aquasoftware

[aquasoftware]

KOII como estas 🥸

HEYYY DAYAAAA!! to’ bien, gracias. He estao’ medio ocupado con el trabajo y los negocios, pero por fin me llegó la motivación pa’ escribir otra vez. y tú, en qué tú andas?

[aquasoftware]

drunk running | s. geto

chapter nine: cynical one

synopsis: the morning after the night suguru said those three little words, again. yn fights to say it back.. kind of.

warnings/genre: modern au, non curse au, smau (shoko and kento are back), angst, heartbreak, cursing, yn's avoidant attachment is going to be the death of her

a/n: two more to go. i love yn. i love sugu. and no my heart is NOT breaking (yes it is). (also you guys voted for another suguru angst after this and i'm so ready to give you that one.) ok bye!

you’re not sure what it is that you’re feeling. your chest hurts. your eyes are dry from barely sleeping — you watched suguru’s back rise and fall. you just wanted to make sure he was still there. still yours. 

you don’t know why you stood silent after he said those words to you. or why you let him stay the night. especially when his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, no matter how much you tried to see what he was feeling. 

it’s not like you didn’t know. 

the slippers on your feet scuff off the asphalt foreignly. your arms pebbled with goosebumps. the early morning chill making your bones brittle and your teeth chatter. 

the sun is barely waving hello — snuggling on the horizon as if it’s being forced to start the day. like she has to deal with the consequences of not being able to say three simple words. even when you feel them. even when they weigh you down to walking outside in your pajamas and slippers. 

the runners on the path aren’t meeting your eyes either. they must know that you’re a liar. you wouldn’t look yourself in the eyes either. 

you want to scream at them. tell them they don’t understand. you can’t tell him the truth. you can’t let yourself love him the way he wants you to. 

however, your lips are tightly pursed as you ignore the stares, the chill of the early spring morning, and your brain telling you to turn around. go home. get back in bed and snuggle into the warmth of his pillow. and pretend that this never happened. 

but it did happen. last night. and three years ago. and it’ll probably happen for the rest of your lives, if either of you stick around. 

and now, the infamous calling out to him and talking about his so-called love devotion is underway. you wonder if he’s going to be mean. feel sorry for you this time? you wouldn’t even get mad at him if he was. 

ahead of you, suguru geto is walking. his steps are slow and loving, as if he’s kissing the ground. making sure he doesn’t step on any cracks because he fears it might hurt the earth. always the most thoughtful. 

his shoulders are tense though, rising to his ears. you want to reach out, but you’re at least twenty feet away. and, you’re not sure if he’ll be good at the idea of you trying to comfort him. 

a runner passes him, shouting out a ‘good morning’. he waves, a breeze pushing forward and swaying the ends of his hair. you feel like they’re beckoning you over — but deep down you know that’s just the sleep deprivation talking. 

your eyes trace the way his head is angled to the ground. the slow rising sunrise beaming on the side of his face. his feet kick at whatever is in his way that is not the concrete — gently of course. there is care in every single one of his movements. 

even as he ignores your presence, you know he hears the scuffle of your slippers. the running thoughts about you turning back and just drinking nyquil and going to sleep. you know he feels his name on the tip of your tongue. but, he’s giving you grace or space. 

you don’t know. you don’t really deserve either one. 

his name slips from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“sugu.” your feet stop, your toes curling in the softness of your slippers. it feels like home. suguru’s eyes meeting yours and your toes in the fluff of your house slippers. 

his head spins, the wind tangling his hair. a runner almost bumps into him before he shifts to the side. 

“yn?” 

you hear him trying to coax in the surprise in his voice. but his tired eyes and slight pout tell you what you already knew. he knew you were behind him. he always knows where you are — much to his downfall. 

“i can’t say it.” you whisper. you hear cars starting up and you’re reminded that while you’re stuck on bedroom thoughts and secrets meant to be tucked in pillows, people are starting their days. 

you watch suguru watch you. his eyes are filled with this concern that you don’t think is necessary. you just can’t say three simple words — no need for the alarm. 

but, you shiver when a chill rattles the budding flowers on the trees. and you really can’t see him clearly. he looks like he’s in an aquarium — swimming with the sharks and you’re watching. a really foggy exhibit, you could only hope he makes it out alive. 

“are you okay?” 

his voice is hard, not angry. but, alarmed. and you wish you could make out the emotion in his eyes. 

you ignore the old man running behind you yelling “left”. you don’t even know where your left hand is at the moment. you probably left it in the bed. 

“i can’t say it.” you speak a little louder. your voice cracking and you know you’re far too gone. not a smidge of embarrassment is coddling its way up your throat. just regret. 

“you should take my jacket,” you could make out the figure of suguru stepping closer to you.

his steps are still soft, matching the tone in his voice. 

you hear shops opening — the gates rattling in the air. the slow signs and movements of the early morning. you smell the bakery baking their daily loaf. the domesticity of it causes you to break. 

or maybe it’s how the sun is shining on suguru. soft fluttery specks of gold warming on his skin. his arm is still out reaching, waiting for you to take hold of it. take his jacket. take his warmth. 

you pull your arms closer to your chest. and you start to cry — hot, steaming tears offering you warmth as they glide down your face on their own accord. and then, you could finally see him. 

he isn’t the gold shimmery figure that was him. but, he’s yours. soft eyes and black raven hair. the easy grin isn’t there, but in other situations you know would’ve been. 

and that makes you cry even harder. those embarrassing chest rattling sobs squeaking out of you. 

“i can’t love you,” you gasp out. your hands clawing at your own arms. you really hate that you can’t see. 

and like a slow motion film reel — every little thing that made what you just said a lie flashes in front of you. the first slide is suguru’s look alike. a haunting idea that even when he couldn’t look at you, couldn’t see you — you sought him out. no hiding from his look alike, just pretending and hope from you. they never could be him. 

images of your hand running along the drink cooler at supermarkets, always grabbing his favorite drink. you wouldn’t even notice until you got home. the smile he’ll send your way when he’d go in the fridge. you’ll hide the grin stretching across your lips. 

seeing him again after three years — almost falling into your hand, like you knew he would. the red umbrella peeling in the corners in your brain. the raindrops on his shirt matching the ones falling on to yours now. 

“but i do.”

he sucks in a breath, and you’re happy for the sound despite it being sharp and not mixing with the slight bustle of the day beginning. 

it lets you know that he’s there. you’re weirdly okay with that. 

“but i can’t love you the way that you need me too.”

“which way is that?” 

“by not walking away.” 

the silence is loud — louder than the bakers humming their tunes, the runners’ feet stomping as they run around the two idiots standing in the way. louder than the sun and its shine on him. 

his raven hair looks almost blue, and you want to stop everything. just to give yourself to take him in – you don’t know if it’ll be another three years until the next time you can. 

he looks like your suguru. that's all you could really see, all you could want at the moment. 

his arm with his jacket is still outstretched— still waiting for you. it’s almost supportive, waiting for you to find it and lean on it. 

