#infrequently and usually only when i drink (but rarely even then)

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: waking up with zb1

a/n: anon who requested this i saw the req and i actually felt my third eye opening ty for your service

notes: yujin is not included due to his age!, university au for gunwook’s

wc | 4.0k

jiwoong

jiwoong wakes up before you about 95% of the time

he seems like the type of guy who just … wakes up at the same time every day, no matter how late he went to sleep the night before

body clock and all that

so i imagine jiwoong wakes up at around 7, but he doesn’t move for a good 15 minutes

during these 15 minutes he makes an important judgment call: do you want to sleep or do you want him to wake you up

he’s your personal alarm so he’ll have to wake you up at some point, it just depends on when and how he’s going to do that

sometimes you get offended when he lets you sleep, other times you will ignore him trying to wake you and continue slumbering until you smell whatever he decides to cook for breakfast

this is the most stressful decision of his day 99.9% of the time

if you wake up, you will copy his morning routine while half asleep and then doze off at the dining table until the food is ready

if you sleep, he will wake up you when the food is ready

it’s lowkey incredibly exciting for you when you wake up before him, mostly because of how infrequent it is

you’ll lord it over him for the rest of the day like it was some sort of competition in the first place LOL

he’ll be like “just set an alarm?” but that doesn’t count because he’ll wake up, too

he doesn’t understand the joys of waking up before your boyfriend who’s a responsible adult that wakes up at 7 am without even an alarm

WHEN YOU WAKE UP, you can see the light coming through your eyelids, but your brain screams at you to just go back to sleep. You begin to turn onto your other side, trying to find a new comfortable position so you can go back to your dreamland when something occurs to you.

There’s an arm draped over your middle, unmoving. You don’t hear anything but rhythmic breathing, too—no chuckles, no sighs, nobody saying your name softly.

So, your eyes rip open, immediately assaulted by the sunlight coming through your blinds. Once the shock ends, though, you’re met with the sight of Jiwoong, dead asleep in front of you. His hair is messy and his mouth is slightly ajar, his eyes are shut and his face is somewhat puffy from a full night of sleep. The sight is mesmerizing, and you bask in how beautiful your boyfriend looks, even in the morning.

Then, after a few minutes, you get to scheming.

It takes everything in you to suppress the manic giggle sliding up your throat, and, as slowly as you possibly can, you pick his arm up off your side and drop it back onto the bed.

I am going to make the best breakfast in the world, you think, scuttling out of the bedroom while you think about how exciting it is that you finally woke up before he did.

zhang hao

i imagine you wake up before zhang hao most of the time

he seems like the type of guy to be absolutely dead to the world when he’s asleep idk

you make it a point to go to bed before him too so you don’t have to listen to his snoring

i feel like hao likes being the little spoon </3 so i imagine you wake up with him nestled right up to you like a cat

of course it takes everything in you to not start screaming and crying over how cute he is

as aforementioned hao is a deep sleeper so most of the time you get up and start your day, and you only wake him up if he asked you to the night before

usually, hao will wake up when you’re sipping your morning drink of choice and scrolling through your phone on the couch

and he’ll waddle out and collapse on top of you :( head on your chest and arms wrapped around your middle … and then he goes back to sleep ON you

you’re rendered unable to move for the next half an hour so hopefully you have nowhere to be

when hao wakes up (rare, special event!) before you he doesn’t think much of it lol

usually, he just takes it as an invitation to lay in bed with you for longer

then he’ll get bored and wake you up “so you can chat”

“do i ever wake you up to chat?”

“no but i’m me”

then you’ll listen to him ramble on for a good twenty minutes while you try to wake up

he ends his little rambling session by giving you a big kiss and then getting up for the day

he’s so perfect lol

YOU WAKE UP to Hao’s finger on your cheek and his face inches away from yours, which scares you so bad that you yelp and jerk back. Hao frowns, jutting his bottom lip out as if he didn’t just wake you up at 7:30 in the morning.

“Why are you up so early?” you manage to choke out, cringing at the way you’ve woken up feeling.

“I don’t know, but I have a question,” he says, inching closer to you so his head is now on your pillow. “Do you think the government has actually found aliens and they’re just not telling anyone? Like, is that possible?”

“Huh? Why are you asking?”

“Just think about it,” he says as if there’s anything you can manage to think about at 7:30 in the morning. “Would they be able to pull that off without us knowing?”

“How would I know? I mean, maybe? If they tried hard enough?”

Hao hummed in response, tapping on his chin. “Okay. You can go back to bed."

hanbin

things are pretty middle of the road when it comes to hanbin

you could wake up first, or he could, or you wake up at around the same time

i think he has a daily alarm so whenever that goes off, if you’re both still sleeping, you’re both waking up at the same time

then there’s your allotted morning hanbin time

he doesn’t strike me as someone who wakes up quickly, so he’ll turn his alarm off and then cuddle up to you

i think he’d prefer sleeping face-to-face so most of the time your face is either buried in his chest or vice versa

at some point, he will begin the day with a “good morning beautiful” or a solid “i missed you” and it kind of feels like being punched in the stomach (he’s so UGHHGHGGH)

and he’ll ask how you slept, how you’re feeling, what you’re doing that day, etc … and you’ll do the same ofc

he’s very gentle in the mornings and he has a severe case of pink cheeks so he’s adorable to you

i see hanbin as the type of guy who likes doing his morning routine with you so you’ll get up together, brush your teeth together, wash your face, and all the different things

but i think he really really likes it when you cook him breakfast

it’s kinda odd but he will literally eat anything you put in front of him … like it could be a plate of salt and he’d be like “mmm this is delicious”

he will sit and watch you cook with a silly little grin on his face

he’s so sung hanbin

this guy is fatal

HANBIN FOLLOWS YOU to the kitchen like a chick, and, the moment you walk behind the counter, he’s immediately sitting on a stool, head resting on his arms.

“What do you want to eat?” you ask, opening the fridge to survey your options. You had plenty of eggs, and you had quite a few bread spreads that could make good toast. You had an avocado left, too, which meant you just needed to hear from your boyfriend to start cooking.

“Whatever you want.”

“Savory or sweet?”

“I could do either.”

You sigh, wondering what you were expecting. So, you take the carton of eggs from the fridge and place it next to the stove, putting a pan on and turning up the heat. You hear the sound of the stool screeching behind you and, a second later, Hanbin is wrapping his hands around your waist. You feel the weight of his head on top of yours, and you’re almost melting at the gesture.

“How do you want your eggs cooked?”

“I don’t care.”

The moment is instantly ruined by the answer, and you sigh in exasperation. “Oh my god, please just pick a type of egg. Scrambled. Over easy. Sunny side up. I will do anything, please just pick.”

matthew

matthew is another guy who wakes up before you

except he wakes up to go to the gym so when you wake up, he’s gone and there’s a little note on your nightstand telling you when he’s going to get back and how much he loves you

good news is he comes back with food so you two are NEVER cooking in the mornings

spiritually i just know that matthew is an acai bowl guy so he comes back with two of those and then you both chow down

but i think, on special occasions, he will sleep in (when this happens, he’s usually not in the mood to go to the gym), and you’ll usually wake up before him when this happens

and i think matthew treats you like his own personal teddy bear so you wake up, arms around you and head on his chest while he’s snoring away

usually, you’re good to just lay there for a while until you start getting a cramp from the way he’s holding you

you’ll try to wiggle out but it’s no use, he’s got you in an unbreakable grip

so you’re left laying there, whisper-yelling “matthew!!! matthew!!!!”

at this point you haven't even seen his face yet, just his arms iron-locked around your waist and whatever else of him that you aren’t laying on top of

finally, you give up the whispering and just flat-out yell his name, which scares the shit out of him

he lets go and you roll off of him, sighing in relief at the feeling of your cramp beginning to go away

“what was that for?”

“leg cramp”

you and matthew will proceed to not move for the next 30 minutes to an hour, with there being small conversation interspersed throughout

FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, you wake up to Matthew laying next to you, rather than you laying on top of you. He’s laying on his stomach, practically face down on his pillow, with one hand on your hip and the other jutting off the side of the bed.

You giggle at him, wondering how he ended up laying like this when he usually has you locked up in his embrace. You reach behind you as steadily as you can, feeling around your nightstand for your phone so you can take a picture.

Once you manage to grab it, you quickly turn it on, but your plan is interrupted by two things. One, it’s nearly 10 in the morning, and, two, you have three texts from Gyuvin that were sent over an hour ago, asking where Matthew was.

It takes a moment of thinking for you to realize that he’d probably slept through his alarm, leaving Gyuvin completely in the dark. You lightly poke his bicep once, and when you get no reaction, you go again, but a bit firmer this time. Matthew doesn’t even stir.

“Matthew? Hello?” you ask, but nothing. So, your only solution is to half-yell his name, which causes his eyes to fly open.

“Oh my god, what?”

“You blew off Gyuvin.”

The moment you say that he’s up and on his phone, frantically typing while you laugh at him.

taerae

i actually think you wake up before taerae nearly 100% of the time

with the newfound news that he’s a gamer, i actively think he’s probably up way later than you and doesn’t get up until like noon

because of that, if you wake up earlier in the morning, you’re either waiting 70 years for him to rise from the dead or you’re getting up without him

he’s not that hard to detach from either, as long as you replace yourself with a stuffed animal you’re good

and 90% of the time you’re the one holding onto him so it’s not that big of a deal

sometimes you’ll be eating lunch when he finally emerges and then he’ll just eat the rest of your lunch

but he always greets you and asks how your morning was :) it’s very endearing

however, when taerae wakes up before you, it’s quite literally like he just won the lottery

he treats it like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him (similar to things with jiwoong tbh)

gets up and takes 80,000 pictures of you so he can tell everyone the good news

he attempts to make you breakfast in bed but, when he’s gone for too long, your spidey senses go off and you wake up like “oh my god where is my boyfriend he’s GONE”

so you go searching for him and find him partying it up in the kitchen

and then he gets upset at you because he had a tray ready and everything

the big event is when you wake up around the same time though

usually, it’s because you both got really drunk the night before

neither of you are happy but at least you have each other

YOU WAKE UP TO a pounding headache and a slight bit of nausea, which is something absolutely no one wants to wake up to. Taerae is lying in front of you on his back, arm over his eyes and a look of utter displeasure on his face.

“How did we get home?” was your first question, realizing that you didn’t remember anything after shotgunning an entire drink after someone told you they thought you couldn’t.

“Hanbin drove us,” he groaned, voice deep and hoarse from the sleep you just endured. You looked at the clock and realized it was 2 in the afternoon, which made you feel even worse without you trying.

Regret begins to soak into your skin as you shuffle closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and tucking your head into his chest. He weakly puts an arm around you, too, and you can tell he’s feeling the same way.

“Let’s never do that again,” you propose, which causes Taerae to laugh. His chest rumbling actually relieves your headache a bit, although you’re unsure as to why.

“You say that every time we go out.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

He scoffs, and you tighten your hold on him. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

ricky

with ricky it’s also a big 50/50

except he wakes up at the same time every day, with no exceptions

he goes to bed at the same time, too

he will never sacrifice his routine and every time circumstances have him waking up earlier than usual, he’s unhappy and quiet

but when he’s on schedule he will continue his schedule whether or not you’re awake

you can’t really blame him because you’d kill to be as put together as he is

so when you wake up before him you really treasure it

ricky is a beautiful sleeper, he never stops serving face

you’ve never managed to catch him looking ugly while sleeping and you’re beginning to think it’s quite literally impossible

you’ve shown your friends pictures and they’re always in awe…how does he just look like that even when he’s entirely unconscious

i think he likes to sleep near you but not necessarily cuddle

he’s mostly fine with you just being next to him, but he won’t push you off if you happen to latch onto him in the night or anything

so you usually wake up facing him with him facing you, perhaps a knee touching or something

and you ogle at him until he wakes up and goes “what are you staring at” like hello??? you, you beautiful loser

when he wakes up before you, he will wake you up when he finishes making food. always has a plate ready for you :)

very cute guy overall

YOU WAKE UP to Ricky standing over you, already completely ready for his day. He’s gotten dressed and done his hair up, and all of his jewelry on.

“Morning, princess,” he hums, and, as you come to, you realize you can smell something cinnamony coming from the kitchen. “I made breakfast if you want to come eat.”

You mumble a string of incoherencies, pushing yourself up from your comfortable position and staring at the wall for a second. Then, in what could only be described as laziness, you look at Ricky and hold your arms up. He stares at you for a second, confused as to what you’re asking for, but gets it after a couple of seconds.

He lifts you up from the bed in one fell swoop, and you wrap your legs around his waist, putting your head in the crook of his neck. You’d never felt more content in your life, and, briefly, you wondered how you managed to get yourself a Ricky.

But, the moment is over all too soon, and he’s putting you in a chair, walking over to where you assume were the premade cinnamon rolls he’d put together. “How many do you want?”

gyuvin

gyuvin strikes me as the type of guy to love sleepovers

aka you stay up until like 4 in the morning doing god knows what, and then you don’t wake up until 2 in the afternoon

and most of the time you’re waking up incredibly disoriented because you’ll have fallen asleep pretty much everywhere but your bed

once you fell asleep on a couch outside and woke up to the worst sunburns of your life

sometimes you’re laying on top of him on the couch while the TV plays the 10th hallmark movie of the day

other times you’re asleep on the floor with literally no recollection of how you got there

you’ll always have intense back and neck pain for the rest of the day though so don’t worry

but, in the off chance you two actually made it to a bed (which only happens when you have ‘girl night,’ aka you do face masks and watch mean girls), i think gyuvin is nice to wake up with

he’s the type of guy to wrap literally all of his limbs around you and trap you in a leg-and-arm cage

he’s tall and lanky and doesn’t like the fact that his feet go off the edge of your bed so obviously the solution is to just entrap you

and he’s not an incredibly heavy sleeper so he’ll notice you woke up and wake up too

the sleepover antics continue with the two of you going over every important notification you missed while you were asleep, sometimes including entire events you missed

“oh i forgot i was planning on going to lunch with gunwook and yujin…oh well”

sometimes you miss classes even though the night before you’re swearing to him that you’re not going to stay up super late and miss them

after that, you go about your day like normal

and plan to do it all again that night too

WHEN YOU WAKE UP, the first thing you notice is the extreme pain in your neck. Then, you notice the fact that you’re not laying down, rather, you’re sitting up with your back against the wall, your computer open and dead in front of you.

You then feel the weight of Gyuvin’s head on yours, and the feeling of his shoulder under your head. Your stirring wakes him up—you can feel it—and suddenly he’s groaning about how bad his neck hurts. “What were we even doing?” you asked, swiping your fingers on the mousepad of your laptop. It doesn’t turn on, and you decide to attempt to sit up straight. In the process, a bunch of pops come from your back, which feel awful and good simultaneously.

“I don’t remember,” he said, a slight strain to his voice. “I think we were binging the, like, golden buzzer videos. Right? Isn’t that it?”

