leaned over to wipe some of it off of your face. You smiled weakly at the two of them.

The crashing of the waves lulled the three of you into a sort of stupor. One question lingered in the air:

‘Where do we go from here?’

“I can’t believe myself.” Nagito finally clicked his tongue, disappointed. Your face fell. ‘Is he going to start again already…?’ “You two are such a mess. I must hold myself responsible.” He stood up abruptly and pulled on his shorts quickly. “You’ll have to let me clean you up.” He held his hands out for both of you. You and Hajime looked at each other- a tiny, excited agreement- and you took Nagito’s hands.

[torosdottir]

see don't get me wrong there is a specialness to every track played and certainly there is an unbearable specialness to hearing EVERY track played.. and yet artificial scarcity does still apply! because the end and dead and disenchanted oh my god never ever will i discount the end dead or disenchanted.. and yet its hardly the first time they did sleep on return. and i wouldn't trade any song for any other ever but every single instance of sleep has been worth its weight in fucking gold. it wouldn't matter if they played that at every single show it would never lose value it would never be less mesmerising. people think sometimes that even parade is overplayed bc they play it every single fucking time but jesus christ id trade any other second of my life for parade. flw bridge happens at EVERY show and its always the most special moment ever. IM OKAY NOW is always the most special moment ever. id give anything up for a COLLIDE. day 2 wwwyf id genuinely never been so happy in my fucking life to hear goddamn na na na na. every instant is special. its not more special necessarily to hear the lesser-played songs. any infinity is equal to any other infinity.

[constantvariations]

If K. A. Applegate had been RWBY's writer from the get-go, it would be the greatest show to ever exist

[yohankang]

just came back from the most fun concert in my life!!!

[noiirem00n]

my left hand is like the autistic version off my right hand

[tkbrokkoli]

.

[wnightingales]

TEN NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[exopelagic]

I am in an OBSCENELY good mood considering everything

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook can’t sleep, and he can’t stop kissing you either.

> fluff, suggestive / word count: 2.6k

> content/warnings: alexa play seven by jungkook! mentions of s^x, lots and lots of cutie kisses :( they’re in that afterglow <3 oc’s chest is his pillow :(

> in which masterlist!

note: hi hi. here’s ur slice of pure self indulgent fluff 🍰 i just had to write abt this jk :P there’s a reference to in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you 🥹 reblogs & feedback are vv appreciated. i’d love to hear ur thoughts so feel free to scream or laugh or cry <3

—

a fleeting white light passes through your closed eyelids, nearly blinding, as you hear the familiar shutter of your boyfriend’s polaroid camera.

“jungkook,” you whimper weakly due to the sudden disturbance, burying your face on the soft pillows while pushing the camera away.

“shit, shit- sorry, baby-” he winces, guilty of disrupting your journey to slumber, as he scrambles to fix his mistake. “forgot to turn off the flash.”

he places the polaroid face down on the space behind him to give it the time to develop the photo he had taken. much to your relief, the bedroom falls silent once more except for the quiet humming and breathing of the airconditioner. you return to properly laying your head on the pillow, taking a small gasp of oxygen, and jungkook smiles because of how adorable you are for still refusing to open your eyes.

“can i take more pictures?”

“did you turn it off?” you whisper as you stretch your legs to find a more comfortable position, unwittingly pulling down the comforter and exposing your nakedness to the cool air. this gives rise to goosebumps on your skin, causing you to shiver, but your boyfriend is quick to your rescue. he catches the hem before it could slide past your skimpy shorts.

“i did.”

a chaste kiss is planted on your shoulder before it is returned underneath the warmth of soft layers of cotton and fabric.

you sigh, melting back into relaxation. “okay.”

he re-anchors his elbow into the mattress, resting his head on his palm to admire the majestic view of you. jungkook likes this a lot, he lives for it— lying on the bed face-to-face with his sated lover, spending the rest of the night feeling like his heart is not a big enough vessel to hold all the love he has for you. the lights he is yet to turn off have splashed the dark room with a red glow that engulfs your figure as well, escalating his heartbeat, so hypnotic and tantalizing, he finds himself breathing heavier and heavier behind the viewfinder, or maybe he has stopped breathing at all. the shutter briefly fills the silence.

this is… the arch of your back is burned in his mind and he swears he still tastes you on his tongue, but seeing you like this feels so different.

he was consumed by his pleasure and yours just half an hour ago, admittedly almost blinded by his own sweat dripping from his forehead because he simply couldn’t stop wanting more of you, giving himself to you. you weren’t exactly innocent either, with your provocative touches and coquettish smiles, whispering lewd words that was gasoline to the lust flaring up inside of him. he revels in seeing that you’re just as desperate for it as he is, if not more, purely from the way you beseech him with your eyes mirroring stained glass windows. he knows you love it when he fucks you so good it brings you to tears, welcoming the delightful intensity of his nature, and that you were also trying to tire him out so he’d finally feel sleepy, but holy shit, looking at you right now, he wants nothing more but to hold you with utmost gentleness.

wildly concentrated with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, he brushes away the hair that fell on your face before capturing another exquisite memory to be burned into film.

jungkook is greedy when it comes to you.

a disgruntled whine slips from your mouth when the pillow underneath your head is replaced by his thick arm, which is then rudely cut off by his lips crashing on yours.

clearly, you’ve grown too comfortable in this relationship.

“i love you.” he drunkenly mutters, instantly going for another kiss and barely finishing his another- “i love you.” before he’s kissing you again.

“babe-” you chuckle then gasp, holding on to his wrist as his tattooed hand loosely wraps around your neck.

“i love you. i love you, i love y- i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.” he repeats himself over and over, the volume of his voice gradually getting quieter as he runs out of breath, until his tongue becomes tied. grounded by the feeling of your steady pulse beneath his thumb, he silences himself by tenderly kissing you, soft lips molding with yours for a wordless declaration of devotion this time around.

pure static— there are no thoughts running in your head. your limbs feel numb but tingly. you feel like you’re floating- no, you’re falling. the bed has turned into an abyss and you’re falling endlessly and jungkook holding you close is the only thing that makes sense. you might have to consider this true heaven, nothingness with your everything, when the whole world is lights-out and quiet that it feels like time has been suspended, and the only way to keep track of it is through each pump of your heart.

at last, your eyelids slowly flutter open as he pulls away, and he greets you with that boyish grin. “pretty.”

his hand on your neck moves to stroke your face lovingly, eyes glimmering with various emotions as they wander your features.

“____ is so, so pretty.”