“i don’t want you to hate me,” you whisper. the tears have finally stopped falling. but everything is blurry — suguru looks too bright. 

but you see him, you know you see him. you see him watching you. an unrecognizable look on his face. you’re sure you could establish every fleeing emotion that graces his features, but this one is one you can’t decipher. 

his eyebrows are raised, just enough that it looks like he entered his surprise birthday party. a smile doesn’t grace his lips, it’s almost a scowl — but there’s no anger in his eyes. he looks confused, but with so much more added to it. 

“you know i can’t hate you.” his voice is rushed, and breathless. you wonder if you missed when he was running too. 

“but you did.” 

“no -“ his face scrunches in confusion. you want to laugh at him, crack a joke at how his nose scrunched — like that kitten you saw yesterday. 

but a runner almost runs into you, reminding you that you’re not in a comfortable enough environment to joke with him. it’s cold out here, and rushed — not like the slow nights, packed warmly in either of your beds. where words and jokes and feelings are free to fly around. 

“you couldn’t even look at me three years ago.” 

you think about the night before his graduation, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in weeks. everything stopped for you in that moment — the bar’s music, sukuna’s rough hands on your hips stilled and ignored. suguru’s eyes rushed to find solace elsewhere, life starting up again quickly after. 

“i was hurt.” he says it so casually, like it’s the most random thing in the world. yes, people get hurt, but people don’t get hurt by you. you never let it get that far. well, you typically don’t. 

“and i’ll keep hurting you if i love you.” you admit. your throat is starting to hurt from the gasps and sobs earlier. 

suguru stares at you. not one part of his body moving. you want to be the one to ask if he’s okay now. 

birds start to chirp, like happy love songs floating through the closer up flower buds. drifting through the laces of the runners, giving them more power for their run.

the songs are mocking you and suguru. 

then he takes a step forward, and you didn’t realize how close you guys actually were. he’s still an arm’s length away but you think you feel the warmth of his chest, like he’s still in the bed with you. his hands are still clawing at your hair, so that he could have your shampoo etched on his fingertips for later when he misses you. 

“do you think i’m having fun now?” 

you step back at the urgency of his question. at the bite in his voice. the way his narrowed eyes are still on your face, no blinking, no skimming up your pajamas and down to your slippers. 

“i follow behind you three years later like a fucking masochist,” he lets out a dry laugh and you grab onto your arms even tighter. nails digging into your skin. you won’t be surprised if you leave a pool of your blood right where you’re standing. “i’m obviously not having a good time.” 

“but it’s going to end and i’m going to be the one to leave.” you rush out, and you don't even really believe what you're saying, you think you have to speak after him, keep pushing him away with things you know hurt. 

he lets out a scoff — and it’s still not angry. but it’s tired, like you. maybe your sleep deprivation has clung onto the sounds his body is making. 

“what are you even saying? no one is forcing you to leave.” his tone is bitter, but soft. like a gruff you let out when you find out your favorite restaurant ran out of your meal. 

it just wants to be understood. even knowing that, you can’t do what he wants. you’re choosing to not understand. 

“just fucking love me.”

“i do.” 

the birds start to chirp a little louder, you wished they were loud enough to sing over you. but suguru’s heavy breathing is telling you that he heard. he always hears you. 

“say it.”

“this was supposed to be simple.” 

simple. easy. not real. 

“say it then.” he ignores you, his arms pushing towards you. like he’s trying to push all his courage to you. 

it didn’t work. you knew it wouldn’t. suguru did too. 

you shake your head. it feels heavy, like the sun’s sitting on it — garnering all its shine towards suguru. pushing you into the ground, into the stillness of earth so you could ignore all the rush of emotions, as you usually do.

“i’m not brave like you,” your voice is watery and shaken. you really don’t want to fucking cry again but he looks blurry and your lash line is brimming with liquid you wish was rain from the night you guys rekindled. “i don’t trust good things enough to hold them.”

the smell of coffee wafts between you two, and you almost reach out your hand to have it finally meet his. so that you could tug him along, as if he’ll fight it, to a coffee shop and order him a black coffee with not one but two sugars. and watch him drink it and let out those morning sighs that only coffee drinkers emit. 

you’ll pretend you like the smell. just to sit and watch him. just to be in front of him. to be the one to do something for him.

but the silence is loud, the coffee smell is even louder. your stomach is starting to hurt and you really wished you turned back all those moments ago. 

he stares at you. eyebrows still raised. the breeze that you seem to have forgotten about graces his cheeks with the slightest pink twinge. it’s almost cute. 

“huh,” he pauses. you cringe, getting ready for whatever harsh word he may say. your defense at zero, you’re not going to fight. whatever he says is going to be true, because he knows you. he knows that. and you pretend that you don’t. “you really haven’t changed?” 

“were you expecting me to?” 

he narrows his eyes at you and shrugs. his shoulders finally leaving their tense position, falling along with his long arms. his jacket still folded in his arms. 

“i wasn’t supposed to be expecting anything from you.” he mumbles, his eyes finally looking down at your slippers. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. your freezing fingers are actually feeling sweaty in your arms. the fluff of your slippers isn’t comforting anymore. your feet are ready to join the runners, turn and bolt to the warmth of your bed. you can change your sheets and throw these slippers out, and hug the picture frame to sleep. 

“you’re going to truly end up alone.” 

and with your body ready for harsh words, ones to tangle with his feelings of sorrow from all those years ago — you pause. not at the statement, because it’s something you’d told yourself countless of times. but, the sadness in his voice is so thick you could almost swim through it like fog. barely seeing him, just his feelings and words swimming in front of you. 

and again, the words don’t affect you — the effect of the words on him do. knowing that he pities you, instead of himself because you can’t give him what he needs, twists your gut in a way that feels like it’ll never be normal again. 

so in your emotional haze, you do your best act — push and deflect. 

“so are you if you keep waiting.” 

you want to bite at the air like a dog playing fetch. grabbing the words and tucking them into your cheek — snarling whenever he comes too close to get them. 

suguru lets out a sigh. one that you could tell was stuck in his chest from maybe even before he told you that he loved you. it sounds lived-in, like it knew his secrets and yours. you could see it leave out of him like a ghost — quick and haunting. sorrowful and cold. 

all you could do is pull your chin to your chest, close your eyes, and cry. you want to do more. all at the expense of yourself. maybe pull your hair, jump in front of the next runner — twisting their ankle, scraping your knee. 

it would hurt less than this. and suguru could watch you hurt physically — in hopes that it compares. 

you could hear suguru tightly nod his head, his eyes narrowed — not out of anger but pure pity. you rather the fucking anger. you could almost feel his hair tickle you as the wind sways as he turns his back to you despite being feet away. 

and for the first time, you can’t be the one to turn away. you don’t think you want to. it’s not deserved. 

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie, @vorfreudevortex, @bubblegumcat229, @fairygardenprincesss, @lily-isalittlegirl, @sukunasrealgf, @vimzya, @sexylexy12, @chaos-unlimited, @sukunasbigtiddiewifey, @timedisappears, @goonforgeto, @lily-bisque

[aquasoftware]

me when satoru calls reader wifey

me when toji calls reader ma

me when suguru calls reader pretty girl

me when toji calls reader doll

me when sukuna calls reader woman

[aquasoftware]

i want your friend, i’m allowed to switch!

notes: satosugu x fem reader, unprotected p in v, switching between the two😋, i hope no one has done this yet. 18+ mdni!

satoru’s face is, like, tomato red.

he’s never felt, so—achingly, insanely turned on in his life.

you—his crush since, like, two years ago—are on top of him, riding the soul out of him. and his best friend, someone he’d been crushing on since high school, sits on the opposite end of the sofa, watching intently.

this is crazy.