“I don’t know.”

You turn to see Gyuvin stretching, most likely trying to rid himself of the pain from sleeping like you had. For some reason, the sight causes you to burst into laughter, which causes him to do the same. And, for a few moments, the two of you sit there, cracking up at nothing but each other.

gunwook

the third routine haver of zb1 after matthew and ricky

he’s awful at sticking to it though

you and gunwook wake up at the same time because his alarm (titled “wake up and go to the gym”) wakes the two of you up

because he’s only 18, you’re not living together, so you aren’t really used to waking up with him lol

also because of your youth, when you’re waking up with each other, it’s often in his twin XL dorm bed

so you’re laying on top of him practically and you’re sharing one pillow

it’s really not comfortable but gyuvin, his roommate, spent the night at ricky’s so you didn’t want to pass the opportunity up

you both regret it the moment you wake up cause you’re sweaty and gross LOL

usually, you’re the first one to sit up, mostly because he can only get up once you have

but then you spend like 30 minutes just sitting up on the bed holding hands

you’ll ask what time gyuvin is gonna get back and he just shrugs

neither of you wants to get up literally every time this happens so by the end of the 30 minutes you’re back to laying down

except your head is on his chest and he’s got his arms around you

then you lay there for another hour until gunwook gets a text that gyuvin’s on his way up because he forgot his wallet and he and ricky want to go out

gyuvin CANNOT see you in the room because he’ll make fun of the both of you endlessly

you’re both super awake now

panic ensues

YOU PRACTICALLY FLY off the bed the moment you read the text, Gunwook following quickly after you. You whip your head around the room, looking for a place to hide from the monster that is now quickly approaching your safe haven.

Under the bed is too obvious, and too open, so Gyuvin would easily be able to see you. Under the desk isn’t big enough, nor is it covering enough, so there’s only one option for you, and Gunwook has already beaten you to it. He’s throwing the closet door open, ripping a shirt and jeans from inside, while you practically nose dive in.

Gunwook slams it shut, and there are mere seconds until you hear the door unlock and open. Your heart is pounding as you hear Ricky greet Gunwook, and Gyuvin rustling through his stuff.

“Oh, [First] isn’t here?” Gyuvin asks, sounding genuinely bewildered.

“Isn’t she probably just hiding?” Ricky counters and your heart drops. Gunwook laughs, and you hope they can’t tell it’s incredibly panicked.

“Should we look?”

It goes silent, Gunwook offering another awkward laugh. “Nah, just kidding. See you later, man.”

The moment the door opens and closes, your body deflates in relief, and Gunwook opens the closet door, letting you back out into the world.

thank you for reading !

tags: @happysmileybee @wtfhyuck

[epigstolary]

The Makings of a Glutton

They say that you are what you eat. And since there’s obviously a lot of you… it’s pretty clear what you eat. But I’m the lucky one who knows just what went into all the meals that made you this way.

Those smotheringly chubby cheeks and those triple chins were barbecue. The piles of pulled pork drowned in sugary sauce, the globs of steakhouse macaroni and cheese, the mountains of creamy potato salad, the tubs of greasy baked beans — you choked them all down voraciously, going back for seconds, thirds, fourths, more. You gorged yourself on pig, and it returned the favor by making you resemble the meals you loved so much. Now your fat pushes your cheeks and jowls out, pinches your nose and eyes, and gives you a porcine look to all the world.

Your love of dessert and sugary confections made those arms. You’ve never hesitated to eat an entire cheesecake slice by slice, eschewing plate and fork in favor of holding each thick wedge in your pudgy grasp and going in like a normal person would eat an apple. You’ll shovel in chocolate mousse cake, fat arms jiggling as you chase every last drop of saccharine, syrupy chocolate around your plate. Your love of all things sweet has left you with arms as velvety as ice cream and as jiggly as custard — your luscious bingo wings cascading down your side rolls, your forearms growing thick enough to wobble with every movement and grasp for your next bite.

Years of chugging sugary soda gave you those massive sacks of flab on your chest. You down thousands of calories of the stuff every day like you’re drinking water, making it your beverage of choice at every meal. Between using it for a caffeine boost from the exhausting effort of just existing under your tremendous bulk, or cooling down from your most recent trip to the kitchen, it’s rare not to see a bottle in your hand. And once you got a machine to make your own soda — letting you overload it with syrup to the point that it could still be called soda only out of courtesy — you’d basically set up an uninterrupted flow of pure sugar. Your tits bulged in proportion, swelling and sagging as you guzzled those empty calories to keep them growing, coming to resemble the industrial bags of drink mix you were finishing at an alarming rate and leaving your lungs underneath feeling like they, too, were drowning in syrup.

Your legs, I bet, we could blame entirely on pizza. Calling them thunder thighs would be a gross understatement. They look every bit like the calories from the thousands — tens of thousands — of slices of pizza you’ve gobbled up have gone straight there. You’ve enjoyed dumping gobs and gobs of pizza — those cheesy, greasy, doughy piles of saturated fat on a plate — into your body; and they’ve transformed into piles of jiggling grease, hanging off your legs in pendulous, shapeless blobs having to be hauled around, step by labored step, on those infrequent occasions when you can be bothered to stand.

Your couch-sized ass is a monument to all the years spent sitting on it and choking down junk food. You just can’t stop stuffing your face with empty calories, as if you don’t have so much junk in your trunk already that you can barely fit through doorways. You like the kitchen well-stocked with chips, pretzels, crackers, cheese puffs, cookies, candy bars — everything that’s been strategically designed to taste good, leave you completely unsatisfied, and make you crave more. All those calories flowing into you between meals has left you with two enormous, wobbling globes of fat on your rear, which either rise and fall behind you with every pitiful waddling step, or else spread out underneath you like huge lumps of dough when you sit. They’re the last thing to leave any seat you take, and their combined couple hundred pounds usually make sure you don’t leave wherever you’ve plopped down for as long as possible. All the better to sit back, gobble up more junk food, and feed them even bigger.

But the biggest, most obvious part of you, has to be that unbelievable belly of yours, though; and nothing could be responsible for that but good, old fashioned fast food. The thousands of bags of fatty burgers you’ve put away, loaded with grease and cheese and bacon; the countless french fries, those carb-laden grease sponges that are the closest thing to a vegetable you get; and the fried chicken nuggets covered in some sugary sauce or other — those have basically been the base of your personal food pyramid since either of us can remember. Add to that the occasional family-size fried chicken meal smothered in sausage gravy, or the pile of takeout burritos loaded with sour cream and cheese, and it’s no surprise where that belly came from. It’s no surprise either that it takes up your entire lap and waterfalls over your knees, burying your body under the weight of its shapeless, blobby mass. A constant reminder, hanging out of your shirt in plain sight, of just how much fattening drive-thru garbage you’ve stuffed down your throat and let turn to fat. An un-hideable, unapologetic, inexcusable sign of your willingness to put your cravings for food ahead of anything else.

And the rest of you — by which I mean, all the hundreds of pounds I’m going to grow on your already pathetically blubbery body — that’s all going to be what’s in this barrel. Mostly cooking lard and corn syrup, but if you’re good I’ll add some flavoring now and again. I’m sure you can imagine some of the ways that could manifest on your body — and that panicked look on your face tells me you don’t have any trouble envisioning where this is going. After we start draining these into your fat gut on the regular, well…

Like I said, you are what you eat. Very soon, you’re going to be eating much more — and I bet there’ll be much, MUCH more of you to feed.

[rubiesintherough]

Wanna give us bird-form/wing/power hcs? 👀 Any specific points you have ideas about ranging from when/how/how it feels to transform/manifest parts or if he even does that and why not if not or why if so to how status effects will alter his powers and abilities like being sick or being drunk? I know it's a loaded ask, but you can pick and choose what you wanna do so just customize it to what inspires you!

@strawberry-barista​​

So, i’ve got a post here that kinda covers a couple of the points, but lemme ramble about him a bit more! XD

So, Aedus was very careful in choosing the witch who helped him bind himself into this form. He’s not at all a fan of his true shape, he finds it unsightly, and wanted to make sure well as he could that it would slip through as little / infrequently as possible. Doing so also tampered down some of the other aspects of himself, too, ie: his skin normally only burns hot like he has a slight fever, rather than being so hot it burns others upon touch.  While it’s not out of the question that the magic could come undone and unravel --- it has been millenia since it was put in place --- he’s really hoping it doesn’t... 

In his other shape, he does have wings. It’s not out of the question that they’d appear on him, here, if something were to happen to the magic, if it started wearing off even a little bit. His wings, in that case, would be glowing orange-gold, made of feather, but glowing hot like embers. Touching them, to any normal person, would likely result in serious burns. 

Being both sick and drunk do affect how his powers manifest themselves. Alcohol usually isn’t as much of an issue as it usually burns through him really quick --- he needs to drink a lot, for hours at a time, for it to even begin having an effect on him. As for sickness, every once in a while, he does contract a beefed up human illness. It’s rare, but it happens... once every few years or so. He’ll come down with what is essentially, a severe flu. And it causes him to lose a lot of control over his flames. They’ll erupt from anywhere on his body without warning. His control over his temperature is lost completely, and his skin will sometimes burn upwards of 200f. Often times, when he feels himself becoming ill, he confines himself to his bathtub and removes anything flammable from his immediate surroundings... and just lies in there, in case he randomly combusts, which happens, so he can douse himself quickly without having to worry about causing too much damage. He absolutely hates it, and fears being near anyone when he’s ill... just incase he winds up inadvertently hurting them. 

[gifseafins]

.

I am lucid in my madness, permanent in my inconstancy, restless in my comfort. I paint reality with some dreams, I graft dreams onto real scenes. I cry tears of laughter and when I cry for real I don't shed a tear. I love more than I can and, out of fear, always less than I am capable of. I seek for the pleasure of the landscape and rarely for the joyous frustration of arrival. When I surrender, I throw myself and when I retreat, I don't come back. But don't take me seriously, I know that nothing is final. Not me or what I think I am. Neither do we or what we think we have. I prefer the nights because they nourish me during insomnia, although the days illuminate me when the sun rises. I work without salary and I don't understand saving. No energy. I squander myself even when I shouldn't and, time and time again, I owe more than I earn. I don't believe in elves, witches, fairies or spells. I always go to church. I don't sympathize, I don't pray to saints on duty, I don't mask my faith, I don't doubt it either. When it's impossible, I mock. When it's allowed, I doubt it. I don't drink because I only accept myself sober, I don't smoke to fool anxiety, I'm anxious, and I don't bet on marked cards. I don't eat breakfast, I hate dieting and I think more than I talk. And I say little, usually at dinner. Not always what you want to know. I know. I like a clean face, bare feet, I have a strange passion for old t-shirts and I miss having a tattoo on my back. But there's a woman somewhere in me who wears expensive perfume and imported silks and sparkles in her eyes when she dresses in seduction. If you notice any kind of embarrassment, don't notice, I'm not shy, but, not infrequently, I suffer from shyness. And note well: I am not aggressive, but defensive. Impatient where you see boldness. Lack of courage where you think sense is. But even so, there is always a moment when I forget all the advice and follow dark paths. Strange deserts. And, ignoring all the rules, all the traps of this urban life, of this daily violence, if you assault me. I react!

[itadores]

my thoughts on jjk characters + drinking

note: i just wanted to babble a little bit

featuring: fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, nanami kento, todo aoi

genre/warnings: gender neutral reader, alcohol consumption, a little angsty for gojo’s part toward the end, mentions of drugging (but nothing happens!!), suggestive at the end for nanami’s and todo’s part

fushiguro megumi

fushiguro drinks occasionally- not too often, not too infrequently.

he’s more of a social drinker. he only drinks when he gets roped into it by kugisaki and itadori. (he pretends to think it over every time they bring up wanting to do something and drinking, but he always agrees in the end. by now, kugisaki and itadori know that fushiguro will assent to their plans, but they still go through the act of “convincing” him.)

he’s not a lightweight, but he’s not a heavyweight. he’s somewhere in between. he’s pretty good at handling his alcohol. 

he’s not a big fan of taking shots. watching kugisaki and itadori get shit-faced and having to take care of them at the end of the night is enough to turn him off from drinking too heavily. fushiguro prefers to knock back a few beers and sip on them throughout the night while kugisaki and itadori challenge each other to drinking competitions.

his cheeks get so rosy when he drinks!! it’s the cutest thing ever. his face gets so flushed, and it stands out so much against his fair skin. you can’t help but kiss him on the cheeks multiple times throughout the night because of how cute he looks, which only worsens his blush. </3

he doesn’t drink to get drunk, (he’s traumatized from the times he let himself get riled up by kugisaki and itadori’s playful gibes and got way too drunk as a result.) but he enjoys being buzzed.

he’s pretty quiet when he’s intoxicated, piping up here and there to insert himself into the conversation that goes on around him, but he gets a little more clingy than usual.

fushiguro normally reserves displays of affection for behind closed doors, but once he has enough alcohol in him, he’s more inclined to touch you. he’ll rest his head on your shoulder and bury his face in the curve of your neck. he doesn’t do anything scandalous, but he’s more lax and free with his affection. he sort of forgets that he’s in public, and it’s only when kugisaki directs a teasing remark at him that he remembers.

his face will flame up and he’ll mutter shut up at kugisaki, but he won’t change his position. you’re comfortable and warm, and fushiguro is too relaxed to allow his friends playful teasing to get to him too much.

but the next morning, he will get a little embarrassed when he recalls what he did the previous night in the company of his friends. he’s not ashamed, but he knows that he’ll receive an onslaught of light-hearted teasing comments from kugisaki and itadori later that day when he sees them.

gojo satoru

gojo rarely drinks.

number one, he hates the taste of alcohol. when i say he hates it, i mean he abhors it. he gets a drop of it on his tongue, and he acts like he just ingested poison. or he gets a whiff of the strong scent of alcohol, and his face contorts into an expression that screams that he just smelled something foul!! he’s a lil over dramatic (read: very over dramatic).

number two, he doesn’t like the loss of control and vulnerability that comes with drinking. alcohol messes with his eyes, and he can’t have that. gojo is the strongest sorcerer there is, and he has to be ready for anything at any time. he also gets in his feels when he gets drunk which i’ll touch upon later.

but if he does drink, gojo gets the sugariest concoctions there are. he loves the cute little, fruity mixed drinks that barely taste like alcohol. if it tastes even a little like alcohol, gojo’s face immediately scrunches up in disgust, and he’ll ask the bartender to add some more syrup or dilute the drink more.

he is also the biggest lightweight ever. he should be limited to only one of his sweet, mixed drinks, but he’ll typically down as many as he possibly can before he gets cut off by the bartender, one of his few friends, or you. and when gojo does cut off, he tries to insist that he’s alright, even if he’s slurring his words and tripping over his own feet.

if gojo’s buzzed, he gets really clingy and chatty. gojo wants to be touching you at all times as he talks about everything and anything. he likes to crowd into your personal space, pressing his arm against yours as he babbles. 

it can be a bit much since gojo doesn’t stop talking for a moment when he starts, but he’s really cute when he rambles about nothing. he gets so animated, wildly swinging his arms around as he gestures. you do have to make sure he doesn’t accidentally knock something over with his long arms. (it’s happened one too many times. you’ve had to apologize for gojo’s behavior when he accidentally splashed his drink on a man’s crisp, white button-down shirt.)

if gojo’s drunk, he gets surprisingly forlorn. it’s pretty obvious when gojo’s crossed the line from being buzzed to being drunk because he gets a little more quiet, a little more serious. it’s a strange look on gojo considering he typically plays the role of the fool.

if it’s even possible, gojo gets even more clingy when he’s drunk. grabby hands tug you closer to him, to the point where you’re nearly sitting entirely on his lap. there’s an edge of desperation to his movements like he needs to be as close as he possibly can to you.

at that point, you leave wherever you are, pasting on an apologetic smile as your friends give you understanding looks, so you can take gojo home.

it’s in the safety of your home that gojo falls apart. quietly, he cries into your chest as you hold him in your arms. he doesn’t say much, but what he does say breaks your heart.

don’t leave me. i don’t want to be alone. don’tleavei’msorrydon’tleavedon’tleave—

you just hold him tighter and murmur soft reassurances, that you won’t leave him, that gojo won’t be alone, that he’ll never be alone if you have any say in the matter.

the night ends when gojo finally falls asleep after exhausting himself completely.

part of the reason gojo hates drinking may be attributed to the bitter taste of alcohol, but the main reason that gojo hates drinking is because all of the turbulent feelings and emotions he suppresses when he’s sober rise to the surface, forcing him to confront them.

it is a reminder that although gojo may be the strongest, even the strongest can fall.

