Milk-tea-and-memories - Your Reservations, Fuck 'em

when you know exactly how you want a scene to go but as soon as you sit down to write it you are suddenly staring at some of the worst sentences mankind has ever strung together.

@sunasbabie — for last year’s bday, christmas, and new years gift bcs ily or whatever 🙄

suna used to have a really nice denim jacket.

it was made of black denim, bought from some american brand that cost him way more than he’d care to admit. he loved that jacket— he’d worn it over t-shirts in the summer and thick hoodies in the winter. he’d been wearing it on the day of onigiri miya’s grand opening and the day he’d signed with ejp.

he’d also happened to be wearing it the night he met you.

he remembers seeing you the night of atsumu’s new year’s eve party. remembers thinking that your dress was highly impractical because it was sequined and backless but damn— you looked good.

and no matter what osamu thinks he remembers, it did not take him so long to talk to you because he was feeling shy. he was just giving the other guys at the party a chance, is all. he’s nice like that.

atsumu, the drunken idiot that he was, had ended up dragging everyone up onto the roof of his apartment for the countdown. and you, idiot that you were, started shivering 15 seconds into the count, suna watching as you’d rubbed your arms for warmth and and suddenly turned to face, as if you’d felt him watching.

with 30 seconds to midnight and a shove from osamu, he’s closing the distance between you both to say hi. you have his jacket draped over your shoulders by midnight. just because he’s nice like that, not because he’s silently marking his territory and telling potential suitors to fuck off.

he even lets you leave with it, but not before exchanging numbers so you can return it as soon as possible. which you do, showing up at his place the next afternoon, his jacket washed and folded neatly in your arms, offering to buy him lunch as a thanks.

you’re the one wearing it, four months later, when he asks you to be his girlfriend. because ‘it’s just so windy out, rin. you don’t want my dress flying up, right?’

on cooler days, he’s almost sure you forego your own jacket just so you can steal his, and he lets you. you wear it draped over your shoulders when you walk back to his place after a movie. you use it as a blanket during longer car rides. there’s this fatal bug in suna’s system, and it doesn’t let him tell you ‘no.’

you’re wearing it the day you move in. he wasn’t going to make you unpack all your clothes just to find a jacket to wear to lunch.

you’d spent three years stealing that jacket. the denim is soft and well-worn, with a tear or two in the hem, but you love it. and he loves that it still smells like your perfume on the odd day he gets to wear it himself.

maybe that’s why it hurt so much, watching you brush your fingers over it as you pack away your clothes. you’d left every every t-shirt of his you’d slept in, every hoodie you’d claimed, in what was now his closet again.

but for this, you hesitate. a dull ache throbs between his ribs as he watches you hug the fabric to your chest, eyes fluttering shut.

“just take it,” he’d told you quietly from the doorway. “i don’t want it anymore.”

suna used to have a really nice denim jacket.

_____

it’s almost six months later when you call him for the first time since the breakup.

suna has to do a double take when he sees your contact. mostly because three in the morning and no one should be awake at this hour, but also because he can’t believe it’s you.

his brain and his heart are at a crossroads. he shouldn’t answer. you probably hit the wrong contact. you have other friends in the city, surely you would call one of them if you needed something.

but there’s that flaw again, and suna hits accept.

“hello?”

“rin? rin! hi.”

he sits up in the darkness at the sound of your slurring. “are you drunk?”

“no,” you lie, even hiccuping a little. “i just…i really just wanted to tell you—”

you cut yourself short, sighing. “that you did really good during your game last week.”

he raises his brows slightly, chuckling. “you were watching?”

“no,” you say again, much too quickly. “i just…heard.”

“i know what you sound like when you’re lying,” he reminds you, sliding out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. “and i also know what you sound like when you’re drunk. stay where you are, i’m gonna pick you up.”

you send him your location right away, and he drives over. he calls you to let you know he’s there, because he’s sure you’re not gonna hear your text tone, and when you step out of the bar—

he sees that you’re wearing his jacket.

that damn black denim jacket, american label and all. it hangs off your shoulders loosely, and when suna gets out of the car, he grabs the collar, pulling you closer and pretending not to notice the way you inhale sharply. ignoring your wide-eyed stare as he adjusts the jacket, doing up the buttons because he knows you’re gonna complain about the night chill.