“hm, really?” you hum sleepily, leaning closer to his touch. “thanks to you.”

“me?” his doe eyes widen in confusion.

“you know, for the afterglow. i feel nice.” you giggle brightly at your own half-joke, positively out of your goddamn mind as you hide your warm face on his shoulder.

“ahhh- ah!”

enlightenment then dawns on your boyfriend.

his giggles blend in with yours for a harmony that strikes the same joy as the sound of wind chimes on a windy day.

jungkook tries not to appear too cocky about the compliment, but consequences be damned, he would die satisfying his lover.

“oh yeah, baby? do you now?” there’s a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face when you take a peek at him, which then morphs into a grin when your eyes meet. “i feel nice, too.”

“nice?” your voice comes out delicate, droopy eyes asking him for confirmation.

“nice.”

he feels a tug at his heartstrings.

“you know what? fucking great… i could never have enough of you.”

it becomes silent for a while. his tattooed hand slides under the comforter, letting his fingers skim across the side of your waist, feather-light touches on your bare skin before he’s pulling you closer to his body.

“i… i don’t doubt that feelings like this can only grow as time goes on but… it’s still amazing that when i think about it, even until now, all the time, i want to be with you.”

he involuntarily breathes out a shaky sigh, ears going red as they do when he’s expressing sincerity from the deepest parts of his soul.

“really, how do you do this…? what is this magic? why- why do i like you so much? i mean, i know why! of course! but, wow!” he squeezes his eyes shut to express his disbelief, clicking his head to the side. “it’s possible for it to be this much? do you get what i’m saying? i just have thoughts like that— love is so fascinating.”

you barely process his words with your brain still in a haze of bliss, but it’s funny, hearing these questions from the same man who has the entire world madly obsessed with him.

oh, this actually sounds familiar. he’s getting all sentimental and philosophical. again. and he’s not drunk. were you that good tonight?

“i won’t give away my secrets just like that. what if you use them on someone else?” you tease him, rubbing your tired eyes and shaking your head as you giggle.

you receive a dirty look from him, clearly offended and uninterested in the thought of putting in the hard effort to impress someone that isn’t you.

“aish, stop talking! i don’t like hearing you talk in that way.”

“then what else am i supposed to do? you’re the one who woke me up.” you retort in annoyance.

but you honestly don’t think there’s any secret to tell. jungkook is in love with you. plain and simple.

“you’re right, i’m sorry. go back to sleep if you want to.”

he dips down to plant gentle pecks on your shoulder, going down on a trail to your neck, and you unconsciously tilt your head to his convenience because he’s bringing the butterflies in your stomach back to life. it feels good, everything he does always feels good.

“you’re seriously not done?” you mumble against his lips, unfaltering with the kisses as if he would run out of them any minute now.

he stubbornly answers with a “no!” as his lips ghost over your cheek.

if only bam was here, jungkook would eventually leave you alone to rest. he would pester him with his late-night burst of affection instead while talking shit about you to your child because you dodged his kiss in your sleep.

“babe, you’re supposed to sleep. you have work later.”

“no, i don’t want to sleep. i… i want to kiss you- baby.” he protests as he continues to pepper your face with kisses, giving your body a particularly tight squeeze when he searches for your lips again.

you blink at him in confusion when he suddenly sends you a look of irritation, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glaring.

“you haven’t even said ‘i love you’ back yet.”

“oh, i haven’t?” you wince innocently. “sorry. i love you.”

but he should be the one apologizing to you, since it’s his fault that you still can’t think straight, or walk for that matter.

you pat around the mattress behind his back until you stumble upon the camera, and it’s jungkook’s turn to be your beloved muse. you scoot away until the lens manage to capture him down to his shirtless abdomen. you watch him in complete awe behind the viewfinder. he squints at you, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously, and he smirks when you chuckle in amusement.

“ah wait- take this! take this! you have to take a good one, got it? i worked so hard on them yesterday!” he eagerly voices out a special demand.

he shuffles to flex his arm infront of the camera, showing off his well-defined triceps and biceps while releasing rich, throaty grunts. totally unnecessary, but so achingly jungkook.

your boyfriend is outrageously, ridiculously sexy— he’s still wearing that stupid black headband he hastily put on in the middle of sex because he got pissed off at his hair and he needed it out of the way so he could ‘properly see his love’s beautiful body.’

you roll your eyes inside your head.

what a fucking tease.

nonetheless, you acquiesce.

the flash goes off.

and another polaroid is crafted into existence that you selfishly want to keep for your eyes only.

“baby, let me see.”

“it’s mine!” you scrunch your nose with a childlike charm, hiding the polaroid behind your back.

he chuckles, hopelessly endeared by you.

“yes, i’m yours.” he coos in response.

and your unguarded heart is once again swept away by the taste of his tongue. the camera becomes an abandoned item. your fingers daintily pushes off his headband in favor of freely tangling them with his silky hair, and it also ends up getting lost somewhere in the sheets as his sweet kisses lull you in a false sense of security… because out of nowhere, that same blazing light burns through your closed eyes for the second time tonight.

jungkook playfully waves the polaroid infront of your face, and his toothy grin is met by your unimpressed expression.

“this is mine!”

he has been waiting to jump into this type of opportunity, to orchestrate a romantic moment to be stolen in film— you can tell by the sparkles in his eyes. reminiscent of that one late night in a tiny photobooth where your younger and clueless selves were cramped in, this is what you and his hyungs often talk about, how much you share the same fondness for the fact that jungkook hasn’t changed at all.

“just how many pictures of you kissing me do you need?” you ask him lightheartedly.

he juts out his bottom lip sullenly, and a few beats pass before he forms an answer. “i always need more for when i miss you.”

you copy his frown. “then what about me when i’m missing you too?”

“hmmm… i want you to always remember me like this, baby.” he melodramatically declares as he picks up the one and only polaroid you’ve taken of him tonight. “can you see my abs too…? oh- it’s not showing yet.”

he looks back at you shyly with a laugh, and he places it back down to let it continue developing.

“i’ll look later. i can’t even keep my eyes open anymore. ‘m so tired.” you sadly sniffle to gain his pity, fluttering your damp eyelashes at him. “let’s go to sleep, please?”

jungkook doesn’t find it in himself to articulate a consolation or protest, not when you’re tugging him down to coax him into laying his head on your chest.

“heaven.” he moans, overcome by contentment.

he adjusts himself a bit to be more comfortable before dragging the comforter further upwards to provide warmth for the two of you, all the while refusing to remove his face nuzzled up against you.