(luckily, you will be there to catch gojo whenever that happens.)

nanami kento

he drinks regularly. 

it’s something that he started indulging in when he began working as a salaryman and continues doing when he returns to the world of sorcery.

both lines of work are stressful and draining, and nanami drinks to help take the edge off. he’s the type to drink every friday evening after work with coworkers. when he starts working as a sorcerer again, nanami grabs drinks with ieiri pretty often. sometimes, ijichi or utahime joins them. gojo rarely comes. nanami and ieiri catch up over drinks and complain about how everything is shit in their line of work.

he has a high tolerance. he’s a heavyweight and good at handling his alcohol.

he rarely gets drunk. nanami prefers to drink just enough alcohol until the weight he carries on his shoulders lightens and the tension in his muscles relaxes. his drink of choice is either beer or sake.

once the alcohol starts to hit nanami, he loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves to his forearms and if you’re with him, he places a casual hand on your thigh as he chats with ieiri. he’ll squeeze your leg every so often and whisper into your ear to check in on you and make sure you’re doing alright.

nanami always keeps a close eye on you when you accompany him drinking. he likes to make sure you’re doing okay for his own peace of mind.

if you’re sitting at a booth or at the bar, you and nanami always sit side by side. shoulder to shoulder, your presence is grounding. reassuring. nanami likes knowing that you’re there with him.

if you get up to leave for any reason, nanami makes sure to keep your drink within your line of sight. it’s just a safety precaution. nanami knows there are some sick fucks in the world, and he will be damned if he allows anything to ever happen to you. (one time, a man didn’t realize that you were there with nanami and tried to slip something into your drink when you left your seat at the bar to use the restroom. let’s just say that the way nanami handled the situation left the man scarred for his life and nearly pissing his pants. you still have no idea that anything ever happened.)

if you happen to be out with his friends / coworkers, he ensures that you’re a part of the conversation. he makes sure that you don’t feel left out or excluded, whispering in your ear and clarifying terms or concepts that you may not understand.

if you wander off from his side to go dance, nanami watches you from the outskirts of the crowd with a soft smile on his face. if you try to drag him to the dance floor, he’ll give in after some half-hearted resistance. nanami could blame it on the alcohol, but he knows that he could never say no to you, even if he was sober.

the alcohol does help, though. it helps loosen him up, and nanami sways to the beat with his hands on your hips and your hands wrapped around his neck. he pulls you much closer than he would if he was sober, leaving barely any space between you as you dance. it’s sensual and leaves you a little breathless by the end of it.

that’s normally around the time that you and nanami decide to leave wherever you are. (ieiri gives you two a knowing look while gojo shamelessly wolf-whistles at you both. nanami pretends that he cannot hear gojo.)

todo aoi

he is such a boisterous drunk.

if you think that todo can be a lot when he’s sober, he is so much worse when he’s drunk.

he one hundred percent does not shut up about takada-chan or you, his significant other, when he’s intoxicated. people hate going out drinking with todo because of that fact. literally, todo nonstop talks about how great takada-chan’s latest single was or how cute you are.

even if people explicitly express their disinterest in the conversation (todo’s “friends” have nothing against you, but if they have to hear another word out of todo’s mouth praising you, they’re going to lose their minds.), todo acts like he didn’t hear them. (to be honest, there’s a chance that todo actually didn’t hear them because he gets so caught up in thinking about takada-chan or you that everything else goes in through one ear and out the other.)

he’ll whip out his phone to show whoever he’s with pictures of you. (he has multiple photo albums dedicated to you.) they desperately try to exit the conversation, but todo will just go on and on with no end in sight. some people (cough, cough mai or momo) will straight up just walk away mid-conservation once they get fed up with todo, but other people (mechamaru or poor miwa) get held hostage in conversation with todo because they don’t know how to leave because todo will keep on dragging them back in.

it gets to the point where mai texts you the address of where they’re at and says “you need to come right now. todo won’t stop talking about you.”

when you arrive to the izakaya, you watch todo blabber with a mix of fondness and exasperation. it’s cute that he talks about you so much, but you can’t help but feel pity for his friends.

once todo realizes you’re there (because one of his friends pointed you out), he beams so brightly that you feel like you’re staring into the sun. you get the urge to squint, but todo scoops you into a tight, almost rib crushing hug before you can.

he starts blabbing about how he missed you so much (even if he just saw you a few hours ago) and how he loves you so much while you struggle to breathe in todo’s crushing embrace.

eventually, he lets you down, allowing you to suck in a desperate breath.

todo is shameless, even more so when he’s intoxicated. he’ll make you sit on his lap while he keeps a tight arm around your waist. it’s a little embarrassing if you dislike heavy pda, but you’ve been with todo long enough that you’ve grown accustomed to it.

he lavishes you in so many compliments that it makes your cheeks heat up a little. todo normally compliments you a lot, but there’s something about him being so drunk and genuine that his words make your heart flutter.

when you reward todo with a kiss to the cheek for his sweet words, he smiles so wide and demands another kiss. and another. and another.

todo’s friends almost regret telling you to come out to meet them because of how sickeningly sweet and in love you guys are.

(they still cannot believe that todo was the first out of all of them to get a partner first.)

when todo gets a little too handsy (because it’s inevitable), you take that as the sign for you to take todo and head out.

todo’s friends breathe a sigh of relief when you leave with a drunk todo trailing after you like a lovesick puppy.

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

[dirty-bosmer]

Lorise/Vicente for the domesticity post? 😌

OOOoooOh, thank you so much for asking!

I really missed writing about Vicente and Lorise and their time together :’) They were actually a very healthy couple now that I think back on them and I didn't let them have their happiness for long enough *sigh*

big spoon/little spoon: Lorise is the big spoon, Vicente the little spoon. They are about the same height, and though she does enjoy being snuggled, she tends to feel claustrophobic if it goes on for too long, especially if she’s trying to sleep. She also overheats really easily, so she enjoys holding onto him rather than the opposite cause he’s always colder than her

favorite non-sexual activity: They have a morning routine at Lorise’s house in Cheydinhal where Vicente reads and Lorise cleans, and then they drink their tea in silence over breakfast. And they play footsie under the kitchen table :p

who uses all the hot water: Vicente. He’s quite regimented in his self-care routine and he frequently indulges in long soaks with scented oils and dried herbs. He likes to be ✨pretty✨ Lorise will walk through a rainstorm and be like “Ah, refreshing. I am so clean.”

most trivial thing they fight over: When Lorise is sleeping in the Sanctuary, she steals his clothing. Vicente is normally fine with it, but then she will train in them or wear them out on a job, and they will be completely in tatters upon return. Lorise can’t understand why it’s such a big deal because to her, it’s just clothes, but Vicente probably shelled out big bucks for some fancy ermine lined trousers or a shirt made out of rare spider silk. Cause he’s extra.

who does most of the cleaning: Lorise is very spartan. She doesn’t have much in her home beyond the necessities and she likes to keep personal belongings to a minimum. Her decor is very simple, and everything is orderly. Sweeping and tidying up are part of her daily routine.

who has a season pass on their dvr/who controls the netflix queue: In a modern AU, I imagine it would be Vicente. He strikes me as the kind to be really into film/cinema, very artsy stuff, indie and mainstream, but he'd almost be a bit snobby about his taste (though he would never admit it out loud. He would just quietly judge).  Lorise would happily admit that her preferences are quite unrefined. She doesn’t really care as long as it’s entertaining, so she lets Vicente pick to keep him happy.

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: Lorise would insist that she could fix it herself, and even though she probably could, Vicente would call because it’s simpler.

who steals the blankets: I think Lorise gets a case of hot-leg at night and then dumps all the blankets on top of him XD By morning there is at least one blanket on the floor.

who leaves their stuff around: Vicente. He’ll bring clothes and books and random weapons over to her house and then forget about them.

who remembers to buy the milk: Lorise. She’s the only one who does any food shopping for obvi reasons.

who remembers anniversaries: Vicente. He has a surprisingly good memory for someone who has been alive for three centuries. Lorise simply doesn’t care about dates. She doesn’t even celebrate her birthday tbh.

Who cooks normally? Well Vicente does not eat, so Lorise is the only cook here. He does like to help though. He’s good at chopping things, especially the onions because he doesn't produce tears :)

How often do they fight? Very infrequently, and when they do fight, it’s usually Lorise who is first to deescalate. Vicente has a quick temper, but they are actually quite good at communicating problems before they lead to arguments.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? When they met, Vicente had long stepped down from his position as Speaker and his duties as Executioner have kept him in the Sanctuary ever since. He doesn’t even go out on that many contracts anymore. Lorise is frequently away for arena matches though, and Vicente will write to her. He loves writing letters. They’re also pretty independent people so they don’t mind being alone for long stretches of time

Nicknames for each other? None really. He calls her ‘my darling,” and she calls him “old man” but in an endearing way :p

Who is more likely to pay for dinner? Vicente. It’s one of the few times she will let him spoil her.

Who steals the covers at night? Again, there is not much of a battle over them haha.

What would they get each other for gifts? Lorise does not really like gifts because to her they’re mostly clutter. Unless they are edible. Vicente gets her fancy chocolates, and she really likes desserts in general. Lorise would get him a book he’s been mentioning or a nice bottle of brandy.

Who kissed who first? Lorise. She’s not afraid to make a move, and Vicente was being hesitant because technically he was her superior, and he was also like "she is way out of my league." He just needed a push in the right direction.

Who made the first move? Again, Lorise.

Who remembers things? Vicente. Lorise has a lot of street smarts and good intuition, but she’s kind of a porous container for other forms of knowledge.

Who started the relationship? Vicente. After their first tryst, I imagine Lorise was like, “well that was fun, see ya around,” and just hoped that it wouldn’t be weird. She doesn’t really like to get attached to people given her past. She’s glad Vicente was not so quick to let her go.

Who cusses more? Neither of them do so often, but Lorise has a much raunchier sense of humor. She's a bit more coarse and unfiltered in general.

What would they do if the other was hurt? Vicente’s immediate reaction would be murder. Lorise’s would be first aid, and then murder shortly afterwards.

Also side note - you should totally do this for Tali and Burke. When I saw this post, I was hoping you would reblog it so I could ask XD

[addictedtostorytelling]

Hello! This is a bit random but do you think Sara has ever seen Grissom drunk/taken care of drunk Grissom?

hi, anon!

i think she's probably only seen him drunk incredibly rarely—like maybe just a handful of times during the course of their whole 20+ year-long relationship—just because he seldom gets drunk at all.

while he's not a teetotaler—as we see in both the original series and the reboot, he does occasionally like to "take the edge off" after a long day with a drink—i think he is very aware of his own limits, and he doesn't actually enjoy going over them for multiple reasons:

because drinking alcohol (particularly to the point of drunkenness) can trigger and exacerbate migraines, and he is already prone to migraines as is;

because while he's still working as a criminalist, he never wants to be so inebriated during his off-hours that he can't sober up quickly if there's an emergency callout for him*;

because as he gets older, recovering after overindulging gets harder for him, and alcohol isn't enough of a pull in and of itself to make him want to have to deal with a bad hangover and/or, as mentioned above, a migraine;

and because (just generally) he's a control freak who doesn't like having seriously impaired senses/reflexes or feeling "outside of himself."

* remember the "i guess that's why i don't go out" song and dance routine he puts on for catherine in episode 05x22 "weeping willows" and all the grief he piles onto her for having been at a bar, even though she was technically there between shifts? yeah.

while he'll happily have a drink with his dinner or enjoy a nightcap, he's not one to drink more than one or two drinks in a sitting, and particularly not as bars and nightclubs are not really his scene; usually, if he's drinking, it's in a more lowkey setting like a restaurant or at home, where he's not likely to imbibe too much.

of course, on the infrequent occasions when sara has actually seen grissom drunk, i don't think she's been in a position to "take care of him," per se, as she's probably also been drunk herself at the time, as well.

i mean, given that it's not like grissom has a group of friends he'd go out and get drunk with without her and it's also not like he tends to get drunk by himself (for the reasons mentioned above), in all likelihood, if he's drinking to excess, she's probably doing so, too, right there with him.

that so, it's likely most often a "we'll sloppily fumble through our impairment together, baby" situation with them rather than a "let me help you through your impairment, you poor baby" one, you know?

i also personally headcanon that grissom is very conscious of the fact that sara's parents were alcoholics whom she frequently had to take care of in their drunkenness when she was child, so he doesn't like to place her in that same position with him.

all of the above said, for as much as grissom isn't typically one to get drunk, sara is probably the one person he really trusts himself to be drunk around, as he knows she won't judge him, even if he's off his face, and that if they're drinking together, they'll in all likelihood have some fun, at least before the hangovers set in.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

but it is sunlight

Fandom: Kamen Rider Agito, Kamen Rider Kabuto, Kamen Rider Gaim, Kamen Rider Ghost Characters: Tsugami Shouichi, Hikawa Makoto, Tendou Souji, Kagami Arata, Kazuraba Kouta, Kureshima Takatora, Tenkuuji Takeru, Fukami Makoto, Alain Song: "Sunlight," Hozier (playlist here) Warning: Mildly NSFW--not especially explicit, but people do have sex in this story

a buried and a burning flame – i

A shared day off is rare, but it does happen sometimes, and today the weather is so warm and perfect that Makoto is content to sit on the step drinking a lemonade and watching Shouichi garden.