“c’mon,” he says, pulling open the passenger door. “get inside, dumbass.”

the cute pout that downturns your lips is just like suna remembers. he closes the door after you, rounding to the other side of the car.

“did you tell your friends you’re getting home safe?” he asks as he reaches across you to put on your belt. “how come none of them came to get you?”

“oh, uh, yeah i called them but they weren’t answering,” you tell him. “i’ll call them now, just in case.”

suna watches as you fumble with your phone, tapping back and forth through the phone app until he grabs it from your hands with a sigh. he has no idea which one of your friends you’d called, so he goes to your recents.

only to see that he’s the only one you’d called tonight.

10:16

Fluff, Bakugou x female reader

“Oh so you are fuckin’ alive.”

You attempted your best impression of his red glare. It was less satisfying when the hulking blonde in your doorway didn’t even try to reciprocate it. You forced the aggression to stay on your features, determined to ignore the way his eyes looked more like Aizawa’s than his own, or the way his hair was still filthy and sticking in more directions than usual, or the way he seemed to be out of breath even though you were only on the second floor. You definitely ignored all of that as you stood your ground, refusing to let him move past you.

“Can I come in…please?”

You huffed and walked away, leaving the door open. You made your way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass, letting the cabinet slam closed as you moved to the fridge. You set the water in front of him as he fell into his usual seat at the counter. He drank it all, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand as he set the cup down so slowly...as if it would shatter.

It was easy to avoid the intensity of his bloodshot eyes. You didn't want to look at him at all, but you couldn't resist the habitual urge to scan his body for injuries. He looked more dirty than injured, covered in rubble dust, dirt, and Todoroki's ash. You noticed a new scar along his shoulder, but no blood marked his form anywhere. You grabbed the glass, turning to refill it.

“Why are you here?” The only sound was the splash of water. You didn't try to fill the silence with anything else. You set the cup in front of him again, pulling your hand from his reach just in time to avoid it.

“I was worried. I came as soon as I landed.”

“Worried? You haven’t talked to me in days.” Something inside twisted at the way his soft drawl didn't match the anger in your tone.

“Yea...because you haven’t picked up your fucking phone in days.”

“What?”

“I kept fuckin’ calling and your shit kept fuckin’ sending me to voicemail.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, quickly navigating to the call history. “You didn’t call-” Your thumb froze over the blocked voicemails, finding 28 blaringly red notifications. “Oh...shitfuck.” You backed away from the predatory gaze you could sense was locked onto you. Your eyes were still on your phone screen as the chair scraped across the floor. The counter was already pressing against your back. You were out of space and options, so you looked up. Your breath caught at the wild look on his face.

"What's wrong, princess?"

“Okay, so I forgot you said you had to use a burner and my phone was still sort of set to block anything not from a contact…so I-“

“Ya fuckin’ blocked me?” Half a smirk tugged his lips up, but it did nothing to alleviate the intensity of those red eyes.

“I didn’t…not on purpose?”

“That makes it all better, huh?” He was close enough that you could feel the warmth emanating from his palms. Had he used his quirk to get here from the airport? “Because it was an accident?” You gasped at the speed of his movements. You went rigid in surprise for less than a moment. It was too easy to relax against his embrace. He buried his head against your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist so tightly it nearly hurt. “Do you know how hard it was to not fuckin' be here?" His voice got softer with each nuzzle against your skin. "How hard you made it to focus on anything else?" You ran your fingers through his grimy hair. "Thought I lost you, idiot.”

“Hmm, so I’m not a princess anymore.” The huff he gave tickled.

“Princess idiot.”

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been thinking about this for the past half hour.

the comment section is a joke but i got nothing

why is he so perfect if i cant have him ??

Overview

WISH I COULD | love sick! gojo satoru + gn! reader | 1,995 words | fluff | mutual pining, hurt/comfort, very idiots in love trope-y

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: set around the time of the hidden inventory arc. gojo comforts reader after they've been injured on a mission, kisses it better. but he's a bit pathetically in love about it all. *:･ﾟ✧ warnings: mentions of canon - typical violence, minor injury

The damp air of the bathroom clings to your skin uncomfortably, making it hard to breathe. You lean on the sink, trying to steady your tired limbs. The buzzing noise from the LED and your laboured breathing becoming increasingly louder with each passing moment as the quiet feeling of unease spreads through your body. You take a swipe at the foggy mirror, trying to ground yourself and ward off the onslaught of panic that was sure to follow. Two bright red cuts - one between your eyebrows and one just below your right eye - mark your skin. They are quite shallow. Probably won’t leave a scar. But they sting just enough to make moving your face uncomfortable. And they will make for an annoying reminder of a night you’d rather forget for at least a few days. 