“why are you always like this? can you even breathe?” you chuckle with your eyes closed.

“i love your boobs.” his honest reply comes out muffled, cute for some reason, along with his satisfied hums prompted by your nails lightly scratching his scalp.

“i know.”

he turns his head to the side to look up at you, and he carries on to speak with his cheek squished against you. “i really, really mean it.”

“yes, baby. i believe you.”

a minute of silence passes. the ecstasy still flooding your veins becomes a stepping stone in the pond towards your dreamland, where all is either fantastically perfect or horrifically fucked up.

but then you feel sloppy kisses being deliberately scattered in the middle of your chest, leading down to your stomach, and you get rudely knocked over into the cold, clear waters.

yes, plea- oh no, no, no, no.

“jungkook, baby, stop. i can’t go another round.” you whine pathetically, being driven closer to the urge to burst into tears.

“AH! o-ow- ouch- baby, wha- i swear, i wasn’t even planning on it!” he loudly exclaims in surprise when you harshly pull him away by his hair.

“still…” your voice cracks. “you know i’ll get turned on!”

his chuckles are infuriatingly raspy and of no help at all, ego inflating upon hearing your response and the frustration obviously laced with it.

“okay, okay! i’m sorry! i’ll behave now!”

thank god.

he assumes his previous position, the place that he deems to be the warmest and the coziest. as he wraps his arms around your waist, your fist relaxes into an open palm that cradles the back of his head.

“____?” he mumbles, finally feeling the tiredness seep into his sore muscles now that he’s lying motionless.

“hmm?”

“let’s eat dinner outside after work.”

“…meat?”

“and beer!” he adds, brimming with excitement, and he salivates as he can almost taste them in his mouth already. they are his favorite, after all.

“i’ll come pick you up then.” you drop a kiss on his forehead, and he sighs happily. “but go to sleep or else i’ll kick you out of the bedroom again.”

his sweet embrace becomes an iron grip.

cold and alone, he swears those were some of the worst three hours of his life.

he squeaks in defeat. “goodnight, baby.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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[welcometogrouchland]

hey bestie. are you doing okay? you seem violently unwell and hysterical 💖stay strong icon 💪💪💪

The teen witch isekai show is running my brain through a meat grinder right now

[a-kaash-me-outside]

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys. 

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

[pha55ed]

Song Abt Your Break-Up || Formula 1/2

type :: angst tw/cw :: none contains :: lando, oscar, ollie, kimi, paul, summary :: singer!reader make a song about their ex and your fans go crazy - for the better or for the worse. you hope their pr team can fix their reputation... f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

Lando Norris | 04 "happier than ever" - billie eilish || fc : gracie abram

yourusername : happier than ever out now! filming was a blast despite the many tears :") thank you for all of the love on this song - hope you enjoy it!!! <3

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: LANDO WHEN I CATCH YOU!!!! LANDO WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU!!!! OH MY GOD 📢📢📢

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: BRING ME WITH YOU!!!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: guys (y/n) said to not bring any hate to him! she said in an interview that they're cool now!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 04: did you... even listen... to the song....? obv she's lying - she wants the mans balls cut off

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: "you call me again, drunk in your Benz - you scared me to death" OH MY GOSH??? Lando is literally fucking evil who tf does that. Revoke his F1 seat bruh, that shit is so irresponsible

ㅤㅤ→ user 06: everything about this is so perfect omfg, the sadness, the anger, the exposing?!?!?!

ㅤㅤ→ user 07: this is literally giving me flashbacks to my toxic ex, i'm glad she got out

You and Lando were the new "it" couple for F1 for a long time, almost two years of being the top couple. But that was quickly ruined when you both cut each other off after a huge nasty fight. Everyone was speculating on why you both broke up, even stalking you to your house to ask questions.

So you decided to just make a song, a song with all the answers that those big nosed reporters wanted. And holy shit, the crowd ate it up. The song was just supposed to be a hidden song on Spotify, but it got over 200 million streams, getting you awards and so much recognition. You even got a brand deal with Lego, which was a bit random but who would say no to that???

As you arrived at Lego's headquarters to discuss plans with the company - you ran into someone you knew way too well. Lando Norris. You completely forgot that one of McLaren's newest sponsers was also Lego... Did Lego fucking set you up???

But that didn't matter. Because now you were trapped in the awkwardest elevator ride with your ex, the man who once made cry from laughing so hard who is also the man who made you cry for days after ghosting you for a week to party in Miami after his win, doing only God knows what.

You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, you were hoping he would take the stairs to respect your space - but he didn't. The silence was driving you crazy, and what's even crazier is that Lego's headquarters is fucking 45 floors and you were only on the 3rd floor after 2 minutes.

"(Y/N)", Lando said quietly, as if he was trying to not break you. You didn't move your head or body to face him, only your eyes. "Uh,"

It was as if he collapsed from your glance alone. As if the guilt from losing someone as amazing as you finally hit him as he looked at you. You were no longer his, no longer giving him a soft glance with your gentle smile.

From one simple glance at him, you shattered his harden facade - just like you always do. The tears welled up in his eyes, his jaw slightly shivered from the nervousness he had. But he did his best to keep his composure as he stared back into your cold eyes.

Oscar Piastri | 81 "i wish i hated you" - ariana grande || fc : idk :(

yourusername : the most intimate mv filmed - but it was so worth it <3 thank you for all of the love on the song and an even bigger thanks to my besties who helped me get through filming haha :")

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: i know she said she could never hate him but I CAN!!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: girl she literally has no hate for that man,,, they ended on good terms

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: oscar even said he listened to the song recently and said he liked it, but his fav is "bye"?!!!??!?!! like bro he's making a joke out of it

ㅤㅤ→ user 04: oscar pulled a baddie, broke her heart, and she doesn't even hate him??? his rizz is fucking insane

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: her VOICE CRACK IN THE SONG!??!?!?! (Y/N) I WILL LITERALLY JUMP OFF THIS BUILDING

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ yourusername: pls dont omg 😭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 05: yes ma'm!!! 🫡

Oscar and you didn't end on bad terms, just simply were getting pulled in different directions. Your music career was blowing up and work slowly consumed your whole life. Same goes with Oscar, as he was pushing himself to his limit just to try and get his first win. Which he did recently, you couldn't help but smile and like his post. Although your break up was heart-breaking for the both of you, you couldn't lie and say he was a bad boyfriend.