Their garden space here isn’t as big as the one Shouichi got used to at Professor Misugi’s house, but it’s been expanded upwards with poles and frames and other contraptions that Makoto isn’t quite clear on. Really, they’re lucky to have a plot at all—the restaurant has its own rooftop space, so it’s not like Shouichi’s hurting for plant contact, but he needs it for himself as well. Makoto’s not sure he’ll ever understand the way Shouichi craves the presence of growing things. But then, he’s just happy to see Shouichi enjoying himself.

He glances around the garden briefly as Shouichi’s murmuring over a cucumber plant and frowns. “Aren’t sunflowers always supposed to face the sun?”

“Generally, sure.” Shouichi smiles but doesn’t look up from his work. “Why?”

“Well, if they don’t then doesn’t that mean they might be sick? The sun’s south of us right now, but your flowers are facing west.”

“Our.”

“Mm?”

“It’s your garden too.”

“Well, sure, but I mean it’s really—”

“Anyway, don’t worry, if they were sick I’d know. They’re probably just a little slow today.”

Makoto’s dubious, but he nods, and Shouichi beams at him for a moment and then goes back to fussing with the cucumbers. Once he finishes with them, he does something with a tomato plant nearby, and then hurries over to a small patch of green onions on the other side of the garden.

The faces of the sunflowers move to follow him as he walks. Makoto almost misses it, catches their motion out of the corner of his eye as he, too, is turning, and then freezes as they continue to shift. “Do—did you just see that?”

Shouichi frowns. “See what?”

“Ah…no, never mind.” Makoto settles forward, elbows on his knees, watching in soft fascination as Shouichi continues to work. “It’s not that important, I probably imagined it.”

---

the icarus to your certainty – i

Tendou doesn’t make demands most of the time, but he doesn’t make suggestions either. He makes statements and then continues on in the calm assumption that they’re true.

When he gets back from his trip abroad, for example, the first conversation Arata has with him ends with, “We’ll see you for dinner at six.” It’s not an invitation, or a request, or a question. It’s just a statement of fact, its truth etched into the fabric of the universe, and so Arata gets to the house at six precisely.

There are other statements that follow, of course. Like, “I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow,” and, “Other people address me by surname, not you,” and, “It’s late, you’ll stay the night.” The thing is, Arata wants to bristle at this casual certainty, but he can’t manage it, because so far Tendou—Souji—hasn’t said anything incorrect. When he makes these statements, Arata wants them to be true, and so they becometrue by default. He shows up at the same time the next day. He says, “Souji,” instead of, “Tendou,” and is shaken by the faint, surprised smile he gets in response. He stays the night.

Tonight Souji’s making some kind of crab risotto thing, and Arata is helping, which is to say making a salad. This is already strange, since it used to be that he was barely even allowed in the kitchen. Hiyori, visiting for the evening, is sitting on the couch with Juka while Juka talks about one of her classes at Jounan University. It’s very domestic.

He finishes slicing cucumbers and is reaching for the lettuce when Souji turns to him holding a small spoon and says, “Taste this.”

On automatic, and because his hands are busy, Arata just leans forward and eats the spoonful of risotto, letting it spread out creamily over his tongue. “Mm.”

Souji is looking at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I think—wait, you’re actually asking me for my opinion?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“You just…don’t usually ask for opinions.”

“Not from other people, no, but other people aren’t you.”

Arata laughs in warm surprise. “Really? What makes me so different?”

He’s not really expecting an answer, but Souji looks at him for a long moment and then says, “If all of humanity were alchemically distilled into one specimen exhibiting only its finest qualities, that specimen would be you.”

Arata stares at him. “I. You. Are…is this a quotation, are you quoting something?”

Another one of the faint, surprised smiles he’s gotten to like seeing. “No. But perhaps someday, someone else will quote me, and rest assured, the recipient of the quotation will not deserve it nearly as much as you.” And, before Arata can really process that, “I would appreciate your opinion on the risotto now.”

“I…it’s really delicious, but. Maybe it could use a pinch more salt?”

Souji nods firmly. “I’d suspected as much. Thank you.”

He returns to his cooking, reaching for one of the little pots of salt next to the stove, and leaves Arata to cut up lettuce and try to figure out what just happened.

---

i had been lost to you – i

Kouta’s visits are infrequent, inconsistent, and never announced. The most warning Takatora ever gets is a sudden, powerful waft of flowers and fruit, moments before a zipper opens in the air in front of him. He’s gotten used to it, as much as one can get used to something like that.

(Kouta always comes to him. His house has more privacy than most other spots Kouta knows in Zawame, and anyway, according to him, “You’re always easy for me to find.”

Sometimes those visits are for “work,” as Kouta calls it, and he stays only for a brief moment before rushing off to whatever world-ending crisis has caught his attention. More often, though, the reason is nothing more than, “Things are aligned correctly right now, and I missed Zawame.”

He’s sitting in the park now, on a bench under a camellia tree. A casual observer wouldn’t look at him and see a god, just a smiling young man in a plaid shirt and dark jeans, shoes kicked off so that he can curl his bare toes in the grass. Maybe he’s waiting to meet a girlfriend, or a boyfriend; maybe he’s just enjoying the good weather. As Takatora watches, though, a squirrel runs down the trunk of the camellia tree and leaps onto Kouta’s shoulder, and he turns and beams at it, apparently listening intently to its chattering. A jay is perched on his knee. Two stray cats are sprawled on the grass flanking him like indolent sentries, and a dog with a collar, probably lost, is curled up against his hip on the bench.

He lifts a hand, cupped, and Takatora knows without being able to see it that his palm is filling with seeds, manifesting as if from his skin. He’s done it before. The squirrel runs downs his arm and begins to stuff itself, the jay hopping from his knee to his fingertips to do the same. With his other hand he reaches up absently to catch a gleaming red apple that drops down from the camellia tree and begins to eat. Only the plants nearby lean away from him, which seems strange until Takatora realizes that they’re not really leaning, they’re growing, extending outward from his presence like an aura, the grass increasingly tall around his ankles.

How strange to see him at peace. And what an astonishing thing, that he should turn his face even for a moment from the new world he guides and his cosmically-designated beloved to walk once more in the city that treated him so poorly.

(She doesn’t visit. She can’t set foot outside of her hallowed forest now. But Takatora did get to speak to her, once, and he knelt and begged her forgiveness for all that he allowed to happen and received in return a kiss so gentle and yet searing in its benediction that even now he can feel it on his skin, and sometimes has to look in the mirror to see if she left a mark on his forehead.)

“Hey!” Kouta is waving to him with the hand holding the apple core. “Takatora! Are you done with your meeting thing? Come on over, I want to hear everything that’s happened since the last time I was here.”

Takatora blinks and nods, shocked out of his reverie, and heads over to the camellia tree. The stray cats scatter as he approaches, but none of the other animals move, so after barely a moment’s hesitation he sits down in the grass at Kouta’s feet, unmindful of his suit, and says, “Well, reconstruction work is nearly finished, we’ve only got two or three more buildings left to repair. Did I tell you about the dance classes at the new community center?”

“The ones that Zack and Peko are running? I think you mentioned them a little last time, did those finally start?”

Camellias bloom out of season over their heads. “Yes, only a few weeks ago. There may be a few other Beat Riders assisting as well, possibly by running additional courses, apparently enrollment was well past what anyone had anticipated.” Takatora leans against Kouta’s shin as the grass slowly creeps up past his knees, comforted by his radiant warmth. “And Mitsuzane’s continuing to enjoy university, he’s going to be working for one of his professors next semester as a teaching assistant…”

---

love and its decisive pain – i

Being around Takeru is a strange experience now, because by simply existing he exerts a spiritual pressure unlike anything else Alain’s ever encountered. The pressure isn’t negative, but it is constant, the weight of a higher reality radiating from his skin. Or, not a higherreality—Alain isn’t sure what it is, but Takeru’s certainly of the human world.

Alain isn’t sure if people who aren’t from the Ganma World even notice it. Certainly he’s seen Javert twitch minutely when handing Takeru something, he’s seen how Igor goes tense around him, even Alia’s been known to flinch away from the intensity of his proximity. Are they unusually sensitive, or are the people of the human world just numb to it?

Perhaps it’s nothing new, and he’s just always been like that and that’s why people don’t notice. Makoto would know—he’s of the Ganma World now, even if he came to it late. “Has Takeru always had such…presence?”

Makoto glances at him, and then over at Takeru, who’s crouching to offer a rice ball to a child sniffling on the temple steps. The child takes it, hand brushing Takeru’s, and relaxes in the same way that Igor might tense at the same contact, perceptibly basking in that unseen but powerfully felt aura.

“No,” Makoto says. “No, this is new. He wasn’t like this before. Or at least he wasn’t like this when we were young.”

Somehow this answer isn’t reassuring at all. “I see. That’s…it’s a lot.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

That’s the point at which Takeru hears them and looks up, face transformed by delight at the sight of them. “Makoto! Alain! When did you get here?” Behind him, Narita comes forward to walk the sniffling child over to a quieter corner, asking her as they go whether she knows either of her parents’ phone numbers. Takeru waves goodbye to her, beaming, and then hurries across the room to crash into Makoto’s arms, and Alain can see Makoto being overtaken by that benevolent pressure. “You didn’t tell me you were coming! Nothing’s going on, right? Everything’s ok? Who’s taking care of things in the Ganma World?”

“Everything’s fine,” Makoto says into Takeru’s hair. “Alia’s got everything under control.”

“This is a social call,” Alain adds, and is favored with an embrace of his own, knees almost buckling under the warmth of Takeru’s presence. “We just missed you.”

“I missed you both too. I hope you’ll be here for a couple of days, at least?” The weight of his joyful expectation is so much that Alain can only nod. “Wonderful! Here, come on, you’re both probably hungry, let’s go get takoyaki.”

He’s human, Alain realizes as Takeru’s fingers wrap around his and he feels that shiver run through him again. That’s all it is, and also everything that it is. More than anyone else in this realm, he is human.

What an extraordinary thing.

“I’d like that,” Alain says out loud, and Takeru is already grabbing Makoto’s hand as well. “It’s been a while since we shared a meal.”

“It has, hasn’t it? Let’s go, you two can tell me all the news while we’re eating.”

---

a buried and a burning flame – ii

For the most part Shouichi doesn’t initiate. It’s not that he’s not enthusiastic about sex, he’s just an awful tease. Little gestures, bumps and brushes, obvious double entendre that he then winkingly denies; he’d rather drive Makoto to distraction and pretend innocence until Makoto finally loses patience and backs him up against the nearest wall. He even admitted to it once, in an unguarded moment of drowsiness. “I like when you do that, it’s fun. And it’s not like I can just ask you to.”

“You could, though,” Makoto had said, but Shouichi had already drifted off.

They’ve been together all day, but Makoto can barely remember any of it clearly except Shouichi. Everything else fades into the background when faced with the vividness of his smile.

Makoto’s shirt is somewhere back in the living room, he thinks maybe on the couch. They’ve been trying to get Shouichi’s shirt off, but that’s been a tougher prospect, because it’s a pullover. Finally, though, it comes off over his head and lands on the floor, and Makoto presses him to the wall again. And now, even more vivid than his smile is the feeling of his skin, burn-hot against Makoto’s lips and hands and chest, his fingers like a brand curling around the back of Makoto’s neck as Makoto kisses his throat.

They barely make it to the bedroom.

The heat of him is extraordinary, feverish, it would be frightening if Makoto wasn’t used to it. He is, though, they’ve been together for years now, so instead his own thoughts can melt away in the face of Shouichi and his pleasure, the taste of him, the sound of his breathless cries, Shouichi arching up against him. Sure, he gets off somewhere in there too, but the important thing is Shouichi, climaxing underneath him with a gasp of, “Makoto,” and a kiss that Makoto would be willing to end the world for.

Afterwards, they lie wrapped around each other in a state of abstracted bliss until Shouichi mumbles something about being thirsty, at which point Makoto extricates himself despite the attendant sleepy protests and heads to the kitchen with a blanket around his waist to get drinks. Passing the bathroom on the way back, he pauses, frowning, at the sliver of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

It hadn’t been sunny enough today to get a real sunburn, but there’s a sunburn on the back of his neck nevertheless, bright red although not painful. He sets down one of the glasses, reaches up and covers it almost perfectly.

When he realizes what it is—although Shouichi’s palm is slightly broader than his, Shouichi’s fingers slightly shorter—he blushes and picks up the glass again, heading for the bedroom, hoping that his hair is long enough that no one at work asks about the handprint burned into his skin.

---

the icarus to your certainty – ii

It’s not always so precipitous.

Normally they have to be quiet, because normally there’s at least one other person in the house. And in any case, Souji dislikes rush—he’ll approach anything and everything with a plan in mind, sex included.

Tonight, though, after dinner finished, Juka distributed a round of cheek kisses and then gathered up her bag and headed out, to meet up with a university friend she’s doing a project with. Hiyori left shortly after that. (She rarely stays the night anyway, she doesn’t like to leave her parakeet alone.) They’re alone in the house unless the Zecters are around somewhere, and they mostly keep to themselves, they’re hardly company in the same way.

But.

Precipitous.

They do dishes together, in comfortable silence, and once that’s done and his washing gloves are off Souji turns to make one of those true statements. Except that Arata decides he doesn’t feel like hearing one right now, so before Souji’s even gotten through one word Arata takes a step forward and kisses him, bracketing him against the edge of the counter with both arms. Souji makes one of those little surprised noises and drapes his arms over Arata’s shoulders and pulls him closer, and a couple of minutes later Arata’s hands shift down to lift and Souji’s legs wrap around his waist, and.

It’s good that they have the house to themselves.

They can’t stay at the kitchen counter, because it’s a bad height and also that’s not sanitary, and the dinner table won’t support their weight, which is a lesson they learned the hard way. The couch is an option, though, and it’s not easy to get over there with another person wrapped around him, but it is doable. He sits, or more lands, with a thump, Souji in his lap, Souji’s hands on the sides of his face tilting his chin up, and for some while lets himself be overwhelmed by having all of Souji’s considerable attention focused on him.

A pause for breath, for the removal of at least some clothing (and if Souji fumbles Arata’s shirt buttons, Arata’s going to save the memory for himself and certainly never mention it), for—“Are you all right?”

For Souji looking down at him, dizzy-eyed, and saying, slowly, “Your depths are such that I think I could drown in you.”

Arata reaches up, takes hold of his wrists, thumbs rubbing gently across the pulse points. “I mean, I can’t get poetic about it like you can,” more quietly than warranted given that they’re alone, “but you’re so much that sometimes I feel I could burn up, so that seems like a fair trade.”