“mm—‘toru,” you purr, a sickeningly sweet call towards your current lover. his blue eyes—prettier than ever—are glossed over as he looks up at you, face frozen into a look of awe.

“yeah?” he groans, musing as you lean down to kiss him.

“i—i want,” you mutter out, just before slipping off of satoru’s cock and crawling over to suguru. “sugu.”

gojo is left dumbfounded, length pulsing and throbbing from hitting the cold air so suddenly. he looks down, then up, met with the sight of your cunt, glistening with your arousal while you crawl on top of suguru.

“hmm?” suguru hums, a rough hand of his coming to cradle your face, “what is it, angel?”

“need you,” you whine, pawing at the waistband of geto’s pants, relieved when he lifts his hips to tug his sweats and boxers down at the same time. his length springs free, slaps against his stomach—

satoru can’t understand how chill suguru’s being.

you straddle suguru, lining his cock up and sink down, taking all of him at once. slowly, you grind your hips back and forth, thighs going weak because suguru just hits all those spots. he always does.

“wanna put on a show for ‘toru, huh?” suguru taunts, using the nickname you’d given satoru, piercing his gaze right into his best friend.

“uh huh,” you dumbly mumble, falling against suguru’s chest.

suguru scoots down a little, bends his leg for leverage. his hands tilt your hips up, giving satoru a full view of where the two of you are connected. it’s probably, like, the hottest thing satoru’s ever seen in his life. he can’t comprehend anything, his mind is just—blank.

you—suguru—suguru inside you—in front of him—suguru’s fucking you—

the long-haired man thrusts up into you, forces you to take all his length, but lets you fall into him, practically dead weight. he holds you up where he needs, spreads you open for satoru to see, encourages your moans and whimpers so satoru can hear.

suguru’s deep—deeper than satoru could ever be, probably, not to insult him, he knows. because suguru doesn’t even have to try to get that feeling to coil up in your abdomen, to inflate the bubble and get it to burst.

“tell him how it feels,” suguru demands, smug grin on his face while he looks over your shoulder at satoru.

“so—it’s so deep—.” is all you can muster, all of your strength going towards showing off for satoru.

satoru’s hand weakly strokes his cock, eyes focused on where suguru impales you, and the slick sounds of your cunt and skin slapping. suguru can tell the other man is overwhelmed—and he’s going to use that against him.

“hey, baby,” suguru says, pulling your head back to look at him, “turn over for me, yeah?”

just like that, you stand up on your knees and let suguru slip out, and turn over to crawl on top of satoru again. this time, however, you lay your pretty head on his chest and push your hips back at suguru.

all satoru feels like he can do is hold you, one hand behind your head and the over around your shoulders. this is the type of thing that’s only happened in his dreams, and now that it’s here—he doesn’t know what to do.

“so pretty, huh?” suguru coos, slipping back inside you with a low grunt. satoru nods, feverishly. “kiss ‘er, baby.”

of course, satoru listens—he can’t do much else. suguru just called him baby, for crying out loud—he cups your jaw with his hands, pulls you in, smashes his lips against yours as best he can.

but when suguru starts his hips again, pounding back into you, you’re whimpering pleads against satoru’s lips—it’s too much—oh, god.

satoru loses it.

he cums with a strangled groan, not stimulated by anything but the slightest touches of your skin against his. satoru’s hands pull you in against him, harder now, like you’re his lifeline. you smile against his mouth, kind of coo at him, melting into his touch and the pleasure suguru’s providing.

suguru looks down at the two of you, satisfied.

[aquasoftware]

btw i imagine u guys look like ur pfps..

[aquasoftware]

miss seeing you on my feed

come back :(

OMG WIFEEEEE. I miss u too, I've been logging on from time to time to see what everyone's up to. + I'm still writing though, it just MIGHT be longer than the last oneshot (choso). I still got a ton of fics on my reading list, so I'll be back just to rebloggg

[aquasoftware]

koi finding out i even outline my layouts is sending me so bad LMFAOOOO

[aquasoftware]

Koi my darling !! It's been a hot minute I miss you 🫶🏼 hope you're doing well my love 🩷

OMG MY PRECIOUS EDEN HEYYYY. I haven't been as active on here lately, sprinkle some writing motivation dust on me please 😞 💔 Other than that I'm doing okay, what about you? What have you been up to

[aquasoftware]

⋆˚࿔ DOG DAYS — single father! toji fushiguro x vet! fem reader

PROLOGUE — THE PERFECT PAIR

PART SUM. megumi makes a convincing argument to get a dog.

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 2.5k words. five year old megumi bossing toji around, mention of mamaguro, and fluff.

A/N. sorry that this took me a while but i hope you enjoy :p reader will be in the next one i promise 🌞

series masterlist main masterlist playlist

“sit.”

toji had barely rolled out of bed, hair sticking up in all different directions while he haphazardly poured coffee beans in the machine when megumi padded over like a miniature drill sergeant barking orders. pointing over at the couch as if toji was nothing more than just another soldier to be trained.

the man simply raised a brow but allowed himself to get pulled over to the living room, plopping down on the couch. “you wanna tell me what th-” before toji had the chance to finish his question, megumi pressed his pointer against his mouth. effectively shushing his father.

the little boy fiddled with the remote control, switching from the news to cartoons, all up until he managed to get his presentation pulled up on the tv screen.

all the reasons why megumi deserves a dog by megumi fushiguro in times new roman font, size 50, and bold.

toji almost felt bad for the ‘no’ bubbling in his chest. keyword: almost. “we’re not getting a damn dog. can barely take care of us half the time.”

reason #1: you wouldn’t be taking care of the dog.

the kid knew what he going up against, at least. “hold on.” he left toji staring at the powerpoint transitions showing up on the screen while he disappeared into his room.

megumi came back into the living room, carrying a pile of books from the public library taller than himself and on the verge of toppling over. covering the surface of the coffee table when he set them down. “i’ll take care of the dog,” he announced, his chest puffed out and his determination sky-high.

toji reached out and plucked one of the books on the table: how to take care of a doggy for dummies.

he flipped through the first couple pages, seeing the basic instructions for taking care of a new pet: be gentle when it comes to potty training, reward it with treats, buy all the dog equipment necessary and maintain it healthy through a proper diet and exercise.

toji set the book down, an amused grin spreading across his lips. “so, you’re a dog expert now?”

“pretty much. pay attention,” megumi ordered, tapping the tv screen. making sure to emphasize each of his points and reiterate what a great dog owner he’d make yet again before moving onto the next slide.

the presentation had passed by in a blur after reason #25, every single one starting to melt together. that megumi would be the one to take the dog out to potty, on walks, that he’d be much happier with one. the last reason, however, had toji paying attention with furrowed brows as the words on screen registered.