You were getting ready to head out for your first show of your world tour. Of course, you had to start in Australia, your home town and also the home of most of your fans. It was a huge stadium, packed to the brim that you were questioning the legality of having this many people in one spot.

But somehow, despite the thousands of people in the crowd, you made eye contact with a stupid boy with a stupid smile and stupid bright orange outfit... Oscar, he came to your first show while still in his ugly McLaren polo and jeans outfit, it was painfully obvious that he got an instant flight here just to watch you.

Despite him wearing the outfit you hated so much, you couldn't help but smile at him. His attendance meant so much to you. What meant even more to you was the fact that he was holding up a small poster, perfect size to not block anyone's view:

"Play "i wish i hated you." I need an ego boost"

Of fucking course he couldn't be serious for a second. Your smile only grew as you chuckled at the sign, you couldn't say no to his request after he put in the effort to make a whole poster , even if the poster looked like shit.

Ollie Bearman | 03 "second best" - laufey || fc : marissa long

yourusername : lots of therapy needed to make this song... but it's finally done! second best is out and i hope it becomes you're first choice! (something i never was)

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: praying to fucking god that this isn't about ollie PLEASEEEE

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: i think it is, sadly :( they both unfollowed each other and haven't been seen in public since last month...

ㅤㅤ→ user 03: "kissed me with somebody else in mind" OLLIE HOW COULD YOU?!?!??!?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 04: even crazier is "you swung me around in that midsummer dance, held me in close as you thought of your past." cause that's fucking VILEEE to do to a girl

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 05: literally!!! looking back at old photos of them, she seemed so deeply in love while he just looked spaced out :((

ㅤㅤ→ user 06: (y/n) is better than me cause i would have spilled gasoline on his car during a race

Turns out those 8 months with Ollie were for nothing. Those sunsets in his arms, cold nights in his jacket, and those kisses in the rain meant nothing to him. He did his best to hide it, but you always had a feeling deep down that he wasn't fully committed to you. You just ignored it to keep him longer.

But you couldn't ignore it forever, so you let your curiosity loose as you looked through his phone while he was sleeping. It was wrong to do, but what's even more wrong is for Ollie to spam his ex with over 300+ messages within a span of 6 months begging for a chance with her... So basically throughout your entire relationship, he was missing her.

Fucking 6 months, of Ollie texting, calling, even emailing her, for another chance. Love letters upon love letters proclaiming that you mean NOTHING to him and it's just to distract him from how much he misses her. That he only picked you because you looked like his ex, that you sounded like her, that you would never ever replace the hole that she left in Ollie's heart.

It was insane how much of a poet he was with her and yet you couldn't even get a kiss in public.

But his ex never responded to any of his messages, the last time she checked his messages was about 10 months ago, the exact time they broke up. You're pretty sure she blocked him and he's just messaging a brick wall. But that doesn't matter at all. His words hit you like a train at 200 mph, crushing your heart into a million pieces.

You broke up on the spot, never seeing him again since that day. But he can't say the same. If anything, it's like you haunted his phone. You were constantly on the radio, his for you page, on billboards, God he couldn't escape his guilt even if he tried.

Your song didn't help his regret at all. Now that the fans had a glimpse into the cause of your break up, Ollie was receiving huge amounts of hate every single day, even during interviews with fully grown adults. One time a reporter straight up asked him if he was going to make a diss track on you? Why the fuck would he do that??? That's besides the point, the point is: everyone knew about this drama, no matter their age, job, or interest.

Once again, Ollie went to his favorite restaurant in Italy. Well, actually it was your favorite restaurant, you showed it to him and ever since then, he's never found a place with better pasta. It's ironic since the restaurant he doubted so heavily but ended up loving and never leaving - was the same exact story he had about you...

Although he would beg for his ex for months on end, the second you left he felt the biggest regret and guilt he's ever had. His ex completely left his mind, despite the fact that she finally unblocked him and was texting him back for once. He couldn't give two shits, because he realized what he lost, you.

He spent hours every single day beating himself up for losing you. Hours in the gym to try and run from his problems, but he couldn't because everything led back to you. His favorite pair of shorts that you gifted him, the small sticker on his headphones you placed, the little stuffed animal you both got at a carnival together - God he didn't want you back, he NEEDED you back.

Ever since you left, he was a completely different person. His racing skills dropped, he crashed more than ever, and yet he couldn't even seem to focus since his mind could only think of you. So as he sat in his seat, waiting for his pasta, he glanced around the room to see the back of your head.

It's just a head of hair, is what an outsider would say, but to him, it was your shiny hair that was so easy for his fingers to comb through. How could he ever forget what you looked like. You were all he thought about, after all.

As if his body moved on his own, he stood up from his seat and walked over to you. His mind completely blank on what to say, despite his body being so eager to meet you.

Before he knew it, he was standing right before you. His eyes wide as he looked down at you, his breathe unsteady from nerves, and his hands shaking from how scared he was. Now he was stuck in front you, awkwardly staring at you as if he was hoping for words to magically come out about how sorry he is.

Kimi Antonelli | 04 "two slow dancers" - mitski || fc : rebecca armstrong

yourusername : two slow dancers out now! one of the hardest songs i've ever wrote but i hope you all love it <3

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: literally gonna rip off my skin why would you make this right when i broke up with my boyfriend

ㅤㅤ→ user 02: "it's funny how you always remember, and we've both done it all a hundred times before, it's funny how i still forgot"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: STOP I'M GONNA CRY OMFG

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: "to think that we could stay the same, but we're two slow dancers, last ones out." IM THROWING UPPP AHHHHH

ㅤㅤ→ user 03: i can't even hate kimi since the song is so fucking good likeeee

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 04: REAL!!!!! the fact he hurt (y/n) to THIS DEGREE??? to make this master piece is both a blessing and curse

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: (y/n) needs to put her fucking pen down... i can't take it anymore....

Kimi and you broke up on rough terms, but not in the usual "rough" way. Instead of any cheating, fighting, or pain: it was a gradual change within both of you. As he grew, his passion for racing only flourished even more and now he even has a chance at being in F1 next year. Meanwhile, you were still trying to make it big as a musician while struggling in college. The distance between you two grew not only in milage, but also romantically.

You both agreed to split: allowing both of you to grow in your careers fully without having to feel the guilt and pressure of a relationship that was no longer filled with love. It was gut-wrenching, to say the least, to say goodbye to Kimi for the last time for good before you left for college and he left for Italy to train.

The song you made blew up, with millions of people posting about how the relate to it, cried to it, and screamed to it. This was your huge break through song, which only made the rest of the songs on your album a massive hit. You were the brand new rising star of the year, and you were overjoyed.