He’s expecting that surprised look, but it doesn’t come, because what he gets instead is a kiss that would definitely have him on his ass in seconds if he wasn’t already sitting down. “More than fair.”

---

i had been lost to you – ii

Even before his apotheosis Kouta was a man built for pleasure. It must have been a glorious accident of his birth, Takatora thinks, that on his mouth smiles are so natural, that his body responds to any rhythm with grace, that he laughs so easily. Takatora has lived his entire life on the far other end of that spectrum—at best, he might call himself austere—but he can’t bring himself to be jealous of such an infectious and in-born joy. He can only hope to increase it, in whatever way he can.

So he kneels.

It isn’t worship, because Kouta will not accept his worship. Or anyone else’s, for that matter, he may be a god but he refuses to be treated like one. But love, as a great man once said, is a sacrament best taken kneeling, and while there are many points Kouta will argue, Takatora’s esteem and affection for him are not one of them.

Really, though, Kouta isn’t saying anything especially coherent right now.

His unnecessary but habitual breathing is coming short, and his hair flickers from deep brown to unearthly gold as his concentration disintegrates. If his eyes weren’t squeezed shut, they, too, would be flickering. His fingers, curled on the edge of the bed, have flowers blooming between them. And Takatora, the indirect cause of this riotous growth and rendered speechless for more immediately physical reasons, continues until his lips are numb and Kouta is pulling him up and flattening him to the bed with a kiss.

“You don’t have to stop me, you know I wouldn’t mind if you—”

“No,” and a kiss, “no, we don’t know if it could—” and another kiss, “so no, even though you know I, you know—Takatora, I—” and the dissolution of coherence once again, now for both of them, as Takatora dizzily allows himself to be subsumed by Kouta’s passion and enthusiasm.

The first few times he was able to visit, afterglow involved actual glowing on Kouta’s part, which was the cause of some mutual hysteria—Takatora doesn’t want to call it giggling, but that’s really the accurate term. The glow’s under control now, and Kouta lies against him, asleep, and does not look more divine than any other beautiful man in repose.

There are still flowers blooming on the edge of the bed, red and orange against the plain bedspread. They’ll be scolded away later, but for the moment they are bright and strong and vivid. Takatora, drowsy himself, drifts off gazing at them, Kouta’s arms tight around his waist.

---

love and its decisive pain – ii

They are devoted partners, and thus Takeru’s anger is their anger, Takeru’s sorrow is their sorrow, Takeru’s joy is their joy, and, most crucially in this moment, with the dawn not arrived and the day yet to start and make them all busy, Takeru’s pleasure is their pleasure. And because he is who he is, because he feels everything with such strength and fervency that it radiates from him like sunlight, it is such pleasure. On his back, hands above his head, eyes bound, he has given himself over to their loving mercy and yet the weight of his existence is still enough to envelope them both.

Alain leans down to kiss the smiling mouth below the blindfold and say, softly, “Is there something you want?”

“Isn’t the point of this that you two are making the decisions?” Takeru sounds like he might laugh.

Alain glances over Takeru’s chest at Makoto, who is already looking over at him, and who raises an eyebrow before saying, “Is that a serious question or are you just being difficult?”

It’s definitely suppressed laughter. “A little of both, really. I want you to do what you want. I trust you.”

So they do what they want, which, gloriously weighed down by Takeru’s unconditional trust, is what he wants too. And what they want is to kiss, to touch, to take their pleasure in ways that render him arch-backed and breathless and crying out as they take their turns on him. They take their pleasure until he’s coming in an unexpected avalanche of laughter which, like all avalanches, overtakes them as well.

Dawn is breaking, light spilling in through the open window for Takeru to flinch against as they uncover his eyes. He buries his face against Makoto’s chest as soon as his arms are free and he can move, mumbling, “It’s too bright, I’m going back to sleep, you both have to keep me company since you’re the ones who wore me out.”

“Right,” Makoto says drily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Alain is draping himself over Takeru’s back, “humans need sleep, I forget that sometimes.”

He can feel Takeru’s smile like a separate presence in the room, even though he can’t see it. “Oh, like you’re so inhuman.”

Alain presses his face to the back of Takeru’s neck and finds that, at least for the moment, the pressure of his reality is not so much a weight as it is an embrace, enfolding the three of them as they lie together drowsing. “It’s not that we are less, perhaps.” A yawn against Takeru’s warm skin, occasioning a ticklish wriggle. “It’s just that you’re so much.”

[sneezefiction]

home

Kuroo x Reader - Scenario

desc: sometimes loneliness finds you in your weakest moments. however, even as you grapple with your feelings for Kuroo, he still manages to make you feel at home.

warnings: depictions/discussions of loneliness, anxiety, mild angst, briefly mentions family issues, language

wc: 4k

---

This isn’t exactly what Kuroo had expected when you’d texted him to come get you from the campus library. 

He’d driven up to the building’s curb-side donning a gray hoodie and a cheeky, cheshire grin, ready to take you back to the apartment and put on some sort of sci-fi movie. But as you slowly approach the dented, familiar car, your feet lightly dragging on the concrete as you grew closer, he realizes that the movie watching would have to wait.

Because as he opens the tinted passenger-side window, Kuroo can tell you’ve been crying.

It was dark out, something you had hoped would disguise your teary eyes. But grief was etched into the lines of a tired grimace and the illumination of the lamppost was just bright enough to reveal your tear-streaked cheeks. By the look of it, he could deduce that you’ve been wiping them away for a while now.

Kuroo can’t help but stare, taken-aback by the puffiness in your face and that lost look in your eyes. You seemed so vulnerable, so alone out in the open like that.

If it weren’t for his tight, surprise-induced grip on the wheel, he would’ve gotten out of the car and held you right where you stood. But his feelings for you were… more than complicated. You also appeared uncomfortable standing out there on your own, and understandably so. This wasn’t exactly your emotional norm. Or at least, knowing you, he didn’t think it was.

You tugged at your sleeves, biting your lip sharply enough that Kuroo thought it had to hurt, and avoided his golden gaze. You were ashamed that he had to see you like this. 

Kuroo, your roommate turned best friend, was finally witnessing one of your infrequent, but debilitating mental breakdowns. No one was supposed to see you like this, eyes red and lips bruised from frustrated chewing. It was rare to even see you cry outside of a movie theater or without your face being wedged between the pages of a book with some sort of sentimental value, so this was quite emotionally revealing to say the least. 

It must have come as a bit of a shock to your usually more talkative, teasing friend, but if he was startled, he didn’t show it. Kuroo kept a calm demeanor and softened his features after getting a good look at you through the window.

But you remained a safe distance from the car, not yet ready to hop in yet. Because once you did you knew there would be questions.

The bed-headed boy had always been observant, sometimes to the point where you wondered if he had mind-reading abilities. He always noticed your mood changes and quirked expressions even when you were sure you’d hidden them well enough. Whether it was the sparkle of elation in your eye when you’d received a good grade on a project you’d poured your all into or the way your face fell while you crashed onto the couch after a failed date, Kuroo knew each and every look perfectly. Some might wonder why he cared to memorize your expressions and their meanings, but you passed it off as something that all best friends could do.

Either way, the novelty of the situation had him at a loss, so you were sure that the questions would roll once you’d made it back to the quiet of the apartment.

But the problem is... questions mean closeness.

You didn’t quite want to be an open-book with him yet. At least not to the point of spilling your heart out all over him in a messy stream of tears and endless sniffles.

Not when you were balancing your friendship and feelings for him. Not when he made your heart flutter helplessly like that. Not when your living arrangements required a certain level of comfort and freedom from both parties. And definitely not when you’d just been crying over the perpetual state of loneliness you periodically found yourself in.

Because in all honesty, you really liked Kuroo. 

And you had every reason to like him. From the black, rooster hair that you’d ruffle first thing in the morning while he made his espresso. The displeased face he pulled whenever he attempted to drink it without milk and sugar to feel more ‘sophisticated.’ The goofy, jabbing comments that managed to make you laugh after an achingly long day… 

And those small, seemingly innocent touches. The ones that sent sparks flying within your chest, warming you from the center of your heart all the way up to your burning cheeks. His eyes grew warmer, dare you say affectionate, after seeing your face light up from one of his stupid science puns that other friends of his would simply sigh at. It had your heart on overdrive.

Feelings could really fuck with this world you two had built together.

It was already hard enough living with him. You were so close, yet still so far from his reach. Your sock clad feet could rest on his lap, but not your head. You could tug at his hair, but you couldn’t tenderly twirl it around. And he could always flirt with you, leaving your skin burning hotter than a midsummer Carolina night, but you wouldn’t let yourself comment back, fearful that your true feelings would come out.

But just like dirty laundry, you were airing yourself out to the world. Or at least to the ebony-haired boy who you considered to be a big part of your world.

You’re not quite sure why you’d called him of all people anyway. You could’ve just as easily texted someone who wouldn’t ask for an explanation. Your tears would’ve probably dried by the time you’d gotten home if you’d chosen to grab an Ub*r. But you knew he would be worried for you, though his sharp eyes hid it so well. 

Underneath all of the wit and humor, those scheming smiles and that fiery determination, Kuroo was softhearted. He would listen, advise, and worst of all… he would understand, which scared you. You had already fallen hard for him and letting him see into that blackhole, that pool of murky, suffocating loneliness, would only make you want to hold him more.

But for him to see right through you, right into your long-suffering feelings for him and for them to not be reciprocated… it would break you. 

“...Hey.” Kuroo’s smile fades, his softened voice pricking at your heart a little.

He sifts through the right words to say. What phrasing would sound the most comforting? What sounded the most natural coming from him? It was like trying to catch a plummeting piece of pottery. Kuroo wanted to break your mental fall and give you something softer to land on. You were all but shattering right in front of him, so he opted for words that soothed. Words he wished he’d heard years ago when he’d been at his lowest point.

“Let’s go home.”

‘Home.’

He said it so steadily. So simply. There was authority in his tone, but it wasn’t sharp. Just sure.

How could one little word give you so much hope? 

‘Home’ meant warmth. It meant safety and security. ‘Home’ was where you could be yourself, take a deep breath, and release whispery secrets out loud without fear of judgement. 

You knew Kuroo meant your apartment when he’d said ‘home’ but you can’t help but think that there was some sentimental value to it.

You gave a sniff followed by a quiet, slightly nasally response, 

“...Yeah. Please.”

You hear the click from him unlocking the car doors and you step in slowly, one foot in, then the next. Your hands, still a little shaky, plopped down on your legs and your eyes glued themselves to the dark, starlit sky through the windshield.

You’re exhausted and you feel a little out of place, but you’re just glad you’re not alone anymore, even if his steady, thoughtful gaze is basically burning a hole in your head right now.

Your breath quietly hitches at the sudden warmth seeping into your exposed skin.

He had rested a hand on your knee, a concerned look decorating his features, and begun stroking it slowly with his thumb. His methodical movements intended to soothe an already very fragile person.

Kuroo had only touched you like this once before. At a time when your eyes were frantic and your heart, pacing with worry. You had been drowning in finals papers and your mind threatened to go into an anxious spiral. Yet somehow, his touch, his selective words, and his offer to help you out had kept you afloat. Thanks to Kuroo, you managed to keep from breaking down then.

This time however, he was a bit too late.

But he kept drawing little circles, analyzing a new, yet strangely familiar face. An expression you hadn’t personally worn before, but that he’d seen somewhere in the past.

You feared that if he kept staring, the tears would start to fall all over again, his touch only reminding you of just how lonely you really were. So close to him, yet so far.

“Can we just go?” You plead, voice at a whisper.

And as you glance over to him, he can tell that there’s something you want to say, but you can’t quite put it into words. At least not right at this moment.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking…” Kuroo’s voice is low. He nods, but doesn’t quite finish his thought.

It would be better to get you home first before asking about anything. Otherwise you might shut down on him entirely. Whether or not you realized it, Kuroo was well aware of your tendency to avoid these more ‘personal topics.’ When something got too close to home, you were suddenly tired and needed to catch some extra Z’s. When he got a bit flirty, suddenly your phone became incredibly interesting. And any time he caught you close to tears, you would play it off as though it were nothing you couldn’t handle on your own.

But you aren’t nothing to Kuroo.

So far from it, actually.

You were as close to ‘home’ as he’d ever gotten. 

Without having much close family, home was more of a physical destination to Kuroo. A structure with a solid door and a bed to crawl into. Where he could study in peace and quiet...

But there was always an emptiness deeply set within that silence.

It was impersonal at best. At worst, the space was frigid and lifeless. The iciness of the house took a toll on him, resulting in an anxious, quiet child. One who could hardly speak to friends and couldn’t look an adult in the eye.

Only when he’d met Kenma, when he had finally discovered a place where warmth overcame the bitter tundra of loneliness, did Kuroo understand what ‘home’ was supposed to be like.

‘Home’ was always welcoming. 

It was birthdays with cake and ice cream. It became multiplayer video games and frustrated sighs or bickering after a shitty round of Mario Kart. It turned into short jaunts with friends to a local 7/11 where one could spend way too much money on a basket full of snacks. It was locking eyes with you for the first time after agreeing to room with a stranger at university. It was finding out that you two shared classes and could walk together every morning. ‘Home’ was found within the conversations that bloomed like a bright, young flower from your many hours willingly spent together over the next couple of years.

And in time, you two learned each other's patterns, quirks, and minds, thus growing increasingly comfortable in the other’s presence.

‘Home,’ in its truest form, is a beautiful thing and you wore it radiantly. To the point that Kuroo had caught his own fluttering feelings for you over the years, but even his best efforts to tell you were thwarted by your little diversions.

But that didn’t matter right now. Kuroo had finally gotten you two pulled into the parking lot after a painfully quiet drive home, so he needed to focus on getting you inside and comfortable.

“Just sit there, I’ll get your door.” Kuroo directed gently.

You nod, staying in place because you really didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now.

He tugs at the door handle and before you can blink, he’s got your arm looped around his. Something he only did teasingly in the past, usually resulting in you shoving him playfully away from you. You can’t bring yourself to push him off of you and, even though you’re already warm from the heat that’s spreading to your face, you find yourself leaning into his side.

Kuroo is comfortingly warm, you note. The way he tugs you closer has you mentally tripping over yourself. You can feel the heat from his forearm radiating through your thin, long-sleeved shirt as he walks you up the stairs and towards the apartment door.

The echo of your footsteps end as you two enter the flat and, knowing that there’s a lot to talk about, you opt to grab a fuzzy blanket from the basket beside the couch and prop yourself up on a barstool at the small kitchen island.

“You want some tea?” Kuroo turns his head to check with you, his hands already busy at work getting the water boiling for his own mug.

“Yeah, something with ginger in it maybe?” You mumble out, sniffling again.

“Already got it.” He shoots you a small smile, flashing you the tea packet wedged between his index and his thumb.

He knew you pretty damn well, you guessed.