“you’re joking.”

reason #50: my mom died and i’m all lonely :(

toji quickly found out megumi fushiguro was, indeed, not joking. he simply looked at his father like he was daring him to still say no, folding his arms across his chest.

and damn it, if it didn’t make it harder for toji to keep his resolve. especially when his late wife was looking at him through the tv screen, holding a mutt she’d found in the street. like she was also arguing for megumi’s point. “that’s just dirty, y’know.”

the kid would make a killer college essay one day.

“fine… if i get a dog, i’ll stop getting into fights and making you go pick me up.” remembering every single complaint toji had muttered under his breath while he drove at 11kmh (his form of rebellion against the school’s 8kmh) about how kids needed to toughen up nowadays.

toji let out an amused scoff, scratching the edge of his chin before straightening up on the sofa. “you should be doing that anyways, kid.”

but the man figured it was worth considering. “can i drink my coffee before i make a decision?” that certainly wasn’t a no.

megumi took that as a begrudging ‘yes’ and rushed up to his room to get ready for the day. toji wasn’t sure he’d seen the boy move that fast, not even when he’d woken up an hour late for school. he let out a scoff, leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping his bitter coffee.

he wasn’t sure if the coffee beans were expired, if they had some kind of different taste, but with each sip that he took, the more that he seemed to come around to the idea of having a dog around the house. having it to protect and be around megumi while he was out doing a job.

toji could tell megumi was just waiting for the moment that he’d slip up and say that yes, they were going to the shelter.

“put your shoes on. we’re going out.” megumi rushed out the door as soon as toji spoke, walking all too eager next to him. however, when the boy realized where they’d stopped walking, his excitement dimmed down.

the grocery store down the block.

“..here?” he sounded like a deflated balloon.

“ran out of toothpaste, we need to get some more.”

the boy frowned, walking next to him as they entered the grocery store. before trying to connect whatever dots his five year old delusions would allow him to. “but we’re going somewhere else, right?”

“dunno, maybe.”

the two of them walked around doing meaningless tasks before toji finally relented, “okay, we’re gonna go look for a dog. only if you’re sure if it’s something you want, i don’t wanna hear that you’re bored next week.”

and just to secure it with the highest form of promises, he stuck his pinkie out. megumi didn’t hesitate to curl his pinkie around toji’s, “pinkie promise i won’t get bored.”

“okay, good, let’s go.”

toji lost track of how many dog shelters they’d been to in the area. all full of overeager puppies and grown dogs jumping around in search of their forever home. and yet, megumi didn’t bother to give the drooling furballs a second look.

he was starting to wonder if the kid was in love with the idea of a dog at this point, deciding to give one last shelter a shot. and it seemed like he wasn’t that interested in what this shelter had to offer either. megumi walked past the dozens of crates lined up against one another without giving them a glance.

all until he stopped in front of one particular cage, pointing a chubby finger inside, “that one.”

the one in question, a large black wolfdog stared at the two from the corner of its confinement. teeth bared out like it had something to defend itself against. toji glanced over at the paper posted on the cage door, #1 worst behaved pup written in overwhelmingly big letters.

stole food from two of his brothers and tried to bite one of the staff members this week while getting his shots.

promising enough.

a shelter employee walked over to the two of them, a questioning look on their face. probably wondering if the two were out of their mind. “you sure that’s the one, buddy? there’s a lot of friendlier dogs around,” their voice was measured, threading on thin ice while gesturing to a couple of the other smaller dogs eagerly scratching at their cage.

megumi shook his head, pointing at the dog crouched in the corner again. “that one,” he reiterated, his voice firm. opening no room for debate. the employee looked over at toji, waiting for the man to say something. all he did was shrug in response, “if that’s the one he wants to see.”

the employee opened the door and megumi opted to approach the dog slowly, bending down and extending his hand out for the dog to sniff. the dog snarled. he stood still, his hand still out. it finally decided to approach, each step a contemplation as it warily approached the little boy and sniffed his hand.

“he normally doesn’t like little kids,” the employee murmured beside toji, watching the scene play out with mild surprise.

the dog licked at megumi’s hand (probably tasting one of the snacks he’d eaten earlier) and allowed for the little boy to pet him. it was a complete contrast from the words printed out on the sheet, the dog completely docile for the five year old.

megumi sat down on the floor and the dog followed suit, laying down at his feet. the two of them seemed to have a silent understanding. the dog rubbed his head against megumi’s fingers, trying to get as many pets as he could out of the five year old.

“papa, can we get this one?” he spoke up after a couple seconds, looking up at toji.

toji turned to the employee, “well, can we?”

“so, the thing about pavement here,” the name had toji resisting the urge to roll his eyes (though what else could he expect from the same place with a golden retriever named chicken crunchwrap supreme), “is that he needs to be adopted with driveway.”

“so what you’re saying is that we’re getting two dogs?” megumi piped up from behind his feet, like it was the only logical solution.

“we could just get none,” toji grumbled. but he was complete putty when he saw his son and the dog giving him puppy eyes in unison. what a pair of conspirers.

he relented in 0.2 seconds, “…but fine. let’s see driveway.”

the employee led them to another cage in the back of the shelter, unlocking the door.

driveway was just as big and just as fluffy as pavement, the white ball of fluff more approachable than the other. “they’re both potty trained and know a couple basic commands like sit and roll over.”

“sit.” megumi ordered the dog like he’d ordered his father around this morning, the canine sitting down in front of the little boy with his tongue out. practically reaching the boy’s stomach at this height.

toji could physically feel the white hairs coming on, letting out a small sigh before facing the employee. “can we take them both?”

“are you sure this is something you also want? we don’t want to have them returned a couple months later,” they spoke, looking over at the dogs solemnly, “you don’t sound too eager and the two were turned in by their last owners for being too destructive.”

now everybody was staring at him—the worker, megumi, and hell, even the two dogs to see what his response would be. “i’m not eager but i also don’t plan on treating ‘em badly.” that seemed like a good enough answer for the most part, the worker leading toji over to an office to get the paperwork situated.

“we don’t do home checks anymore, but if there’s something wrong or if you can’t take care of them anymore, don’t hesitate to call.” they handed a stack of papers and a pen over finalizing the process. toji skimmed through the papers before signing on the lines, handing it back.

“feel free to take their toys and bed from their cages, please.” and still, the two had to go out and buy the rest of what the dogs needed for the time being.

megumi tossed the first thing on the shelf without bothering to even look at the price tag, throwing in an bejeweled dog collar for 7266 yen. just a little less under what he paid for their weekly groceries.

he wasn’t even that mad about the price (he was) but more so about the flimsy material being advertised. just by holding it in his palm, toji could tell it would snap if one of the dogs so much as lightly tugged on it.

“oi,” toji called out, pointing back to the shelf when megumi turned around to look at him, “pick another one.”

“stingy old man,” megumi muttered to himself, placing the collar back on the shelf. he grabbed two sturdy (and more affordable) black collars and placed them in the cart.

“you wanna say that again?” toji retorted, picking up one of the items from the cart and reading over it. talking starter dog toy set. he could practically see his money fading away in the form of talking dog toys and automatic feeders.