Your hairs stand up at the change in temperature upon leaving the steamy bathroom. But the feeling is almost refreshing. You stretch your body down on the bed, clinging to your towel. Really, you just hope you are tired enough to drift off. Usually, the familiarity of your dimly lit room would provide a sense of comfort and safety. Tonight you find the silence more disturbing than anything, your eyes drifting to dark corners and the high windows. But every time you try to close them, you see the same flashing images. Its disfigured face. Sharp claws swinging too close to your neck, almost making contact. You’re not even sure if the memory is real anymore, and not just amplified and made worse by your distressed brain. But it feels real enough.

So you lift yourself off the bed, rummaging through your piles of clothes for something comfortable and clean to put on. Despite your general uneasiness you walk through the halls a bit slower than you normally would, your arms folded across your chest, gripping the loose t-shirt. Just outside, the trees are swaying in the wind, branches colliding with the windows periodically, making your skin crawl a little bit more each time. You don’t really have a destination in mind. It is late. In fact, you aren’t really sure exactly how late it is, but there is always a chance someone else might be roaming about. Maybe in the kitchen. Or by the vending machines. 

You stop in front of a familiar door. It’s almost automatic, muscle memory. Your eyes trained on the door, you consider your options. He’s not exactly the most tactful of people, but you cannot stand the thought of spending another moment alone with your thoughts. You knock gently, praying he’s fast asleep but almost immediately the door cracks open.

“Uh, hey” Gojo was clearly caught off guard. Worn out sweater hanging off his broad shoulders, he looks cozy and you feel a stab of guilt for disturbing him. “What are you doing here anyway?” He chirps. You don’t want him to know about your near-failure of a mission. You just cannot bear his smug reaction and his smart-mouthed comments. 

“Don’t tell me that semi-first grade gave you trouble?” Satoru has always had a talent for sniffing out weaknesses and he wasn’t one to hesitate or show restraint in his delivery. “I’m almost disappointed, you know.”

“Is it that hard for you to show some basic human empathy every now and then?” That was harsh. But you were disappointed in yourself, too. It shouldn’t have been such a challenging mission, but you hesitated, you pulled back. You felt that paralysing sort of fear that was almost foreign at this point, that you know cannot allow yourself to feel out there all alone.

His body shouldn’t be drowned by such a rush of guilt for simply stating the truth, yet it is. He finds no anger in your eyes. The usual curious glint replaced with dull exhaustion. Then he feels worse. He scrambles to find the right words but they simply won’t come. After all, he has never been good at this, so why would you expect anything else? But when he sees you, you, trying to steady your trembling limbs, pulling at the wide sleeves of your shirt to find some sense of protection, he wishes he was better. He wishes he knew what to say and what to do. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gojo doesn’t ask about your injuries. He watches you intently, noticing every small movement of your face and every twitch of a muscle. You don’t notice how his eyes soften, how his face is tense with worry. 

“I just need some company, if that’s ok?” Need. It’s silly and maybe a bit selfish of him to be analysing your choice in words given the situation. But he can’t help the way his heart swells at the thought. You need his company. Need him. It’s not that he doesn’t usually feel needed. People need him every day. He’d argue they need him a bit too much sometimes. Well, what they need are his abilities, his strength, so they have no other choice. But you chose to come to him. The realisation makes him light-headed. His mind racing as he tries to regain his composure. 

Suddenly he is too aware of the silence hanging heavy between the two of you. He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he just opens the door wider, stepping out of the way. 

You brush past him, heading straight for his unmade bed. The room is doused in the mellow blue light radiating from the TV. Satoru kneels down to rummage through his disorganised drawer. There’s a familiar bright smile on his face as he turns to you, holding a few different DVDs. “I’ll be nice and let you choose the movie”. 