“So y/n… you wanna tell me what happened tonight?”

Kuroo’s words are prompting, but you assume he’s already got some ideas of his own.

“Would you hate me if I said no?” You let a shy, humorous smile peek through your otherwise exhausted face.

“Y/n…” Kuroo sighs, running a hand through his hair and leaning back against the countertop opposite to your seat at the kitchen island.

He’s trying his hardest to maintain some level of calm, but the fact that you won’t tell him has him even more frustrated. You had every right to keep your business to yourself… but you looked like you were dying to tell him something.

Kuroo opens his mouth again, his brow creasing when you don’t answer, but you don’t let him get another word in.

“I-- I’m just not really sure where to start.” Your eyes grow a little hazy as you begin to decipher your feelings again. You let your elbows rest on the countertop, but use your hands to prop up your chin, glancing from Kuroo’s golden irises to the steaming water on the stove.

“You can start wherever.” Kuroo answers easily, his head tilting a little.

“It may take awhile to explain…” You press, both warning him and buying yourself some time.

“I’ve got all night, sweetheart.” He quips back, unfazed by your attempts at stalling.

He turns to pour the hot water into two mugs, tea bags already resting at the bottom of the cups. Kuroo turns back, grasping both mugs and setting both on the island, only to realize that your face has changed once again.

You’re anxious. Unsure. He can see it in the way you’re studying him, trying to gage his potential reaction to what you’re about to say. And unfortunately, Kuroo recognized the look faraway in your eyes. A blank, helpless stare that he himself had once wore when the sharp fangs of loneliness had once latched onto him.

So he takes a few steps toward your side of the kitchen, sets the mugs aside, and leans his forearms on the counter. Kuroo meets your eyes at a much closer range. Your arms fold into your chest in an odd, physical attempt to hold in a breath because his face is so close to yours now.

“Look…” He huffs out, “You really don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I need you to know,”

He lifts a hand out and tilts your chin up, leaving you dumbfounded by the confidence in his reassuring touch.

“You can tell me anything, okay? I’ll always be right here.”

He’d managed to, once again, send you into a state of complete, baffling security. It might’ve helped that, even bent over the counter, his towering figure and stronger build allowed you to feel just as protected outside as you did in. Not only were the butterflies in your stomach acting up again and the burn in your cheeks back with a vengeance, but a wave of bravery flowed into you.

And that word flickers through your mind like a firefly.

‘Home.’

And ‘home’ meant safety. And safety meant you could speak freely.

So you do.

“It’s just… I haven’t been doing too well lately.” You blink at him, words frank to the point that they’re almost hilarious.

He blinks back… and then a milder version of that cheeky grin is back, followed by, “Well, I think I could glean at least that much.”

Kuroo’s fingers fall from your face, but he doesn’t break eye-contact except to snag a chair. He sits right across from you, resting his cheek in his palm. Partly to cover up the tint spreading across his cheeks, partly to fix his full attention on you.

You give him a weak but real smile and slouch into your chair, letting your tight shoulders loosen up a little bit.

“Give me a break okay?” You flick his forehead and he bites his lip, but it still remains in that lopsided smile.

However, your smile fades as his own face grows a little more serious, drawing the both of you back to the topic at hand.

“Kuroo, I’ve just been really... lonely.” You let out, voice small and soft compared to the teasing tone you’d carried seconds ago. “Like there’s this weight, this pressure inside of my chest and it just won’t lift no matter what I try, y’know? But today...”

You huff, letting out a deep sigh, “I think I finally hit some sort of breaking point.”

“I mean, saying that out loud feels really dramatic, but I think that’s all I can equate it to? And I guess it just came out in tears...” You express, looking down at your hands and messing with your own fingers. You felt silly. Like you’d built everything up only for it to sound like a stupid little problem.

But Kuroo’s face convinced you that he was taking every word seriously. That every little phrase mattered.

“Okay…” Kuroo processes, scanning your face and glancing down at your hands.

“So then why didn’t you say anything before?”

Well… that’s a pretty fair question, you think to yourself.

Because being real with someone meant being vulnerable? Because ridding yourself of loneliness meant putting your secrets and feelings out there in the open? Because it meant that closeness and proximity would change with whoever you shared your thoughts with? And because, specifically with Kuroo, you fear that the attachment would be too much for you to handle? All of these were the truth.

It’s hard to pick one answer, so you choose something simpler.

“I… was scared.” You admit, looking away from his gaze.

“Have you always felt this way?” His question at first sounds straightforward, but there’s a somber twinge to his voice.

“...Even around me?” And there’s the pause. Your words had definitely stung.

“I- Kuroo, that’s not fair…” You catch yourself speaking faster than you can think. 

“You know you’re the only…” The answer is almost honest, nearly the truth… but the words catch in your throat as you realize what you’re saying. 

“I- I mean… not around you,” You stutter out, hands actually making their way to your face this time. “What am I saying…”

You’d started this night crying hurt-heavy tears from not being able to open up to anyone... And now you’ve been reduced to this flustered, hot mess in a matter of hours? Who even were you today?

“You were saying that, ‘I’m the only… ?’” Kuroo tilts his head once again, this time in confusion.

There’s a flash of panic in your eyes. But not out of fear. It’s out of… embarrassment?

Then a lightbulb goes off and Kuroo’s eyes widen slightly in a slow realization. The puzzles pieces had finally clicked together, one by one.

You were both so close. So close to touching. So close to being something more all the time… but never close enough to tell him how you really felt. About him and about how much things, to put it lightly, sucked for you right now. And you’d pushed it to be that way. You’d purposefully kept yourself away because openness hurts. At some point in time, you had somehow convinced yourself that being vulnerable on purpose was far more painful than suffering in silence.

And you can tell that Kuroo has caught on. But not because he’s grinning nor because he’s said anything to make you think so. No, it’s those eyes again.

He’s giving you that softened look again.

The one that could convince you that maybe there was more to this ‘friendship’ than what you were allowing yourself to admit. A look that reminded you of ‘home’ more than any other person, city, or beautiful, sturdy building could.

And, once more, Kuroo’s touch surprises you. A hand found its way to your own, grasping it firmly, the confidence in his outreach creating a deep contrast to the uncharacteristic, shy pink painting his cheeks.

“Kuroo-”

“Can I be completely honest with you?” He cuts you off, eyes fixed on your hands locked within his own.

“Well, it wouldn’t be like you to be anything else, would it?” You manage to stammer out, nerves reaching your voice.

“You’re not wrong.” Kuroo hums, rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“But I think now is a good time to say that I never want you to feel alone.” He starts, “I never want you to feel lonely like that because you’ve always made me feel so… at home.”

That word again.

“Like I couldn’t be lonely even if everyone I knew left me. Because at least I’d have you, y/n.” And if your heart wasn’t already racing furiously, it’s now beating loudly enough that you would be surprised if he couldn’t hear it.

“Well, I mean if Kenma ditched me, that would suck and I’d probably be miserable for awhile, but that’s beside the point.” His lip twitches into a quick smile, lightening the mood.

“What I’m trying to say is that I- I like you. And, I think you might like me too…” He searches your gaze for some sort of confirmation.

“But whatever you feel towards me, I never want you to handle loneliness by yourself.”

“You’ll always have me. Whenever you need me. You’re home to me, y/n. I don’t say that lightly.”

He goes to release your hand, but you quickly tangle your digits with his, earning yourself a quick glance from his usually less revealing eyes.

“You’re home to me too.”

Your voice is small. The phrase comes out quickly. The emotion is heavily emphasized in that word ‘home’ again… but you mean it with every ounce of your being.

And looking into his eyes, you’re being affirmed by his knowing presence. That adoring look that’s reserved just for you, on full display. Absolute affection seeping through the gentle break of his smile.

“And I might like you too… just a little.” You break into your own small smile, reaching with the other hand to brush his messy hair away from his eyes.

And you’re shocked by the simplicity of your actions. Surprised by the sudden freedom you’ve given your hands.

Because now he’s close enough.

Close enough to card your fingers through his hair as tenderly as you pleased. Close enough to grab hold of him in a long, hopeful hug when the nights get cold or as dreams go sour. Close enough for his warmth to melt away the iciness of those lonesome feelings.

And best of all… Kuroo was finally close enough to call ‘home.’

---

Do Not Repost

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[grelleswife]

Sebamey for the domestic ask meme? uwu

Doing these for a modern human AU, if that's okay!

1. Who cooks normally?

Sebastian. He learned to cook at a young age and has taken several classes over the years, so he knows his way around a kitchen! Mey Rin's culinary expertise ends at basic survival cooking, and she has a tendency to leave out key ingredients, mix up the salt and sugar, etc. She much prefers to let bae fix their meals, yes she does! XD

2. How often do they fight?

Infrequently. Since Mey Rin is far too good-natured to be quarrelsome most of the time, and Sebastian adores her, they can usually sort out their differences through more peaceful means. On the rare occasions when they do fight, Sebastian is the soul of contrition afterwards, meekly apologizing for his part in the argument. He'll also get Mey flowers or make a similar gesture as a token of his remorse. Mey Rin isn't the type to stay angry for long, and tearfully hugs him after saying sorry for any unnecessarily harsh words that were exchanged.

3. What do they do when they're away from each other?

Because both of them have full-time jobs, a large chunk of their time spent away from each other is devoted to work. In this verse, I'm picturing Mey Rin as either a children's librarian (the kids would love her), a physical therapist, or a personal fitness trainer; Sebastian is an assistant professor of English literature (or Latin, or philosophy, or violin) at the local university. On her time off, Mey Rin enjoys hanging out with Grelle, Angelina, and Ran Mao (her BFFs from college), as well as her foster brothers, Bardroy and Finny. She might also take up a pastime like competitive shooting or archery. Sebastian, for his part, regularly volunteers at a nearby, no-kill cat shelter (he adopted most of his fur-babies from there), and will occasionally go out for coffee or drinks with his good friend Agni, a professor of culinary arts at the same school where Seb teaches. He favors solitary hobbies, such as writing (he's currently working on a novel), playing the piano or violin, and painting.

4. Nicknames for each other?

Mey calls her partner "honey," "luv," and, of course, "Kittybastian" (Sebas doesn't purr in this AU, but it still fits! XD). Sebastian calls Mey Rin "dear" and "sweetheart." >w<

5. Who is more likely to pay for dinner?

Generally Sebastian, because he loves making Mey Rin feel like a princess! However, she occasionally insists on treating him instead.

6. Who steals the covers at night?

Mey! She'll gather the blankets around herself and curl up in a happy, warm little coccoon. Sebastian doesn't begrudge her, however; how could he be mad about lost covers when she looks so precious? He'll just smile and cuddle up next to her.

7. What would they get each other for gifts?

Mey quickly learns that anything cat-themed is usually a hit with Sebastian! She also gives her genderfluid partner various accessories (hair clips, bracelets, necklaces, etc.) and makeup; Sebastian's face lights up like a Christmas tree when they see the pretty things Mey bought for them. >w< I have a random headcanon that modern!Mey Rin loves to collect Calico Critters, so this Sebastian would get her tons of paraphernalia related to that. They share a love for gaming and anime, so it's common for one to give the other merch related to those pursuits!

8. Who remembers things?

Sebastian has a slightly better memory. Mey Rin can be somewhat scatterbrained, especially when her anxiety kicks into high gear.

9. Who cusses more?

Sebas swears more in everyday life, but Mey can cuss up a storm when her wrath is unleashed! >:3

10. What would they do if the other one was hurt?

Internally, Mey Rin would be freaking out, but she'd do her best to stay calm long enough to bandage Sebastian up and/or call for help, holding her boyfriend's hand, petting his hair, and assuring him that everything would be okay. Once Sebastian's condition was stable, however, she'd hug him as tight as she could and cry from all the pent-up worry and stress. Seb's protective instincts would go into overdrive if Mey was hurt, even if the injury was relatively minor. He'd be frantic and unwilling to leave her side (if Mey had to be hospitalized, the doctors would probably need to have him forcibly dragged out of the room). Once his girlfriend was convalescing, Sebastian would wait on her hand and foot, giving her as much TLC as humanly possible.

11. Who kissed who first?

I could see it going either way, to be honest. On one hand, Mey Rin might impulsively get up on tiptoe to kiss him before dashing off, shocked at her own boldness! On the other, Sebastian might give her a parting kiss at the end of one of their early dates...a cinematic, passionate one while they're standing on her doorstep.

12. Who made the first move?

They met at a Christmas party hosted by Grelle and An (who are married in this AU), where Mey tripped and spilled punch on Sebastian. While she was mortified about getting her drink all over his fancy suit, Sebastian could only gaze in awe at the beautiful woman who'd literally stumbled into his life. The music for the next number started playing over the speakers, and Sebastian asked her on the spot if she'd like to join him in a dance. Dear Mey was baffled--shouldn't this gorgeous stranger be angry at her?--but as soon as she squeaked out a tremulous, "Um...yes? Yes I would!", he took her by the hand, and off they went. Four dances later, both were head over heels. Utterly oblivious to the state of his ruined clothing, Sebastian walked home with a dreamy smile on his face and a scrap of paper with Mey Rin's number written on it in his pocket.

13. Who started the relationship?

I think it happened organically; in the wake of that first meeting, they went on several "kinda-sorta" dates at the park, their favorite coffee shops, etc., and their chemistry was undeniable. It didn't take either one of them very long to realize they were crushing hard on the other. One starry evening, while Sebastian was walking Mey Rin home after a night at the movies, Mey paused, grabbed his hand, and gazed deeply into his eyes. Impulsively, she blurted out, "What are we, Sebastian? Because I really really like you, yes I do...and I want this to be somethin' more!"

Sebastian blushed to the roots of his hair as he whispered, "Well, I really, really like you too...and I'd love for this be to more."

[letshaikyuu]

haikyuu characters and what do they post on instagram? choose your faves :)

𝚑𝚚!! 𝚘𝚗 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖  ·  ·  · ♡

·  ·  · 𝚊/𝚗: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚖𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 !!