“don’t know what you heard, i didn’t say anything,” megumi responded, acting as the guide as he dragged toji to different areas of the store.

the two of them made their way from aisle to aisle, picking up bowls, mats, and a large of kibble with more protein than they could count. the cart filled up soon enough, the boy tossing as many treats and toys as his little hands could manage. only making himself scarce when toji went up to the register, opting to wait from a safe enough distance.

megumi practically knocked out the moment that they stepped foot in the door, barely changing into his pajamas before collapsing onto his bed with a satisfied expression on his face. as satisfied as megumi could look, anyways. toji walked into the room after putting the stuff away (i.e. shoving it in the back of his closet and dealing with it tomorrow), tucking the boy in underneath his blanket.

pavement curled up at the edge of the bed, ears perked up as he stared at toji. waiting to see if the man was a threat. "sleep good, kid," he whispered, patting the boy's head before checking to see if his backpack was packed for the school day tomorrow.

he stopped by the door, looking over at pavement. "you too, mutt." with that, he switched the lights off and closed the door. now all he had planned was take a nap, watch tv, maybe drink a beer if he was up to it.

toji came out to the living room to spot driveway curled up into a ball and snoring like he’d just worked a 12 hour shift right on his arm chair. he debated moving the dog, he really did. but when he approached the chair, he found himself unable to move the dog.

how ridiculous.

he came home soaked in blood more often than not and he couldn’t bring himself to move a dog from his property. toji let out a scoff, deciding to take a seat on the couch. shifting a bit to try to get comfortable. and that was when driveway decided to wake up and move from his spot.

it hopped up on the couch without reservations, circling around toji’s lap before curling up into a ball and continuing his much deserved nap. he didn’t like dogs, he wasn’t a fan. didn’t see the appeal of cleaning up and maintaining after someone else. but.. this wasn’t nearly as bad as he imagined.

he let his hand glide across the dog’s fur, gently rubbing behind driveway’s ear. the furball in question was practically in bliss the moment his fingers grazed against the spot, leg eagerly kicking against toji’s with each swipe of his finger.

"don't get used to this," he muttered, though his protests sounded weak even to his ears. driveway simply gave him a deadpan look before leaning and licking the side of his cheek.

TAGLIST. @lily-bisque @muli-wam @evergyeom @romybites @cutesytwt @keijimilk @levifiance @tsuma-senju @yanelis-world @chilichopsticks @satorupied @planetxella @hellovanie @jkslvsnella @p1nkfl0wers @humeysaga @evii1e @kamuihz @emoedgylord @cherryredkissez @megumuro @chlosology @jheneea @fushiguroooozzz @zoebella30 @stargirl-mayaa @surgikull @chosos-prettyprincess @murakamisblog @erenspersonalwh0re @heliumshorns @katsukigetsmewetter (if at any point you want to removed, please let me know)

[aquasoftware]

Everyone pick Suguru or else there will be a huge tarantula crawling on you while you sleep. (Who said that?)

alsooooooo i think i’m going to edit the masterlists of the series i have in mind and let you guys choose which one comes next

[aquasoftware]

wave goodbye ⋆｡⋆❀˖°

༄ pairing: k. nanami x f!reader

༄ synopsis: you visit kento’s favorite place to live in the pockets he has left behind and to say goodbye.

༄ warnings: wc: 3k. little a bit of everything: angst, fluff, and smut (very soft), canon (in the sense that nanami dies), staggering flashbacks (the same day but different years), mentions of death, sadness, heartbreak, quiet ending.

༄ a/n: for the lovely @lily-bisque’s (ily) summer collab!!! my chest caved in a little while writing this.

July 5th, 2017 

Postcard from Kuantan, Malaysia 

To my love,

The sea is loud, but she is constant. The ridges of the waves speak to me in a way that drags the salt from the water into my hands. It’s where I know I’ll always find you. You’ll find me in the tides. 

I wish you were here. But, I see you in the glitter on the early morning sand and the waves that follow me as I walk along the shore. 

Your Kento. 

July 5th, 2019

The postcard feels heavy in your hands. The sun bleached edges bite into your palm, familiar now. Like it’s trying to cling to you as hard as you’re clinging to him. 

You’re not sure if you want to dip your toes in yet… not when it feels like you’ll be stepping into his ghost. 

It feels unnatural. To be in his favorite place without him. You ignored the heavy feeling in your chest when you got on the plane to get here — sitting in the middle of two strangers. Kento’s thigh not the one to press into yours. His hand not weaving into yours when the turbulence became too much to handle.

Now, the deep lavender sky envelopes the warming peach and gold hues flowing in. The horizon stretches on forever. You stare long enough to start hoping it’ll give him back. It stares back — probably wondering where he is too. 

This was the place where he came to breathe. You returned just to remember the sound of it. But the ocean — loud, aggressive — doesn’t let you mourn quietly.

It remembers him too. 

You swear, for a second, you hear him. 

“It always sounds angrier before it calms.” 

You look over your shoulder, just to be sure. The waves knock in a humid breeze, one that tangles your hair. One, that if the stretch of sand wasn’t empty, but had your Kento walking towards you — his feet would have sunk deeper into the sand, the pages of the book he brought to study the animals he’ll see, would have flutter. 

But he isn’t walking towards you. The salt isn’t clinging to his sun kissed hair. It’s just, your sandals, and the tide crawling closer. 

You press the postcard closer to your chest, right where it aches the most. The paper’s warm from the sun, but you tell yourself it’s kept the warmth from his hands when he first picked it out for you. You wish it really was his hand on your chest. His breath on your neck when he’ll lean down and ask if you wanted to get breakfast before the stalls ran out of roti canai. Instead, the waves crash another humid breeze towards you. 

Your body still remembers how to love him. It keeps reaching — for his hand, for his laugh, for the sound of him breathing next to you.

But there’s nothing to catch. Only wind.

You inhale, sharp. It smells like sandy seashells and sunscreen and fruit. Like him. Like then. You blink against the sting in your eyes. You want to blame it on the salt. But that isn’t fair. 

Your heart aches for the sea. 

Maybe it misses him too.

July 5th, 2018

You’re straggling behind — Kento leisurely walking along the shore. His footprints clear, the tide trying and failing to wash them away. The crystal clear water pools in his footprints, letting you walk in his steps. 

The water is a quiet kind of blue today. It folds over itself, staying near Ken’s feet a little longer than necessary — rolling with a hush, retreating with a wistful sigh.  

The sand is pale and warm, packed firmly from where the waves have kissed it. You smile at the sensation when the sand becomes sugary and crumbly when you’re closer to the dunes. Your feet are still stepping into Kento’s path. The path you know you’ll follow for the rest of your life. 

The air is thick with salt, the salt that you know will cling to Kento’s lashes and you’ll be even more memorized when he looks down and blinks at you. The smell of sunscreen and rambutan settles sweet and sticky into your hair — you even consider skipping shampoo tonight. The smell of Kento’s favorite place wrapping you up and being presented to him later tonight. 