You were invited to Italy to do a brand deal with Miu Miu, a huge honor and amazing deal. As you wiped the sweat off your hands and let your makeup artist put some light powder on your face, you walked out onto the small stage to do your interview.

But the second you step foot on stage, you couldn't help but make eye contact with someone too familiar: Kimi.

As if time froze, you could feel your smile drop as your heart sunk. Although you knew the break up was for the best, you could never lie and say that you didn't miss him. That you didn't miss his bad jokes, his curly hair in your lap as he slept, his sweet encouragement as you showed him your new songs.

Your eyes stayed stuck on him despite moving towards the seats, that suddenly seemed as if they were a mile away. His eyes stared back into yours, as if he was able to read the hidden affection and small hint of regret of your break up. But Kimi wasn't any different, his face and body said the same exact thing, but in a more forward way.

It was as if his eyes were screaming, "I miss you." a thousand times into your head. As if he was begging you for a chance of redemption, as if he waited 6 months purely to see you in person just to tell you that he still loves you. That he still needs you by his side, and he always will.

Paul Aron | 17 "logical" - olivia rodrigo || fc : _jannah on ig (she's stunning omfg)

yourusername : filming logical is done! mv is coming soon >:) thank you for all of the love for this song. i didn't think so many of you would relate,,, i hope you're all okay <3 connecting with you all has been so healing

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: literally a child of divorce rn... i can't believe paul and her broke up :(

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: it's not confirmed for sure if they're broken up though!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: (y/n) def wrote this about him,,, "february sky" paul's bday is in february, "i'm sure that girl is really your friend" hinting at his childhood bsf who lowkey ruined their relationship, she's even filming in the desert because she wanted it to be the exact opposite of who she wrote it about - and paul is from the snowy regions of estonia...

ㅤㅤ→ user 04: PAUL ARON BETTER SLEEP WITH HIS EYES OPEN.

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: l'VE SCREAMED THIS IN MY CAR NONSTOP I CANT WAIT FOR THE MV OMGGGG

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 06: "ARGUEMENTS YOU HELD OVER MY HEAD!!! BROUGHT UP THE GIRLS YOU COULD HAVE INSTEAD!!!" 🗣️🎤😭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 05: "SAID I WAS TOO YOUNG, I WAS TOO SOFT!!!! CAN'T TAKE A JOKE!!!! CAN'T GET YOU OFFFFFF!!!!!!" 🗣️🗣️🎤🎤💔

You always knew deep down that Paul wasn't ready to settle down. He even told you himself while drunk once, but you ignored it just to keep him around for longer. But eventually, he started to feel stuck - his fear of commitment becoming too strong. He started to talk to other girls, not fully cheating but setting them up to be a rebound if he were to ever break up with you.

And the idea of breaking up wasn't far fetched, since it happened almost every week. You two got into arguments over almost everything, ending up with you in tears and Paul storming out while you sobbed alone. But, only God knows how, you two always managed to patch it up just enough to ignore the issues and act normal again.

But it was draining both of you - mainly you. Paul was good at hiding his emotions, pushing them down and ignoring them for months. You, on the other hand, were more emotional and aware of the subtle resentment you both held for each other.

As months progressed, you made a pros and cons list for him... Your relationship was doomed the second you even thought of that. When you made that list, it seemed as if the cons never ended while the pros could barely even start.

Paul planning his future rebounds, his extremely close girl best friend who never treated you kindly, him hiding you from him family, him not wanting to visit you after his races, him ghosting you for days because he "needed space" despite the fact that you would leave voice memos of you barely able to breathe because of how depressed you were - and so so SO many more.

You ended the relationship, which was extremely hard on your part. Especially since you were the one trying so hard to keep the relationship afloat. But, you never felt so free since the break up. It was as if a ship-load of issues and fear were lifted off your shoulders, you were able to geniunely smile and laugh for the first time in ages. You took care of your hair and makeup again for once, your fashion upgraded massively too.

Although you only broke up about a month ago, you already had so many changes in your lifestyle and yourself that you barely even thought about Paul - unless it was late at night when your depressing thoughts came out. But you always slept those away, ignoring them and suppressing them, something you just learned how to do.

You made "Logical" while dating Paul, you only got the guts to post it after about a month after the break up. Since then, "Logical" was EVERYWHERE. So many people could relate to it, which concerned you, but you were happy to help a community of heartbroken people. But, while your community was flourishing - Paul's was the opposite.

People were wondering how he could fumble someone as talented and gorgeous as you. Everyone knew Paul was cold and apathetic at times, but so many clips arose of him flat out ignoring out. Even worse, a paparazzi released a super old photo of you and Paul arguing in public, with you crying while Paul stormed off like usual.

The hate he was receiving was so extreme that his entire PR team was on fire - making him go on a month long break to try and hope that the internet just forgets about him. It was slightly working, but the hype behind the song was still too high to let Paul come back to film any videos or do interviews.

All of the hate started to crack down on him, making him finally open his eyes and realize how awful of a boyfriend he was. So, he decided to make the first step in improving himself: reaching out to you.

When you saw his number in your phone, your heart sank. A single notification crushed your entire day, making panic rush through you like a broken dam. But, you were able to open it.

When you opened it, you were met with a huge text, a text so long that it could classify as a dictionary. It went on and on and on, about his regrets for hurting you, how he was such a dickhead, how he knows you most likely will never forgive him, and how he loved your song...

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

[poppy-metal]

moot said sm abt art letting out a moan when he pisses in the morning and now im thinking of having that be your fantasy - wanting art to piss on you - but he's so embarrassed about it, the act so degrading he doesn't know if he can bring himself to do it - but he wants to please you so bad and you look genuinely discouraged when he makes a face when you bring it up, he's quick to reassure you its just something he has to think about more. honestly, he'd be more into you pissing on him - that feels more right, in his eyes. it also kinda brings the curtain down around this shiny image he held of you, this sweet girl who liked missionary sex and holding hands - you were secretly touching yourself to the sound of him pissing into the toilet every morning? he doesn't know what to do with that.

arts done alot to keep patrick out of his relationship with you - hes stingy about it. protective of you - for what, he doesn't know now - some deep rooted worry that you'd want patrick more, like every girl does. but he can't stop thinking about it. and patrick notices him brooding. and art knows - knows patrick is, well. more liberated when it comes to sex than art is. has more experience. is less romantic about the whole thing. so he caves.