“I don’t mind. Just pick your favourite.”

He narrows his eyes and squeezes his cheeks between long, slender fingers. Arms wrapped around your knees, you follow his movements. You watch as he fumbles with the case, mumbling about the dwarves and the elves, and grey and white wizards. Sparkling, wide blue eyes hold your gaze, are you listening? It’s amusing, the exaggerated hand movements, the animated facial expressions. His overwhelming presence lulls you away from the fear and uncertainty that had so completely overtaken your every sense. 

Satoru doesn’t mean to ramble so much. But he’s so nervous and he cannot stop himself from explaining the plot of the film in great detail, making silly jokes that he knows won’t make you laugh. Suguru would tell him to shut up. Shoko would also tell him to shut up, but in a harsher, meaner way. But they’re not here to do that, and that’s exactly his problem. It’s not that the two of you don’t ever spend time alone, you do. You train together, eat lunch together, even go on longer missions together. Never like this though. You have never been so alone that he has to keep looking at you, can’t look away to still his dizzying thoughts or the blood rushing to his ears. It has never been so quiet that he could hear your rhythmic, shallow breaths, periodically interrupted by a huff in response to his nonsense. It’s so much more than he is equipped to deal with. “And then she takes off her helmet and sa-”

Of course he catches the pillow flying towards his face and snuggles it to his broad chest. He looks at you with pouty lips and wounded eyes. “Why do you always have to spoil every movie we watch?”

“Why do you always have to be mean?” He slumps his shoulders as he walks towards you.

The bed dips beneath his weight as he settles on it with outstretched legs and arms tucked beneath his head. You try to follow his lead but you’re too fidgety, suddenly overly aware of the heat radiating off his body. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath. The way his pretty eyelashes flutter. You realise then you have moved to your side, openly staring at him. You make no effort to stop yourself as the overdue exhaustion finally takes over. Your body feeling heavier with every passing moment, sinking deeper into the mattress. 

The movie is just background noise to Satoru’s struggle for self control. He tries so hard not to look, to focus on anything but the way your body curls at his side but he just cannot. So he turns to look at your face. You’re so beautiful. He always thinks you’re so beautiful. When you look at him with stern eyes, arms folded over your chest, challenging him. When your mouth is pressed in a tight line at something that annoyed you. When you laugh with your nose scrunched up, trying to hold back cute little snorts. And he always wants so desperately to be closer to you. 

Before his common sense can catch up with his body, he extends his hand, gently tracing the claw mark between your eyebrows. “Does it hurt?” Your watery eyes, heavy with exhaustion flutter open at the contact. “Just a little”. He hums in response as his hand moves to cup your face, his thumb inspecting the cut on your temple. The clean, soapy scent of his skin drowns your senses. He is so very close. And his hands are so tender, so reverent on your face. Blood rushes to your cheeks in embarrassment, and you hope he doesn’t feel your skin burning at his touch. 

Wet lips part just slightly as he meets your gaze. His chest tightens and aches with these feelings that he cannot even begin to understand. All he knows is that, in that moment, you are the whole world. The rest of it fades to black, it’s insignificant. You are gravity.

“Can I kiss it better?” He really should be embarrassed about how absolutely pathetic he is being. But he cannot find it in himself to snap out of it. He needs to be closer to you. Closer than this. He needs to show you what he could never say. Not only because he would be too much of a coward to, but because he doesn’t know if the words he needs to say exist. 

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. But it is him that feels so raw and vulnerable, waiting for you pull away. To crash against you and not into you. 

You nod. It’s small and reluctant but it’s there. You feel as though you might never move again as he inches closer to you. His lips hover over your forehead and you can feel his warm breath on your face. Strands of his hair tickle your skin as his thumb draws circles on your cheekbone. He hesitates. 

He is crumbling at the sight of you. Eyes wide in anticipation, you feel so warm, so welcoming. And he tries to memorise every little detail. The way your soft skin feels underneath his hands, the smell of you slightly damp hair. The way your eyebrows knot just a tiny bit. The colour of your eyes. The way your eyelashes curl and move. He wants to remember it all. Just in case he never gets another chance to. 