You’re not talking to each other. The sounds of the waves crash towards you, pulling you both into the blues of the unknown. The sand gently shifts gently under your feet. Birds you don’t recognize call out overhead (Ken knows them, you saw the book about animals in Malaysia snuggled near his socks in his suitcase). The early morning bustle of beach goers setting up camp. It’s calming. But, hearing Ken’s breathing is louder than anything. Words aren’t needed — you know he’s here and vice versa. He hears your toes imprinting into the prints he’s left behind. 

You squint at Kento’s bare back, your heart squeezing with it. You want the sun to hold him like you plan to — forever and ever. 

And then, he turns around. Facing you. 

Golden in the sunlight.

Shoulders relaxed. Head tilted like he’s listening to the water speak. The smallest hint of a smile, the real one that you’re lucky to know. You could feel it, your heart leaping when his lips quirk. You’ve had this thought before — that you’d know this smile, even from miles away.  

At times you think his mother created him in a lab, grabbing inspiration from Greek sculptors.

“You okay?” He calls out to you, and then you realize you stopped walking. A line of his footprints slowly filling up with water — tiny little puddles gasping with your love and the sea’s love for your golden boy. 

“Perfect,” you whisper. You can’t help but smile back at him. A bird caws in back of you, it sounds closer than the others. It’s pretty.  You could see the gears in his brain start to turn, the bird book coming in handy. 

“Well, come over.” He waves his arm and like a snake charmer to a cobra, you follow along. The sand pushing on your heels as you lightly jog to be near your love. 

“Look at what I found.” As you approach, you see a line of seashells — not just scattered, but arranged deliberately. Like little offerings from the sea, pulled in just for him. You’re just happy to be involved. 

Your arms are brushing each other — sweaty and salty. The sun is now shining on you both, and you wonder if Kento feels the warmth as softly as you. The heat isn’t beating on you, no fear of sunburned skin and aloe kisses happening. But, it’s easy and tender — like his fingers running along your spine when he wakes you up in the morning. 

You look up at him, ignoring the pile of seashells that he’s so intrigued by. Sweat drips from his temple and you realize — the sun is yours and the sea is his. 

“Let’s see who could find the prettiest one.”

He crouches down, skilled fingers lightly brushing sand off the variety of colors flashing in front of you. Hues of pink, blues, and beige weave around his digits, a content humming coming from him and ringing in your ear. 

You kneel beside him, watching the way the sun glints off the water droplets still clinging to the shells — like they haven’t quite let go of the ocean. Like they’re not ready to be taken.

Then you spot it — the blue one that looks like it’s curling into itself. You immediately reach for it, your fingers brushing his. A shell so blue, it matches the button up he wears everyday for work. 

“It reminds me of you.” You hum and he chuckles. You lean into his shoulder a bit. The shell rolling in your palm — you want to squeeze it so that the salt and the tales of the waves it rode in lives in you forever. 

“So I have to find one that reminds me of you.” His voice is gentle, his lips brushing on your hairline is even gentler. 

He jumps up — sudden and determined. You hold in the giggle that wants to escape. Watching as he starts to lightly jog across the beach, following the line of shells laid out in front of him. 

Giddily, you jump up too. The shell is still in your hand, the light waves are still filling his footprints, and his chuckle is still swimming in the air. You follow him. 

The sea chased him. So did you. 

July 5th, 2019

It’s quiet — and not the quietness that used to follow him. His quiet was still and calm, waiting to be popped by your invasive questions and his hearty chuckle. Or even by the gallops of the beach just outside, it was always waiting. Always patient, and loving. 

This quiet is lonely. It’s eerie almost — as if it is just cloaking itself over what you and Kento have built in this little bungalow. It knows it isn’t welcomed, it shouldn’t be here. But, like your grief and his wavering quiet — it doesn’t know where to go. 

You fully step into the bungalow, the palm tree right by the door sending you a little wave as you brave this home that once was filled with salty kisses and Kento’s calm sigh, alone. 

You don’t realize the tears are falling until you’re inside. 

Your eyes skirt around the familiarity of the place, despite the most important piece missing. You see the blue seashell you picked up last year — the one the color of his work shirt. A shirt you have tucked in your suitcase for when you just want to feel him draped over your shoulders. 

Your knees buckle at the simpleness of the seashell. The sunlight warms the dust that’s settled on it. It’s still beautiful. It’s still him. 

Your fingers reach for it, fast and unsteady. You silently pray that you don’t drop it. You don’t know how you’ll react to a piece of him shattered at your feet. 

The curves grove along your palm the way the postcard did earlier. It feels smaller now, more lived in. And the fact that this little remnant of life has the audacity to keep moving without him causes your chest to heave in. 

And you let yourself cry. 

You let yourself imagine his fingers combing through your hair, his sunscreen penetrating the air with such force you’ll stop crying just to make sure he rubbed it in correctly. 

While the tears flow out violently and unending, your feet graze the floorboards — every inch of this place memorized in your DNA. Your body knows where to go, what to walk around. It’s only missing his hand in yours. 

Red rimmed eyes and the sluggish, aching feeling of crying creaks in your shoulder blades as you walk to the bedroom window. The shell is still craved into your palm, you crack the window open. 

You let the world in. The breeze, briny and humid. The faraway call of someone selling food on the street. The scent of rice and palm sugar wafts in like a ghost. The distant rhythm of children laughing down the beach. The sea doesn’t crash here — not yet. It hushes. It lulls.

From the corner of your teary eyes, you realize something waves for your attention. And there, hanging as if he just placed it there a minute before is his tie. Your free hand immediately reaches for it. 

That stupid patterned one you use to tease him about. The same one you helped him knot because he could never get the length quite right. You grab it slowly, as if he might be around the corner to question your motives. The fabric is stiff, sun-worn, but you can still imagine it looped around his neck. You can almost feel him though the threads of the funny patterns. 

You press it into your face. Inhaling. It doesn’t smell like him anymore — not that you expected it too. But still your chest caves. Your body jerks slightly, waiting to feel his arms wrap around you. 

But the tie doesn’t hold him. It should. It always did. 

You pull it back for a moment, almost dropping it.  Your nose running, searching for his scent.

Your memory does the work anyway. You taste him in the back of your throat. 

You can’t move, so you stay there with pieces of your love in your hands. The tears are the only thing that could move out of you. 

Not because you’re alone. 

But because the air still feels like him. 

And you know he would’ve had his head out the window, letting the sea speak to him. Their secret conversations were nothing more than his slight, slow breath, and his listening. 

Letting the sea carry all the words neither of you could say. 

July 5th, 2018

The lights are dimmed, the curtain losing its fight with the salty breeze tangling in — allowing just the lightest kiss of moonlight to flitter throughout the room. The air smells like pockets of the sea and skin, the ocean breeze wrapping around the room like a cloth. 

You hear the moon dictating the tides as they whisper along the shore — allowing for your moans and Kento’s grunts to dance around the room without a care. All of the sounds create a melody that’s steady and heartfelt. One that will live in your heart and the breeze that the palm tree would feel tomorrow. 

His breath is hot against your neck, but his touch is soft and reverent. His heart is beating against your palm from where your hand is plastered to his back. He moves as if he’s trying to keep you tucked in the bed, in this bungalow, with the beach leading his hips into yours. 