"have you ever...... um. has a girl ever wanted you to - you know -" he makes a gesture with his hands, flushing.

"cum on her tits? yeah, loads of tim-"

"no not cum - the other. the other thing. that, uh. comes out."

"piss? you mean piss?"

"yeah."

patrick stares at art long enough for art to squirm. "fuck off. it was a question, alright? forget it."

but patrick is grinning now - "holy shit."

"stop it."

"your girlfriend wants a golden shower?"

"that's disgusting - "

"give me your phone."

"what? no. why?"

"i need to see this chick."

"i introduced you months ago, patrick."

"yeah, and i fucking forgot. hand it over -"

art pretends hes annoyed but he surrenders his phone regardless into patricks outstretched hand. thumbs flying over the keypads to find his gallery. art scratches behind his ear, still blushing, wondering if it was a mistake to bring it up. he feels guilty he basically outted this kink of yours to his friends when its private. he wonders if you tell your friends he likes it when you spit in his mouth. flushes more at the thought. god, is he a shit boyfriend?

patrick lets out a low whistle. "shit - how'd i forget those tits -"

"alright -" art snatches his phone back, pocketing it. "lets just drop it, yeah?"

patrick doesn't drop it though. in fact he has a long conversation with art that evening.

and the next time you're in the college cafě, getting a blueberry scone, you jolt when you feel an arm brush yours. are startled to look up and see patrick zweig already looking down at you. he nudges your shoulder with his. nods to your scone, and then his plate. "I got it."

you're not one to argue with free stuff. patricks loaded anyway, so you nod. you look around him. "is art with you?" he was supposed to meet you for lunch.

"we're going to meet him." patrick pays for your stuff and turns to you, walking backwards into the cafeteria. he jerks his head, "come with me."

you do, hesitantly. as you walk beside him, you catalog him. of course, you know him. but you dont really know him, know him. he's arts best friend, and a bit of a tennis prodigy, if one that might burn out too quickly if he doesn't regulate himself soon.

still. you aren't around him much, you think because arts worried you'll cheat on him if left alone with patrick for too long. and you get patricks appeal - hes tall and athletic - more filled out than art is yet, he has that whole devil may care kind of look to him, mussed up hair. a smirking pink mouth. something about the way he carries himself, too. confident and assured. its..... hot. you can admit that.

but you love are. you're in love with art. and its for the ways that hes opposite to patrick, that you do. hes a golden aura. a beam of sunlight where patrick screams night - he's soft and kind and he cares about you. he thinks about you. he considers you. he's not shy, but he's soft spoken. he listens. he's like a lazy river - or a fluffy cloud.

patrick leads you up the bleachers to one of the outside tennis cours, and you look out - spot art practicing with someone on the other side of the net. he doesn't see either of you yet, and you dont call out to him. you like watching him play. his precision and grace.

you sit near the top row of metal slats and patrick sits one row below you, so he can prop his legs out and spread his arms behind him on the one you're sitting on. "you sit like a third grader." you tell him, which is true. all sprawled out with his big long limbs.

patrick tips his head back to look at you. green eyes spark - he has a water bottle that he tips back and pulls a long swallow from. you dont watch his adams apple bob.

"i need alot of space to air my shit out." he parts his thighs wider as if to cement that statement and you try not to notice the way his shorts slide down his thick tan legs. they bunch all the way nearly down to his crotch.

"classy." you tell him. picking at your muffin as you stare out at art again. when he hits the ball, he jumps. his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of pale skin and you rub your bottom lip. mouth filling with saliva because you know what that skin tastes like, feels like, under your tongue. like faint salt, and soft toned muscle.

"you'd know all about being classy wouldn't you?"

something about the way he says it - like there's a hidden meaning, makes you glance back down at him. hes still looking at you.

he's rolling his water bottle sideways up and down his thigh, and he looks like he wants to say something else, but it'll make him laugh, so he doesn't.

you squint. "huh?"

one side of his mouth quirks up. he takes another swig from his bottle - looks out over the courts and shrugs.

well, no.

you swat at his shoulder, irritated, he's pulled you in somehow. "what does that mean?"

he shrugs again - holding a mouthful of water. he swishes it from side to side as he looks up at you. swallows it slowly. holds his mostly empty bottle up and taps your knee with the open lid - "just means you're not as innocent as we all thought."

your eyebrows draw together. your stomach does a little flip. you have the distinct feeling he's making fun of you. like hes in on something you're not apart of.

you settle on, "whose we?"

green eyes flit back to the court - you follow and you find art again. he's turned from his opponent, using the end of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. he fishes a sports drink from his bag and downs nearly all of it in one go. as hes wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he turns slightly, casually taking in his surroundings. you can tell the moment he spots you and patrick because he freezes. his wrist still at his lips. he doesn't wave. you dont either.

you look back at patrick. hes still looking out at art.

"you and art...." you start. "you talk about me? together?"

patrick takes his time turning back to look at you. he seems to be communicating something across the distance to art. he says, without looking "uh huh." and when you shove his shoulder with your knee, he finally gives you his full attention. bad idea. something about him - you feel - like prey or something. you dont know. pinned under his gaze. "art tells me everything."

he puts emphasis on everything, and lets that sink in for you, which it does. slowly.

because there's really only one thing you've brought up with art recently that would be anything worth the dramatics of this. you feel your cheeks fill with blood. your gut pitch with shame.

"i -" you look down at your shoes. pink sneakers. with a frog sticker art had given you, because you like frogs and you told him that and so he got you a sticker of one. "um."

"hey, its cool." a warm hand pats your knee. "its why i wanted to talk to you."

your head jerks up. you shy away from his touch. you want to look out for art and signal him over but you dont know what to feel about him talking about that..... with patrick.

"really." patrick says your name, softly this time so you'll look at him. "im not making fun of you." he tongues the inside of his cheek, half smiling. "i think its hot, actually."

you do glance out for art now. he's back in position, but he keeps shooting glances over where you sit. you swallow. "you do?"

"fuck yeah -" he says it with such conviction that you believe him. "the way you look like you read five verses of the bible before bed and sign the cross over your chest before you give head just makes the fact that you want some depraved shit like that fucking sexy."

you shift around on the bench. you feel at once, buoyant with the praise and wrong for liking it so much.

"i dont know if art sees me that way." you fiddle with your fingers. "i think he thinks its gross - that im. weird."

"art is very repressed sexually." patrick states this like he knows this very well. and well, yeah, you cant exactly dispute it, can you. "but he's a fucking freak, trust me. I've seen his porn history."

you want to see his porn history. god. you want to know every depraved undignified thought arts ever had.