Then he kisses your injured face. His lips so soft and warm. It’s such a careful, caring kiss but so incredibly intimate. Your whole body trembles at the sensation.  He kisses your temple too. And somehow he’s even closer. You can feel him with every particle of your being. You want to pull him into you, melt your body with his. You want him to consume you whole. But that’s not something you could ever say. So you smile into the crook of his neck, and you hope he knows that he makes everything better. 

Not another word is said between the two of you as you let yourself succumb to overwhelming fatigue. Satoru doesn’t sleep for a single moment that night. 

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

@nathalunalune @utahimeow

pairing: best friend!megumi x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, nothing else i think but please lmk if you find something

megumi doesn’t drink, of course, he’s too smart for that. because when megumi drinks, images of you that usually he keeps at bay flood his mind. you, skipping down the little dirt road in the park, occasionally bending down to pick the tiny strawberries that line the overgrown path. it’s you that megumi sees, bravely making conversation with complete strangers and petting their dogs and shaking their hands and megumi just doesn’t know how you do it. megumi enjoys his apathic reputation, he doesn’t care, why should he? but lately you’ve been making him overthink. when you ruffle his hair his usual scowl is usually accompanied by a blush that megumi quickly hides by turning away and pretending to fix up his hair. this mornings worries consist of how to ask you to go to that new restaurant that just opened up in town, without it sounding too much like a date. when he finally pressed send, he cringes at how long it took him to write such a simple message. your reply comes quickly, made known by a soft ping that megumi knows means it’s you because everyone else is set on vibrate only.

sorry gums not tonight, i’ve got plans :p, let’s plan for tomorrow

megumi tries to seem unaffected, though truthfully he hasn’t seen you for a week now since you’ve been studying for your med exam, and he misses you

k. he sends, then winces at how low that sounds, he knows gojo wouldn’t approve. deciding to go on a walk, megumi puts on his jacket and wraps a scarf that you’d bought him at one of the little boutiques in town around his neck. walking around the park that he usually accompanies you to, megumis heart drops into his stomach as his brain processes the scene before his eyes.

two figures are walking in the park, the setting sun casting warm light against their red cheeks. one of the two, tall, taller than he is megumi notes, with dark hair that seems to style itself effortlessly, is saying something animatedly to the other, who slaps him on the head. he immediately recognizes the latter, because it’s you. so these are what your plans were, or more specifically, these are who your plans were. megumis brain immediately begins to compare himself with your new companion, the way his cheekbones sit on his angular face, the way his hands gesture, and most sickeningly, the way he makes you laugh. has he ever made you laugh like that? has he ever laughed like that himself? megumi looks away and heads home, his hands shoved so deep in his pockets he hopes he isn’t pulling his pants down, turning from the scene that he’s sure will be running through his head for the rest of the night. he brushes away an invitation from yuuji for a pizza night, opting to sit in his dark room, periodically glancing at his phone and trying to force the images of you and someone else out of his mind. megumis phone dings again softly, and he is greeted with a picture of you and your companion at a restaurant, squinting at the banner behind you megumi realizes with a sigh that you’ve brought your date, me go mi supposes, to the new restaurant, the one that he asked you to. which brings him to now, sitting in front of the bar, drinking something that the bartender promised was strong. and it is, megumi doesn’t know how long he’s been there, minutes? hours? all he knows is he wants to see you, so his fingers sloppily swipe through his phone until he reaches your contact, pressing it with no second thoughts.

“gumi?” your voice spills out of the speaker and megumi smiles, letting out a little giggle, “gumi are you drunk?”

“nOoOOoO…” megumi stubbornly says, before whispering, “yes, but don’t tell y/n”

“gumi i am y/n” you say exasperatedly, “i’m coming to get you, don’t move.”

megumi stays as still as possible, keeping his eyes open until he inevitably blinks. when your car pulls up, megumi sees you walk quickly up to the door, brushing away a middle aged man that comes up to you doing his best smolder, scanning the room until you see megumi sitting there. megumi wonders how you can be so beautiful and how your eyes are so pretty and how your hair sits perfectly on your head and how nice you look.

“megumi stand up let’s go,” you drag him up from the stool, “a picture will last longer” you add with a wink.

“but you told me not to move?” megumi giggles again, but he’s dragged out of the bar regardless and stuffed into your car.

the ride is silent sans the wind blowing through your open windows and the occasional hiccup from a snoring megumi. the silence is broken however, when you hear the sound of the mirror on the sun shield in your car being opened.