You’re staring at him from below, his blonde salty hair tickling your nose. Legs are tangled together, skin sticky from heat and love. One of his hands is buried under your head, cradling you as if you’re delicate. His other hand traces your ribs, the dip of your waist, the beauty mark he loves on your stomach. Over and over. You think he’s memorizing you for a moment when you won’t be here. As if he doesn’t know who you are or what you are to him. 

“Kento,” you whisper along with the salty breeze. You feel his heart stutter on your palm. A welcoming feeling. You almost want to grab on to it, keep it engraved on your skin for years to come. 

He sinks into you deeper — bottoming out in you with a low, broken groan. Your own moan follows, accompanied with a shiver down your spine. He holds still there, buried in your warmth like it’s sacred. His hazel eyes boring into yours. Unsaid words floating between your bodies and floating out the cracked window to join the palm trees.

Then he begins to move again — slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that grind him deeper into you. He drags soft, needy sounds out of you with every thrust. His hand presses into your lower belly like he’s grounding you to the earth, to him. 

“I love you,” he breathes, lips brushing your cheek. “I love you even more you’re here with me.”

He kisses the curve of your shoulder, his hair tickling you even more. You could almost see the particles of sand that didn’t wash out in the shower twinkle in his hair. His rhythm doesn’t change, it’s still slow… it’s still him. He takes his time, stretching you out so that you could feel him whole. 

“Because I bought you that bowl of nasi lemak?” You whisper against his lips. The hand that was pressing on your stomach is dipping in between your legs, you arch your back at the invasion. His hips are still slowly kissing yours in a pace that’s matching the sound of the waves rolling in. 

He chuckles against your lips — warm and wet. “Maybe.” 

His hips roll forward, even slower this time — dragging his length along your gummy walls. The only response you could give him at the moment is clenching your walls around his creamy shaft. And an airy breath, not from urgency, but from how deeply you feel him. 

“Where else would I be, if not by your side?” You ask. Your voice is soft, even you had trouble hearing yourself. The vibrations of your chest as you spoke let you know you said it out loud. 

Your hand that’s been grasping at the thumping of his heart runs along his back, stopping at his shoulder to give it a squeeze before crawling its way to tangle into his blonde hair. His hair is damp, curling at the ends and you can’t help but fall in love again. 

He stares down at you, his brows relaxed. His eyes are shining so brightly, you have to remind yourself you shut the lamp off before you guys became tangled in bed. Plump lips parted just slightly, you catch his tongue running over his bottom lip. 

“We could just stay,” his tone is dreamy and you can’t help but just nod along. “Let the sea age us.” 

His index finger has found your clit, tracing lazy circles that echo who he is — slow, certain, and achingly tender. 

The sea sighs, creeping through the windows, entering your lungs and his. And with it, so do you. 

July 5th, 2019

The quiet from the bungalow follows you and the moon to your spot on the sand. 

The postcard is still in your hand, the shell that is the color of Kento’s button up shirt is snug in your pocket. His tie looped around your fingers lazily, soft in the wind. You don’t remember doing that. Your hand just knew to drag it along. 

“I wish you were here,” you whisper, but your voice breaks halfway. The words come out watery and achy. Like you’re in physical pain. You feel like you are. 

A wave replies, gently brushing your feet. 

You scurry your feet closer to you. It feels cruel and wrong to be kissed by the sea. It feels too much like him. 

A chilled breeze weaves through the palm trees. Dragging along good night kisses from lovers in the bungalows behind you. Kisses filled with promises of seeing each other in the morning. The kisses you miss the most. 

Out of heartbreaking anger, you roughly grab onto the postcard — holding it a little tighter. Your thumb running along the ink smeared words acting as if you don’t know how he crosses his ts.

“You’ll find me in the tides.” 

You shove it to your chest, ignoring the slight pang of physical pain. Not when the grief is growing from under your ribs and pressing your heart out of your chest. 

You’re not ready. You weren’t ready for him to go. You doubt you would ever be ready for that to be true. 

The moon brings the tide closer to you. The usual warm water feels cold tonight. The waves are soft, so soft. You just have to sit there and wonder if he is controlling the waves — having them match his kisses. Maybe he thinks this is making it easier. 

But, the burn in your throat and the crack in your shoulders as you try to push them down from your ears tells you it’s time. You know that you have too. He would want you to. 

If you don’t let go now, it will keep breaking you in newer and sharper ways everyday. Like how those heavy waves erode rocks on cliffs. The crash and pull created something the rocks weren’t planning on becoming. 

The shell is burrowing itself into your pocket, or maybe it’s your hand trying to keep it there. 

A wave rushes towards you, this one heavy and dark.

You drop the postcard first. Your eyes closed, like it’ll hurt any less. It didn’t. Your fingers grasps at air as it rushes out of your clammy hands. 

You feel the pain in your chest coming out as full body sobs. Your shoulders shaking, leaving that knowing soreness that is going to riddle your body in the morning. 

Another roll of a wave, and your fingers grasp the shell. The sound it makes when it hits the water is too soft. Like it doesn’t understand what it meant to you. It doesn’t understand who it is. 

The tie wraps around your fingers, a gentle tug to be kept in your hand. Your stomach caves in. All you could do is allow your toes to get wet while you hold on to it, bringing it closer to your nose. Still looking for his scent. 

You feel your body curl into itself, like the shell you just left go of. Your whole body aches. Your teeth are clenched together. You want to scream — at him, at the sea, at everyone involved. You want him back. You want the sea to rewind time, so that it can get him back too. 

You don’t think you can let go. You want to laugh at the pattern one more time. You want to loop it around his neck, tugging on it softly to lead him down so that his lips meet yours. 

But, another wave comes and you think your mind is playing tricks on you. 

It sounds just like him. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to say your name when he was tired. 

You let the tie sway out of your hand. 

Eyes still closed and spilling out hot tears, you stay sitting in the cold wet sand. Your knees curled into your body. 

Even with your eyes wet and shut, you know the moon is bright, you see glimmer of it whenever you move your head. The sky is calm. 

The sea is endless and forgiving. The waves have stopped lapping at your feet, staying nearby quietly. You’re grateful for the companion. 

He’s gone. He has been gone for months now. 

But, he’ll be in the sea. In the tides, waiting for your toes to curl in the wet sand. For your fingers to graze over seashells that match his eyes. For the salt that would cling to your hair, dropping on his pillow — since you can’t sleep on your side anymore. 

For now, he’s floating in the groves of his favorite place. For now, he’s everywhere where he's meant to be. 

In the sea. In your heart. 

happy belated birthday kento bean <3 you deserved better (sorry i can’t write that way). 

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

[aquasoftware]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[aquasoftware]

you always see the love interest making something for the main character or buying them food or a drink unexpectedly then they're always happy and love whatever they have but i am the pickiest person ever and its so unrealistic for me.

like imagine you're at kentos house for the first time, its your third date and hes making some dish that you've never heard of. he doesn't quite know how picky you are yet but he likes to make sure you like everything or you're not allergic to anything in the recipe so he sends you it.

you look through the words and its just a long list of every food you despise. your face contorts into one of disgust and he looks over at you. sat on his counter, scrolling through the list. his brow quirks at your face. "something wrong?"