"i think that's why i want him to-" you flush. "to do that. because he's so.... good. and i want. i dunno - i guess i want him to act more shameless with me - maybe that weird - like i want to corrupt him or something -"

"it's hot." patrick interrupts. and you look at eachother. and you see a kind of kinship in him, thats in you. a kind of.... love for the depravity. of wanting to introduce people like art to it. "give me your phone."

he takes it from you before you even hand it to him. he fiddles with it, and you take the time to admire all the freckles on his sunkissed cheeks. he slips it back to you. grins.

"what did you do?"

"gave you my number." he stands. shoulders his own bag - caps his waterbottle. "art's gonna chew your ass out in a minute, sorry about that. I'll be in touch, though." and he's bounding down the bleachers before you can say anything, giving art one of those aggressive, half hug, half wrestle moves as he passes.

you blink - startled to realize art has finished up. his bag is over his shoulder and he's making his way up to you. he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"did you give patrick your number?"

"he wanted it for notes he forgot to take, i think." you lie. stand up. greet your boyfriend who you want to piss in your mouth and on your tits, with a kiss. "hes a nice guy."

"mm" is all art says.

-

and maybe you should have been more mad that art went behind your back to talk about something you shared in confidence. maybe you would have been, if you hadn't shared something secret with patrick too - a plan of sorts. you'd feel more guilty about it if you weren't so turned on by the thought.

and can you really be mad, when it works out so beautifully. after one of arts matches - where you'd so sweetly been on the sidelines to give art water between his sets. when patrick had rushed him out the door in the morning with no time for a bathroom break.

its almost too perfect the way you both corner him in the locker room after. when hes desperate and about to burst. bladder full and heavy from all the water he'd consumed.

when patrick blocks him and corners him in the shower, twists his arms behind his naked back, you're there in a flash. a look of betrayal flashes in arts eyes, but its quickly replaced by desperation when patrick reaches around him and grips his cock.

the whine he lets out is long and pained. "no - dont -" he gasps.

you cant really be mad at art for going behind your back at all because you aren't sure if he could ever bring himself to do this on his own. you tell him that, with coaxing hands up his trembling thighs. looking up at him in utter adoration as you tongue the pink slit of his cock. "its okay, baby." you tell him. naked and kneeling before him, licking licking licking at his tip, until you coax out a bead of piss, just a drop. and you moan as you close your lips around his head and suck it into your mouth like honey.

art sobs. he knees wobbling with the force to keep his urine from flooding out into your mouth. "stop -" he pants. "i cant hold it it - if you - if you keep - oh god -"

"she said its okay, man." patrick coos. licks the shell of arts ear. his hand comes down to press against arts pelvis. "look at her." art forces himself to. "thats your girlfriend, dude. she's fucking hot - and shes naked on her knees for you in a lockeroom shower after you fucking dominated that match. and all she wants." the heel of patricks hand digs in. "is to soak up all that piss you've been holding onto for her."

another little drop of piss slides down your throat and art gasps. his hands weakly come to press on your head, fingers curling in your hair. hes giving in. looking down at you with near awe in his expression instead of his earlier fear and panic. pink lips parted.

"dont you wanna see her swallow it?" patrick breathes. "fuckin rub it into her tits - you can do anything to her. she's fucking yours man - so why dont you be a man and fucking stake your claim, huh?"

that's what does it.

art groans, eyes nearly rolling back in ecstacy. right before he releases, he knock away patricks hand from his dick, grips himself by the base, and uses his other hand to keep a grip on your hair.

the tip of his cock, flushed and throbbing, rests on your fat bottom lip, "its coming - " he chokes, tightens his grip on your hair, "fucking take it -"

and then it explodes out of him all at once. a thick pulsing stream of hot piss pours into your mouth, half of it going right down your throat, while the other half splashes down your chin, flooding down your chest, between the valley of your breasts.

the moan art lets out if pornographic. his legs weak as jelly as his bladder unloads in a yellow stream that soaks you nearly from head to foot.

it seems to go on forever. both art and patrick seem entranced by the sight. the way you moan and swallow what initially went down your throat. gasp when it hits your chest like it actually feels good.

art feels another part of his brain click on. whir to life.

"s-stick your fucking tits out." he grunts, still whiney. but you listen anyway. pushing your chest out towards them, your nipples hard and on display.

art bites his lip. angles his cock so the rest of his stream splashes wetly over your hard nipples. he trails the rest of it down your stomach and - most blodly - the last of it hits your pussy - you whine when it does.

"of fuck." patrick grunts when he sees it.

when the flow peeders out, you pant like you ran a marathon. buzzing with electricity.

art looks down at you like you're the most beautiful thing hes ever seen in his life. on your knees soaked in his filth.

patrick has to reach down and grip himself.

"c'mere" art calls to you, holding out his arms. you fumble and stumble into them. wet chest smashing into his. he doesn't seem to care. his hands are feverish as they run down your back. cup and squeeze the globes of your ass. he licks into your mouth and you're both moaning into eachother. tongues smacking wetly.

patrick rolls his eyes. turns on the shower to its hottest setting. which is just warm for a lockeroom shower.

"you two freaks come over here," he calls out, stepping into the warm spray. "you both smell like fucking piss."

you giggle against arts mouth.

yeah. maybe you're glad he told your secret after all.

[cultpastorkevin]

Cult Tips for AFTG writers

notes from the resident ex-cult pastor

If you’re in the cult, there is nothing bizarre abt what’s happening and in fact the normal stuff that happens outside of it is what’s bizarre to you. Target? Weird. McDonald’s? Even weirder. I can like guarantee Jean and Kevin never had McDonald’s until they left the Nest.

When you leave, you’re gonna be paranoid as fuck. All the time. Ngl at least for weeks but sometimes for years. Nightmares and insomnia 24/7. Hallucinations too lmao Riko is in every corner of empty rooms and you can hear his voice echo in the confines of the lockers.