·  ·  · 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍

·  ·  · 𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

·  ·  · 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝚘𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚠𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚞, 𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚢𝚊𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚘, 𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚔𝚎𝚒, 𝚖𝚒𝚢𝚊 𝚊𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚞, 𝚔𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚞

·  ·  · 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚘𝚘𝚙𝚜

𝚘𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚠𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚞 ·  ·  · ♡

Oikawa would be today’s influencer lol. His Instagram is perfectly themed, all the pictures make sense and either show him in a sexy-ass pose or something he thoroughly enjoys – like volleyball, milk bread, and aliens. His theme itself doesn’t have any funny pictures because he wants people to see him as a professional volleyball player – that’s why he keeps posting himself at practice

Definitely posts himself sporting the official Argentinian jersey, but who are we to judge

Unlike his feed, his highlighted stories (I forgot the name oops) and private stories show his friends just how big of an idiot he really is lol. He posts funny photos, videos from practice or him failing at cooking something. He doesn’t fear being judged on there, so he only posts things like this on his ‘close friends’ list – all of the ex-Seijoh members are on there and a few people from other schools

He also has separate stories for each country he travels to. Those stories usually show the places he visited, the food he ate and if he was with the team – pictures of them training or playing beach volleyball depending on the country. He never fails to post a selfie of him at the beach, sunglasses on and sun-kissed skin, making every fangirl of his squeal when looking at the picture

The ex-Seijoh third years always tease him on almost every post he shows up himself because they love him just like that <3

He definitely has a large following because he posts frequently and people love seeing him on their dash. Oikawa is actually really aesthetic and he knows when something looks good. Also, does Instagram lives with some of his teammates whenever they travel somewhere. You can clearly tell from his Instagram that he’s living the life

𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚢𝚊𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚘 ·  ·  · ♡

His posts are very infrequent and kind of messy. He doesn’t have a particular theme going on and he posts whatever he wants and whenever he wants. His stories are usually of a milk carton placed on the bench while he waits for the bus – timestamp of course because it’s the only sticker Kageyama actually knows how to find and use

Kageyama in high school and as a young adult can’t be compared – even when it comes to Instagram. As someone who’s now a public figure, he needs to show himself in a better and proper light, so he takes what he posts more seriously. Deletes all the useless things he used to post back as a teen and starts of his new feed with a photo of him and the Schweiden Adlers.

After that, his posts have more of a theme to them because Hoshiumi keeps criticizing him when he scrolls through his gallery; he then recommends Kageyama to keep his theme more like a sailor theme – blue and white. So, when you open Kageyama’s Instagram now, it still has his signature milk carton and volleyball action shots, but it looks more professional, the shots emphasizing Kageyama’s physique more

Oikawa once comments about how buff his Tobio-chan is getting and the public went wild

Hinata also commented how Kageyama keeps growing and he’s still shorter

There’s no doubt that he has at least one picture on his feed of the whole Karasuno team – probably after a win and all of them are smiling like crazy that even Tsukishima has an indication of a smile on his lips -  and a selfie with Hoshiumi and Ushijima – courtesy of Hoshiumi himself. He doesn’t have a huge following, but people aren’t blind and can see how handsome Kageyama really is

𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚔𝚎𝚒 ·  ·  · ♡

So, he has Instagram more to stay in contact with his friends because there’s a handful of them overseas and Tsukishima just wants to see what they’re doing because he doesn’t want to lose contact with them - yes, he doesn’t want to lose the only real friends he truly made in high school

Anyhow, him actually posting something on his feed is very rare - he’s too lazy to take pictures and too lazy to post them and actually care about posting. The only photos of him on his feed are the ones his teammates had taken of him or Yamaguchi

They’re pretty aesthetic, ngl. Tsukishima strikes me as someone who’d look effortlessly good on camera if he decided to do so

His stories are a different story. Tsukishima likes randomly taking a photo of anything he finds cool or ‘aesthetic’ as Yamaguchi taught him - it’s usually with a timestamp or date, a cup of coffee (or strawberry shortcake lol), or a book on the table with the sun/moonlight invading amidst the curtains. He’d also take a lot of photos during his break from working at the Museum - this is such a Tsukishima job, I can’t

He also reposts (?) stories of him once someone tags him in their own - usually Yamaguchi or Hinata when the Karasuno alumni meet up (I’m not crying, but that’s sad to me for some reason)

Doesn’t have a large following and is content with his followers being people he actually knows and not some ‘obsessed fangirls and fanboys’ as he’d put it - definitely messes with Kageyama, saying how his resting bitch face is finally useless and gaining attraction. No, they didn’t argue, not at all lol

𝚖𝚒𝚢𝚊 𝚊𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚞 ·  ·  · ♡

I can’t not call him an influencer because his Instagram basically screams someone who’s well-known. He doesn’t pay much attention to themes and if his posts look nice, put together on his feed - he knows his photos are good, so he doesn’t worry at all about things like that

He does have something similar to a theme going on - his photos are either taken at the gym, during matches and in places that have dim lighting. Definitely takes pictures in those fancy-ass sofas fancy restaurants have or in their bathrooms because he looks very posh then. But, damn, does he rock shirts with the first few buttons popped open

And then you see Osamu in the comments saying how he didn’t have enough money to buy a proper shirt and that’s sad

The Black Jackals have a ball in his comments section, but that’s not the only place they frequent on his feed. Like most, he has a lot of stories designated for his close friends only - designated cause Bokuto definitely trains in the gym without his shirt on <3. He also posts a shit ton of gym selfies or when he’s lifting weights and Hinata is the one taking the picture

Also someone with a large following who catches the public’s eye. I feel like people who have no clue who he is and what sport he plays would still follow him because he’s just hot - and, well, aesthetic and pleasing to look at ngl, I’d follow him too

Loves taking derpy pictures of his teammates and posting him on ‘close friends’ because Sakusa would murder him if the picture of him caught mid-sneeze went online - but damn, Sakusa looked good even in that picture frame, Atsumu is jealous

People go crazy when he posts a picture together with Osamu because people can’t handle twice the amount of hotness 

𝚔𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚞 ·  ·  · ♡

He has this fine contrast between posting something sporty and something nerdy, so to say. His feed is a pretty accurate representation of Kuroo as a person because you can find a lot of things he’s into and he doesn’t mind posting pictures that might seem a tad bit embarrassing

Now, he, too, doesn’t have a theme specialized for his feed because he’s more of a ‘post whatever and it’ll somehow fit in’ and he posts rather frequently because he has a lot of pictures in his gallery. Loves posting pictures of hangouts or when he’s reunited with some of his friends after a long time with a witty caption or ‘good to see you back, bro’ (cough cough Yaku-)

On his story, he loves posting aesthetic photos of his food and drinks, especially if he’s in a coffee shop and he intentionally dresses formally for the perfect Instagram story. It’s basically him holding the cup to tea to his lips and looking out the window, his coat hanging over his shoulders and giving him a rather sophisticated feel

You also find Kenma on his stories being as aesthetic and more with Kuroo because they’re eye-catching in public places

Besides that, he also likes posting about his notes and like a timestamp with his desk and paperwork, laptop, and a succulent placed neatly on it. He’d have a cat who’d he also post a lot about or just opts for posting ‘throwback Thursday’ pictures taken back during his Nekoma days

Not that big of a following, but he does have a decent amount. Does Instagram lives as well! - usually when they have a Nekoma reunion or they’re at a karaoke bar and Kuroo wants to show how bad they are at singing lol. He doesn’t forget to hide the alcohol tho

[spencers-renaissance]

Vivaldi on Full Volume

Summary: Spencer's done enough pining, so he decides to write a letter for Aaron telling him exactly how he feels and gives it to him on the jet. He cannot be held responsible for what happens when they land.

Tags: Love Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, Insecurity, My Typical CM Characterisation: Protective Aaron, Shy Spencer oops

Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Word Count: 5.2k

Read on Ao3

The Love Letter, Uninterrupted

Spencer’s hands are shaking as he gets up from his seat in the corner of the jet. They’re 40 minutes away from landing, deliberately planned well in advance: everyone’s well and truly settled, there isn’t long to wait for a private conversation and people haven’t woken up to prepare for landing yet. This is well thought out, he tells himself, trying to be convincing. There isn’t much that can go wrong.

Except there absolutely is. He’s run all the possible outcomes over and over in his head, at night, on the jet, spare moments in cases; he knows pretty much every possibility in and out. The worst case scenario, of course, is Aaron flips and hurts him or never talks to him again, but he knows logically that this is unlikely. No, the most likely situation is a polite rejection and a rift in their relationship, but it’s a risk he has to take. This limbo is too painful to exist in forever: he has to give himself a chance at happiness, and if that doesn’t happen he needs a chance to get over him. 

Aaron is, predictably, sitting on his own at the other end of the jet, getting a head start on his paperwork. He’d shot Spencer a questioning look when he’d opted to sit on his own instead of opposite or next to him, but everyone knows that Spencer sometimes needs a moment to himself and after he’d responded with a reassuring smile, Aaron had smiled back and looked down. 

“Reid,” he greets him as he looks up from the plethora of forms and files and reports littering the table in front of him, that questioning look returning and bleeding into his voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks after Spencer stands there frozen for a moment, shaking him out of his head and reminding him of his mission. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he says softly, chuckling a little. “Here. Can you do me a favour and… read this for me? All the way to the end? Leave your questions for the end, and we can talk once we land.” He hands him the pretty stationery wrapped in a tissue paper envelope. The seal is a deep navy that had reminded Spencer of Aaron the moment he saw it in the shop, and he used it even though he knew it would tear the tissue and was utterly pointless. His hands still shake a little as he passes it over, but he doesn’t blame himself. Anyone would be nervous. This isn’t just a Spencer thing.

Once Aaron has the letter in his hands he turns it, looking it over, before meeting Spencer’s anxious gaze with his own steady one, now filled with growing curiosity. “Of course,” he says, indulgently. It’s one of Spencer’s favourite things about him, his stoicism in the face of a surprise. He doesn’t react in a way that might further upset somebody when they share something with him, and it makes him an excellent leader. 

Spencer shoots him another nervous but meaningful smile, the kind he uses with his friends, with Henry, with people he cares about. People he’s been in love with for five years. Whatever. 

He turns away and doesn’t look back.

★

Aaron struggles to contain his curiosity long enough to wait until Spencer is settled back in his seat on the other side of the plane. This must be why he’d chosen to sit somewhere other than next to him on this flight which had admittedly confused him a little, Spencer usually liked the familiarity and comfort of sitting next to him. He’d suspected he needed space but now it seems as though he was psyching himself up to hand this letter to him. 

It’s not a resignation letter, Aaron is fairly certain of that, Spencer would never use such beautiful stationery and a seal in his favourite colour for something so straightforward and professional. He’d also given him one of those heart-warmingly open and trusting smiles before turning back, even if it was a little anxious. This is something personal. 

Finally giving into his curiosity, he carefully opens the handmade envelope and pulls out the letter written on high-quality paper in Spencer’s delicate script. 

Aaron,

I have debated sitting down and putting pen to paper to write this letter for a long time, much less handing it to you to read. This is perhaps the most forward thing I have ever done, and you will understand that it is also the bravest. I know I am crossing a line in writing this. I have never been one to break the rules, it's something we have in common, isn't it? We're both straight arrows. Perhaps I am hoping for too much. I am not the object of many's desire and maybe it is foolish to hope that someone as amazing as you could possibly be the exception, but if I don't get it out of my system I'm afraid this secret may bubble up and swallow me whole, its acidic aftertaste never quite leaving my mouth.

Immediately, Aaron’s heart starts beating out of his chest. Spencer rarely calls him Aaron -- the whole team operates on a largely last-name only basis -- but he’d be lying if those infrequent times when his first name leaves Spencer’s lips don’t make his heart flutter and insides warm. His face betrays him, he knows, but this might just be everything he’s been hoping to hear for the last four years and the team is asleep or preoccupied right now, thanks to Spencer’s clearly well-planned timing. He can afford to let his guard down a little.

His stomach clenches, though, when he sees Spencer’s insecurity bleeding into his writing, the ink revealing his painful self-doubt where his lips keep them tightly sealed away. He’s absolutely everything Aaron is craving, and if others can’t see that then it’s their own loss. He knows, though, that Spencer is too oblivious for his own good: the rest of the team don’t miss the looks he gets when they go out for drinks, but Spencer does. Spencer could get anyone he wants, even if he doesn’t realise it, and the honour of being the chosen person isn’t lost on him.

The truth of the matter is we live dangerous lives. This plane could crash, one of us could get shot, stabbed, blown up and not survive it next time. I need to take advantage of the fact that right now we are alive, and if there is any chance that I could live my life alongside yours then I must take it.

That makes Aaron let out a small, breathy laugh. He’d thought the same exact thing so many times, but Spencer was a lot braver than he was. Even if it didn’t have the potential for a sexual harrassment suit and the loss of his job, he’s not sure he’d have the bravery to tell Spencer just how in love with him he is. Not in a letter written with a fountain pen on pretty stationery, not to his face, not in front of others, not alone. Spencer has guts he’d lost a long time ago. A risky job had led to a tightly controlled personal life. He plays it safe. Spencer doesn’t.

Here is what I want:

I want to throw caution to the wind and live vicariously with you. Let's eat pancakes for dinner, drive down the interstate with the windows down and listen to Vivaldi on full volume, let's hold hands in the street in Virginia and say fuck it to anybody who has a problem with it. I want to get stuck in your head the way you're stuck in mine: when you're doing paperwork, I want to be in the back of your head. I want to excite you when you think of me naked, when you think of me spread out beneath you. Not a moment goes by where I don't think of you, Aaron. I wish I was on your mind in the same way.

Aaron’s face breaks out into a much wider smile. Oh, God, Spencer, he thinks, sending his eyes to the ceiling of the jet. You have no idea. Spencer doesn’t have to wish for this, to crave such a thing, it’s already happening. It feels like paperwork takes twice as long as it used to do before he fell in love with Spencer. It’s not even limited to his job: doing laundry, washing the dishes, cooking dinner, driving Jack to a soccer match, watching TV -- everything he does is consumed by thoughts of Spencer.

And Jesus Christ have mercy, the thought of Spencer spread out naked beneath him, what he looks like under those conservative button ups and cardigans, plays out behind his eyelids far too often. It’s made him feel like a pervert for years, fantasising about his much younger coworker and wondering what he likes in bed, how he could make him feel good. The idea that the same thoughts about him fill Spencer’s brain has him weak at the knees and hot under the collar. Of course he chose the jet to do this, he thinks amusedly. 

Let's find new TV shows and movies together! There's nothing I'd like more than to cuddle up against your chest after a hard case and watch something that we both enjoy, that gives us a sense of comfort and familiarity. On the weekends, let's get dressed up and visit fancy restaurants only to have a cheap crepe at the end of the night before rushing back home to get undressed again. I want to be yours, and I want you to prove that to the world.

Aaron’s heart is melting slowly, dripping down the inside of his chest, he’s sure of it. He’s walked into his apartment after a hard case feeling empty and defeated, wishing Spencer was there to give him a hug and take away the pain far too many times. It only ever made him feel worse, the belief that that would never happen, it never could happen, only now he’s being proved wrong. 

He already knows the first place he’ll take Spencer. Rossi had treated him to dinner there once after Haley passed away, and the ambience and seafood paella had wedged itself firmly into his mind. He’d fantasised many times about how Spencer’s eyes would look in the soft lighting, how he’d laugh in the relaxed setting, how he’d feel spoiled and loved when Aaron footed the bill, ignoring his protests. His heart feels full and bursting at the thought that soon these ideas might not be as far-fetched as he’d convinced himself for so long. He wishes he could see Spencer right now, but he knows he’s probably panicking quietly in the corner, and he was told to save his questions for the end. He’ll play on his terms, especially since it was Spencer who’d had the bravery to do this in the first place.