"erm." you don't reply, just glancing between him and the phone, wondering how to tell him. "what is it? not like something? is it the olives?"

"no its... everything." you murmur under your breath, embarrassed. "everything?" kento hums, "what would you like then?"

he speaks calmly, unlike everyone else who knows you're a picky eater. everyone makes a big deal out of it, but not him. "n-no that's fine, ill just eat it" you try to convince him, more yourself.

"plain pasta?" he suggests, turning around to reach into a cupboard. you don't reply, just kinda glance at him. "plain pasta it is." he nods to himself, without a bother.

what a man kento is <3

[aquasoftware]

warning —> nsfw :: cheating

toji is grimy and does not give a fuck if you have a boyfriend, he'll even admit the thought of taking what another man has dubbed his 'property' is an arousing one. he's been a thief, you knew this!

leaving your house after telling your man you're going out with the girls, just for him to watch you get into tojis front seat, who has the audacity to wave your boyfriend goodbye alongside you. that's just one of your friends mans... right?

you come home all sweet and sated, like you've really worn yourself out... and when your man tries to initiate sex, he finds you already soaking wet.

"this all for me?" he asks, swiping his fingers through your folds to circle your clit with the slick. "you must've been so needy for me all day to be this wet, baby."

"yeah," you feign, unsure just how to tell your boyfriend that the fingers he's bringing to his lips to suck clean are covered in toji's second and third load of the day.

maybe he doesn't need to know.

[aquasoftware]

. ۫ᯓᡣ𐭩 to everyone who complains that there's too much smut . . . maybe give your fluffy and angsty writers some love the same way the smut community does with theirs :))

[aquasoftware]

𝚰𝐍𝐅𝐎 .ᐟ suguru x f!reader, jealousy, geto has piercings, jealousy, unestablished relationship, alcohol, smoking, etc, suggestive, lmk if i missed anything 𝜗𝜚

𝐀/𝐍 .ᐟ wc,, 1.1k,, a little something for my lovelies 𝜗𝜚

THE BLUR BETWEEN FRIENDS AND something more was one of those labels you didn’t bother with when it came to suguru. you weren’t kissing, definitely weren’t fucking, but since… always, there’s been this charge between you both, crackling like a live wire ready to hork sparks at any second.

suguru didn’t want to be here, in this mystified relationship limbo you’d ensnared him in, and definitely not this club, surrounded by sweat and cheap, cloying cologne. too much tasteless alcohol, and by some cosmic cruelty, none of that liquid buzz he was betting on being his saving grace. 

yet he still showed, sitting atop a plush, padded barstool beside shoko while you and satoru stormed the dance floor. why? if you asked, he’d tell you it’s because he couldn’t leave you three without a fourth. if it was someone else, he’d simply nod towards you, dolled up and dancing, letting them see why for themselves.

shoko’s shamelessly flirting for drinks while suguru sourly nurses whatever insipid whiskey the bartender had recommended. purple hues keep drifting to you when they really shouldn’t be. ah, who cares. it doesn’t seem like you’re even close to noticing when you’re batting lashes at…what, a btec version of him?

slim eyes narrow further when they really hone in on the guy; black hair that’s a little more cropped than his own, same style - he wants to think it looks tackier on the wannabe - and probably a few inches shorter judging from the way you barely have to crane your neck. but it’s enough to make him feel weirdly territorial. 

only when your sight finally catches his, does suguru finally realise he’s been advancing you and that crummy imitation on instinctual autopilot. his stride stutters and he spins back in a terse u-turn, simultaneously cringing at himself and playing off the scorch of your stare crawling into the skin of his back. 

instead of heading back to the bar, the respite of shitty drinks and rolling his eyes at the way satoru’s practically gathered a harem, he pushes past the swarm of bodies swaying to something doja cat, making a beeline for the exit.

taking a sickly long drag from a cigarette he fumbled to ignite, he didn’t bother turning to the brief blurt of bass lurching into the night when the door swung open from, who he guessed was, another stranger seeking the same recess from the club’s clammy taste.

puffing out the smoke in a swirl of plume that frayed in the dark, he almost choked when it was you that called out to him instead of a nobody asking him for a light.

“suguru..?” your airy cadence wrapped around his name like it was another one of those spells he was sure you were casting on him. yeah, he was more consoled to think that his feelings were the fruit of black magic and not a genuine, crippling, yearn for a longtime friend.

seconds slink by and he’s stone.

“what happened?” you press, soft in the way that makes him want to tilt his head back against the brick and laugh in exasperation.

you’d think he’d frozen over if it weren’t for that small nip of his bottom lip. and he’s sighing deep through his nose, butt of the tobacco poised between his thumb and pointer when he takes another fierce pull, then flicks it to the ground to snuff out the tired glimmer of orange with the heel of his shoe.

“nothing. nothing happened.” he turns, lips twisted in a wry smile that looks more like a grimace than anything. he tucks his arms over his chest, biting his inner cheek now that he’s taking you in; the glimmer of your makeup under the ambient hum of the street lamp, the way your pretty lashes flutter when you look up at him like that. this was unfair.

“sure.” the crease between your brows betrays that feigned stoicism you try to wear like an ill-fitted hand me down. “explain what ‘nothing’ means when you literally just stormed towards me like you were leading a horde with pitchforks.” you quip with an inkling of temper, shuffling closer to him under the sudden breath of the wind.

he notices it, the way you curl into yourself in defiance of the abrupt breeze, arms prickling in the chill. so he slips off his jacket like it's second nature, handing you the leather stained with smoke and sandalwood while he looms in his half-buttoned henley. you take it.

“didn’t like him.” he shrugs like it has to be that simple, and you want to believe it is when you push your arms through the sleeves, engulfed in the scent of everything that hisses his name. “the guy you were talking to. looked like he was trying too hard.” there’s a sprinkle of bitterness that belies the indifference he wants to play.

“that’s it?” the disappointment leaves your lips before you can mask it. you stiffen, he tilts his head, expression wooden save for those violet depths that peel back everything you’re trying to hide.

“you don’t want it to be?” he pushes off the wall, voice hushed to a purr under the weight of implication. the faint thump of an atmospheric rhythm bleeds through the bar’s stone now that he’s cornered you against it.

and it feels like the air’s been punched from your lungs when your eyes drag across the bob of his throat beneath that beaded choker, to the plush cushion of those pierced lips that stay only inches from your own as he braces his forearm beside your head. caged.

“i…” the words catch in your throat as your head tips back to snare his gaze with your own. all he can focus on is the way you chew your lower lip, those big rounded eyes and the way they look up at him like he’s something holy. 

he leans in until you’re sharing breath. indulgent, ready. 

“i don’t think you know what you’re doing to me. what you always have.” he murmurs, eyes low-lidded, pupils blown so wide it’s as if any trace of light would be swallowed in their abyss. the silver edge of his labret barely grazes your skin before he pulls away.

[aquasoftware]

How it feels commenting on a mutuals post like a grandma and fumbling the interaction