I see a lot of Jean wanting to go back to the Nest, but not a lot of Kevin wanting to go back. He definitely struggled, 100%. In fact when he was in the pits of agony from his broken hand, was when he probably wanted to go back the most. Cult is home, cult is safe. Four walls you’ve always known and while it’s a cage at least it’s dependable. They hurt you but by god it always works out and the reward of pushing through this tragic incident is greater than the terror it caused in the first place. It’s a gift, actually. A gift from Riko. He saved Kevin. Cults save you. Cults make you wanna return to them like damn homing pigeons bruh. Give me more shattered hand Kevin screaming at Wymack to let him go back home and having a breakdown when he’s denied fics thanks

Piggybacking off the last one: cults are saviors; you’re nothing without them and they make sure you truly believe that; that everything that is done to you is for you and you’re blessed for it to be happening. You’re lucky even, to be allowed in it. Everything is as it’s supposed to be and order must never be challenged, because it works, and you’re the Edgar Allan Ravens, and this is the most honorable place you could be. All the pain you go through is you earning the right to be saved and to prove your worth every day on court. Only the worthy are honored.

You justify everything that happened and you will start fights and get angry with people who try to correct you and tell you it was wrong what went on.

On the other hand, you blame yourself for everything ever that happened there whether you were at fault or not. Hurting others, hurting yourself, gaslighting the fuck out of yourself over things maybe you could’ve prevented and over things you never could’ve stopped. The guilt is crippling and it eats you alive and haunts you.

There’s a lot of shame too. I see more guilt written than shame but shame is a huge portion of emotions that cult survivors have. Shits embarassing dude like “god how did I end up thinking this wack ass shit was normal” 😐 Shame comes later in the healing process usually, it’s after you have come to terms with shit that’s happened and you understand it. Looking back, you go “Jesus fucking Christ that was a red flag what the hell. Should’ve left then, or then, or then, or then” and then you’re just plain fuckin embarrassed.

Please look up how hive minds and brainwashing are created and work; also Stockholm Syndrome; understanding these would be incredibly helpful tbfh.

Diets are big; everyone eats the same thing; food is used as a reward and a punishment.

Hype hype hype. They whip up a frenzy of one singular emotion and use that to push you into a blind hysteria because you’re more suspectible to their influence when you’re out of your mind.

Drugs. Depends on the cult. But yeah these little bitches can be a huge factor for shit and can help with the brainwashing and hysteria and stockholm. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re being drugged or poisoned until you leave.

OH I ALMOST FORGOT. Dehumanization and then being treated like a person again can be traumatic as fuck yall!! Holy shit! Sometimes it feels worse than being dehumanized!

EDIT AGAIN: you don’t know what mental illness is !! Cults don’t fucking tell you these things lmao. if you show symptoms it’s your fault. Kevin being depressed his mom died was gonna get blamed on him and he was never going to be told grief is normal and it’s okay to be insanely sad. Jean also never got told his anger was correct or his trauma responses to being raped were realistic! They just got blamed for any reactions ever that weren’t neurotypical !! that is all; do with that what you will.

Idk if I think of anything else I’ll write another one but that’s all for now; I haven’t slept much lmao 🫡

[raineedropzz]

holy shit balls you guys…I doodled k2….and it’s ken askinf kyle out with flowers….

ANYWAY here’s boyfailure kenny and flabbergasted kyle for the k2 fans!! (also leave me ur thoughts on ken if u want,, this is my first time drawinf him normally..) This had no context up until I finished it so this was my caption on tiktok :33

kenny stood outside kyles house for 5 mins without knocking trying to figure out a small speech but when kyle opened the door,, bro FORGOT EVERYTHING he thought abt. (kyle said yes obv)

HOPE THIS PLEASES AND SPARKLES AND SUNSHINES MWUAH!!!!

[hearts-4-vicky]

Omg what’s ur thoughts on 69ing with the fimmies?

kinda forgot to post… um 🤫 short sorry my luvs😔❤️ oh n i somehow read 69ing as tribbung so um i had to rewrite it… im listening to beautiful christmas writinf this❤️❤️jingle bell jingle bell everyboyd cum have n have urself a self a besuciyful chrismuar🔥 i luv aespa n red velevt sumtimes🐺 u gotta be BOLD😆 just rock thw world!!🤓 BOOYAHHH💥lalalalalala🧏 happiness!!! lalalalalalala r u hapi huh

only unnie line + zuha for obvious reasons

warnings: sub kinda bratty chaewon, subby baby zuha 😍, soft dom kkura, pussy drunk yunjin, switch reader, overstimulation, unnie kinkk, 69ing, whats the thing called where like its crying and they like it, idk what else im tired (its barely 10 pm)

not proofread…

Chaewon

shes sensitive tell me otherwise and ur stewpid😾 tries to convince you and herself that shes not but blow air on her folds and shes melting.. definitely makes up little games on who can make the other cum first

“you… you fucking cheated!”

“chae i barely even did anythi-“

“CHEATER CHEATER PUMPKIN EATER😾”

angry issues pull up and now shes putting her all to make sure you cum hard on her face.. and you do duhhhh her tongue exploring your wet cunt, her free hand rubbing your clit omg im gon- *train zooms by*

i love sour grapes listen to it and swan song both bops i cried to sour grapes one time luv is sour grapes🎀 some1 make an angst fic with that song omg toxic relationship with chae n yeah hear me lht

Sakura

i want this woman in every single way omg SHE SOS UGGHHHHHHHH SAKURA MIYAWAKI THE WOMAN YOG AREEE OMG

her pussy is pretty asf and i stand by that statement. and she makes love she doesnt fuck😍 would def cry in the middle of lapping at your cunt.. um idk where this idea came from but it reminds me of her…

“kkura- are you okay baby?-“

“I love you so much.”

yeah then she dives right back into your puffy pussy to show her appreciation, making you moan right into her pretty cunt omg… i could go on and on abt her…

yes u can watch me watch i if u love me but u cant touch me otuch me, i if u love me

Yunjin

doesn’t know when to stop… literally gets soo pussy drunk to the point where she just keeps going😭

“Jen-! holy fuckING shit! mmh- s’too m-much..”

“….huh”

really puts the huh in huh yunjin, doesnt even realize you guys were supposed to 69, just makes you drown her in your hot cunt and plush thighs… grabs your hips to pull you impossibly closer yeah you’re not walking straight tmrw..

Kazuha

subbiest sub to me omg that girl is a loser in a hot body… would switch japanese when shes too overwhelmed with your hot tongue in her cunt!

“u-unnie! fuck- fastER!”

“that was so hot, um what does that mean…”

babygirl would be moaning so much she neglects your needy pussy:( but its okay cuz her moans r soooo pretty, her little gasps that turn to whimpers when you make her grind on your tongue… O-*gunshots*

hi my lovessss i missed u guys i love you all 300 of u guys n stuff thanks for your support 💋(im really happy i promise💔💔💔)

Stay safe and love you lots

-Vicky 💋