“megumi?” you ask, wondering what in the world could be prompting him to check himself out at this moment. “whatcha doin?”

“figurin’ somethin’ *hic* out” megumi mumbles in reply.

“what?”

“why ‘m not good enough for ya.” megumis voice takes on a pouty tone.

“what? megumi what do you mean?” you wonder because though you know about megumis insecurities he’s always known he’s been enough for you.

“why’d you hafta find that *hic* guy,” megumi continues, “the one you were at the park with *hic* and at the restaurant that i asked you to” this last part is spoken accusingly.

“gums im sorry but we were hungry and it was the closest restaurant, it was really good, we should go sometime too, but you can’t be upset over that?”

“of course i am,” megumi sounds exasperated, “i don’t want some random guy with you all the time, makin’ you laugh and stuff,” he grumbles.

you fight to hide the smirk covering your face, “oh yeah? and why’s that gums?”

“because i love you?!” megumi shoots, and then immediately slaps his hand over his mouth, the alcohol in his system making his eyes open wide like in the comics.

”what did you say?” you ask quietly 

and megumis heart speeds up and he’s sure it’s broken the sound barrier 

what did he just say

he just told you he loved you 

he sits, deathly still, as your car continues down the road 

what did he just do

”megumi” your voice cuts through the silence like a knife through the silky tofu you two prepare together for your lazy sunday morning miso soup

”i just didn’t want you to regret…anything” you continue, your voice softer, “i don’t want you to make a mistake.”

megumi thinks this over in his head 

does that mean you like him back

what about the guy

what were you doing with him

”we can talk about this more when you’re sober gums” you sigh

megumi looks up to see that you’ve arrived at his house 

you open the door with a spare key that megumi had given you and with that the rest of the night goes by in a blur

he briefly remembers you urging him to brush his teeth and you kissing his forehead goodnight

which brings megumi to now, with the morning sun fighting to push through his tightly closed blinds and his head filling with memories of last night

he bangs out of bed, he can’t lose you, he knows he will after what he pulled last night, but he can’t he can’t lose you 

changing into his black pants and foregoing a top he starts for the doorknob but it twists open before he can reach it

your smiling but worried face stares back at him 

“good morning gumi, i hope you don’t mind i slept here last-oof” you begin but megumis wrapped his arms around you

just as quickly he recoils 

“i’m sorry about last night” he says monotonously, his eyes looking anywhere but you, settling on the carpeted floor  

you sigh, unwilling to tackle such a heavy subject so early in the morning, but doing so anyways.

“did you mean it?” 

megumi feels his chin being lifted by your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye

he stutters, rubbing his hands together nervously

”yes-i mean n-no well yes of course but i’m sure you don’t-i mean” he pushes your hand away and looks back down at the floor “forget it. i want you to be happy, i’m sorry i told you, i’m glad you found someone.” 

he notices how you look away and with that he awaits your inevitable rejection, for you to agree with him that while he’s great he’s just not it, just not who you’re looking for, that being megumi is just not enough.

instead, he’s greeted with the feel of your incredibly soft lips, how are they so soft megumi wonders but he’s not surprised, it’s exactly how he imagined them. your hands go up to his hair and all his dreams are suddenly coming true

you pull back smiling and flick his forehead “i am happy gumi, here, with you.”

megumis heart rate slows and speeds up simultaneously

you like him back.

you’re not leaving.

you like him back

“oh and gumi? that guy you saw me with is my cousin makino.”

you smile at his blush and the smile that he can’t keep off his face

he glares at you, “coulda told me sooner,” he grumbles, “would have saved me from this hangover.” 

you laugh and drag him back to the bed, snuggling into the blankets and megumi cautiously wraps his arms around your middle, searching your face for approval but your eyes are already closed, your nose nuzzling at his bare chest and your leg wrapped around his. 

“don’t worry, i love you too, dummy”

It took me embarrassingly long to figure this out, but it turns out trying to blow off all your hobbies to study more does not in fact result in studying more. It results in pretending to study more. Now instead of drawing or writing when I get tired I get on my phone instead, because I can’t stop studying, but I can “take a quick break” in the middle of studying. Trying to fix that now.