My biggest fear in writing this letter, though, may not be that you simply won't return my affections, but that you're still in love with Haley. I could never seek to replace her, but I know how deeply you loved her and how painful the wounds of your grief still are. I hope you know, Aaron, that if you do love me back, I'm not jealous of Haley. Not at all. I respect her and I respect your grief.

He can’t help the stab of pain in his gut at the mention of Haley. He’d loved her so deeply and he knew the team was acutely aware of that, Spencer probably more than anybody else if this letter was anything to go by. It strikes him then, just how kind Spencer is. He’s always known it on some level, of course, but the selfless compassion and love for the people around him is so overwhelming when he takes a moment to properly comprehend it. He could have glossed over his late wife in such a letter, but instead he chose to promise Aaron that he could share his heart with Haley. He knows Spencer will keep such a promise. 

I've tried for years to hide the way I feel, Aaron. I went on dates to try and get over you, I dodged you in the break room and bullpen to avoid conversing with you which only made my infatuation worse each time, I feigned plans to get out of family nights because seeing you in a casual setting is so cuttingly painful. I can't hide it anymore, though. I'd rather transfer out of the BAU than continue in this limbo of awkward pining. If you hate me, that's okay, I can deal with that. But there isn't much I don't know, and not knowing this? It's agonising.

Aaron’s stomach clenches again. He wishes they hadn’t been pining all these years so Spencer didn’t have to exist in the parallel of his own realm of wistful agony. The thought of him avoiding him in the break room with the empty ache of unrequited love filling his insides, believing he could never have him when Aaron had been doing the same thing is almost laughable: they were both so oblivious.

Seeing Spencer dressed in jeans and a t-shirt last year when Morgan had invited them all to one of his renovation projects had tortured him for weeks afterwards, and now he was being told that he’d done the same to him; Spencer had gone home after those gatherings and thought about him casual and relaxed, unbuttoned polo shirts and all. It’s almost unbearable. 

It’s reassuring, though, to know Spencer is as committed to this hypothetical as he is. Aaron would leave the BAU, too, if it came to it. If it meant he got to come home to Spencer and cuddle him on the sofa with history documentaries playing on the TV that Spencer was subconsciously memorising and would repeat the next time it was even slightly relevant in conversation. If it meant he could smile knowingly, and wrap an arm around his oblivious boyfriend’s waist, proving to the world that Spencer was his, just like he asked. 

The only way to end this letter is with hope. Any answer you give me I will respect, but I am holding out hope that you will say all this back to me, that you will write your own love letter or profess your own love. That you have similar fantasies and daydreams about me, that you've thought of all these things, too. Thank you for reading this all the way through, Aaron. All that's left to say are five simple words:

I'm in love with you.

Spencer.

Aaron reads the letter over once more before folding it carefully and placing it back in the envelope. He’s completely floored, to be honest. The last thing he expected after a fairly straight-forward case in Seattle was a love confession from the man he’d been in love with since before Haley even passed away, but he’s going to take it and run with it, consequences be damned. 

The plane starts to descend and the rest of the team begin rousing from their naps or putting their books down as chatter starts to rise. “Right,” Aaron says, grabbing everyone’s attention, though Spencer keeps himself carefully tucked away in the corner. “We should have the next few days off though we are on standby, okay? Everyone get some rest, make sure you come back refreshed and ready to tackle the next case. Don’t forget your reports though, have them emailed to me or on my desk by Monday.” He gives everyone a tight smile before turning away as conversations resumed. 

He knows Spencer is tormenting himself by analysing every cadence in his voice, trying to gauge his reaction and he longs to walk over to him and kiss his anxieties away, but he can’t. Spencer specifically asked him to wait until they landed, and he can’t reveal anything to the team so early, certainly not without discussing it first. Instead, he sits back in his seat, abandoning the paperwork in front of him in favour of fighting the fond, excited smile off his face and imagining his first kiss with Spencer, the anticipation making it so much more intense now that it’s actually real.

Time, as it always does, passes, however slowly. They eventually land and Aaron schools his face as the rest of the team pour out onto the tarmac. “Right everyone, I’ll see you in a few days but keep your phones on in case we get called up,” he calls once they’re all off the plane. As everyone starts to peel off to the garage or the office, he turns to Spencer, still keeping his face straight for the sake of others around them. “How about we go to my place and talk.”

“That sounds good,” Spencer says, small smile taking the edge off the anxiety on his face. 

★

The car ride back to Aaron’s apartment is quiet. “I don’t need to pick Jack up until the morning, so it’s just us tonight,” he explains, and Spencer is relieved to see his face soften significantly now they’re alone. He allows a dash of hope to flare in his chest before forcing himself to temper his expectations. You don’t know anything yet. He could be letting you down easy, this could be a pity thing. His fingers drum anxiously against his thigh as Aaron drives, eyes focused straight on the road, his face still unreadable. God, does he have to be so sexy when he drives? 

Just like the time on the plane, though, the time in the car eventually passes, the tension thick between them by the time Aaron pulls into his apartment complex. He smiles gently at Spencer as he takes the key out of the ignition. “Shall we head up?” he asks, and Spencer’s floored at what he sees in his face: he’s wearing the expression he only pulls when he looks at Jack or the team as a whole on a relaxed evening out. To see it directed at him exclusively is a kind of intensity he isn’t prepared for and it bowls him over for a second. 

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs breathily. “Sorry, yeah. Let’s go up.” 

The apartment door closing behind them sounds way too loud to Spencer and, sick of the tension, he decides to try and clear the air. “Look, Aaron, Hotch, can you just tell me--”

He’s cut off by Aaron’s lips pressing firmly against his own, a hand coming to rest on his waist while another grips his face gently. It takes him a second to catch up before he’s kissing back, overwhelmed by the feeling of Aaron’s hands on his body, the very hands he’s admired for years, the hands he’s fantasised about, the hands that make him feel things. He reaches up to place his own on Aaron’s chest, feeling the broadness there, the strength in the body against his making him weak at the knees. 

Aaron pulls away eventually. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says, voice as breathless as Spencer feels. 

“Me too,” he replies, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Maybe… maybe we should do it again.” He smiles shyly at Aaron before leaning in again, this time gasping a little as Aaron pushes him back against the door for leverage, tracing his hand up and down Spencer’s sides, making him tremble in his grip.

“God, Spencer, you’re so damn breathtaking,” Aaron says in between fervent kisses. “Literally.” They both giggle into each others’ mouths at that, relief filling both of them up to the brim as the knowledge that finally, finally, their pining is over sets in. This could be it, they could build something real. 

“Aaron,” Spencer moans, trembling more as Aaron presses himself closer, right hand moving to grip the back of his neck gently, holding him firmly against his body. It overwhelms Spencer a bit, feeling completely surrounded by a man who was so unattainable for so long, by the person he’s been in love with for years. 

It was completely involuntary, but it makes Aaron pull away, resting his forehead against Spencer’s as they both breathe deeply. “We should talk,” he says softly, pressing a final chaste kiss to Spencer’s lips before pulling back completely and taking his hand, leading him to the sofa. 

“Could I have a blanket or something?” Spencer asks shyly, looking sheepish. “I’m a bit chilly.”

He sees realisation dawn on Aaron’s face along with a little bit of guilt. “Of course, Spencer,” he says. “Sorry this is so backwards. Do you want anything else? Something to eat or drink?”

“No, I’m fine,” Spencer says lightly. “Let’s talk and then we could order some dinner?” 

“Sounds perfect,” he smiles, reaching over into a cupboard and bringing out a thick, fluffy blanket. He drapes it over Spencer and makes sure he’s completely comfortable before sitting down opposite him on the sofa himself. “So. Your letter.”

Spencer ducks his head, a light flush tinting his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t know how else to say it?” he says, a question colouring his voice. 

“No, I’m not criticising you,” Aaron rushes to clarify. “It’s possibly the most romantic, beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me, and the truth is, Spencer, I’m in love with you, too.”

Spencer’s head darts up, wide, earnest eyes meeting Aaron’s serious gaze. “You are?” he asks, voice filled with the surprised sort of wonderment that always betrays him whenever any sort of love or affection is revealed to him.

“I am,” Hotch chuckles fondly. “Very much so. I’ve loved you since before Haley passed, to be honest. I’ve done all the things you wrote in your letter, too; I want all the same things you do.”

Spencer’s blush darkens a bit at that, remembering… certain parts… of his letter that he hopes Aaron includes in that statement. “All of it?” His voice is a little squeaky, almost cracking as he clears his throat at the awkwardness. 

“Yeah,” Aaron grins cheekily, loving that he can appreciate the blush on Spencer’s cheeks openly now. There’s no more room for hiding. “All of it.” 

Spencer clears his throat again. “So, is this what you want? Me? A relationship?” he asks, still a little uncertain, not quite secure in the fact that Aaron won’t back off and say this was an experiment, he’s not really committed in the same way Spencer is. 

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Aaron says earnestly. “I want you. I want everything that comes with you, I want the highs and lows of a relationship, I want commitment, I want fun, I want seriousness. Spencer, will you be my boyfriend?” 

Spencer’s brain short circuits for a second before he looks up with the widest smile, one usually reserved for Henry, the kind that reveals unadulterated, unconditional love. “Yes,” he whispers as he launches himself across the sofa and into Aaron’s arms, resting his head on his chest as he revels in the comfort of that exact moment. Finally, though, the extreme emotions of the evening catch up with him and he can’t quite fight them off anymore, maybe his brain is finally convinced that he doesn’t have to, that he’s safe here. Whatever the reason, he can’t help the tears that start to leak from his eyes, or the sobs that softly wrack his shoulders. 

“Spencer,” Aaron whispers back, voice dripping in concern. “Spencer, what’s wrong?” 

“It’s just… it happened,” he tries to explain through his snivelling. “What I hoped for… at the end of my letter. I wrote ‘I am holding out hope that you will say all this back to me, that you will write your own love letter or profess your own love. That you have similar fantasies and daydreams about me, that you've thought of all these things, too.’ And you did. You do.”

“Yeah,” Aaron says, struck with awe, too. “It’s pretty overwhelming for me, too.”

They lie like that for a while longer, finding comfort in one another’s arms, the weight of Spencer weighing Aaron down in a way that feels like security and Aaron’s arms wrapping around him in a way that gives him all the comfort and protection he craves.

Eventually, Spencer picks his head up and meets Aaron’s tired eyes. It had been a long case and an emotionally exhausting evening, and it was nearing midnight. “Shall I order some pizza?” he asks, playing with the tie Aaron was still wearing, slightly loosened but still sexy enough for Spencer to very much appreciate. 

“Please,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “I can’t believe I just get to do that now.”

Spencer hums in content. “Well, by all means, Mr Hotchner, do it again,” he says in a sultry tone.

Aaron groans. “You’d better not talk like that, Spencer, or we’ll never get our pizza.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. “You get us some drinks and get the telly set up. I’ll be right back.” 

Aaron closes the curtains, turns off the overhead light and turns on some lamps and lights some candles. Spencer raises an eyebrow at that and he puts his hands up defensively. “What? They’re cosy!” Spencer giggles at that, kissing him again. 

“Can we put the history channel on?” Spencer asks while Aaron turns the TV on and fiddles with the volume. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, sweetheart.” Spencer ducks his head and blushes, insides warming and tingling at the affection. He’s still not entirely sure this isn’t a dream. Aaron, unfortunately, doesn’t miss it. “Aw, are you blushing? Do you like that, you like it when I call you sweetheart?” he teases, smiling warmly at Spencer, clearly relishing in the deep red colour of his face. “Or is it just any pet name? You like it when I call you pretty names, baby?”

Spencer nearly outright moans at that but manages to stifle it, not that it makes much of a difference in Aaron’s delighted expression. “Stop, Aaron,” he whines in a manner that conveys he would very much not like Aaron to stop. 

“God, baby, you are too much to handle,” he groans, leaning across the sofa to pull Spencer away from his perch against the corner and into his chest. They lay quietly like that for a few minutes while the history channel plays a documentary about the Battle of Trafalger, breathing deep and slow as they appreciate this little slice of serenity while they wait for their dinner to arrive.

Once their pizza boxes are empty and they’ve finally had something to eat, Aaron turns to Spencer who’s meticulously wiping the pizza grease on his fingers away with a napkin, making him smile fondly. “Hey, Spence?” he asks, grabbing the attention of the younger man. “I wanted to talk to you about something you wrote in your letter.” 

Spencer looks a little bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights, hesitant as to what Aaron is about to say. What if he was mortally offended by something, or he didn’t like something I wrote? Was I too forward?

“First of all, I’ll always love Haley, but in a distant, wistful kind of way that I can’t quite explain. She’s been gone for a while now and I’ve moved on,” he explains, and Spencer’s flush returns. It’s one thing to write the letter, hell, it’s one thing to hand it to Aaron, but it’s another thing entirely to discuss the ins and outs of his heart in such graphic detail. “I fell in love with you very slowly, but I’d realised it around four months before Haley died. I’ll grant you that in the following year I didn’t really have much time or emotional capacity to dwell on it but it was always there in the back of my mind, and it’s only intensified over the last two years.”

“Really?” The flush is still firmly rooted to Spencer’s face, but his eyes are wide now, staring into Aaron’s with an earnest sort of intensity. “I had no idea.”

“Well I had no idea that you wanted everything I did, either,” Aaron chuckles. “Instead we’ve just been existing in a state of perpetual mutual pining and if you hadn’t had the bravery to do what you did, maybe we never would have known.”

“It was rather brave,” Spencer smiles, joking a bit, but they both know it’s the truth. “I’ve been in love with you since the Tobias Hankel situation. After you understood me and knew how to find me, how you saved my life. It spiralled from there and no effort to try and get over you has succeeded.”

“Mmm you mentioned,” Aaron hums. “I must say, I’m a bit jealous of these other dates you speak of.”

“Well you shouldn’t be,” Spencer says. “They didn’t hold a candle to you, and the few that made it past the first couple of dates knew that all too well.”

Aaron chuckles lightly at that before they settle into a comfortable silence, the TV still playing the background. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asks, voice low and a bit unsure. “No funny business, I just… don’t want to let you go yet.”

“Me neither,” Spencer says honestly. “Of course I’ll stay.” He can hear his voice still sounds a little squeaky, still vulnerable in this new situation. 

Aaron smiles back and turns the lights and TV off, blowing out the candles before offering a hand to Spencer as they make their way to his room. 

“Oh,” Spencer says, stopping in his tracks as soon as they step into Aaron’s bedroom. “I left my go bag in the car.”

“I’m sure we can find a solution to that,” Aaron smirks, pushing the bedroom door closed with his left hand and crowding him up against it with his right, diving for his neck. Spencer moans high in his throat, pressing forward further into Aaron’s hold. “You can wear one of my shirts. God, I’ve fantasised about you in my clothes for years, baby.” 

“So… so possessive,” Spencer teases through Aaron’s kisses.

“Yeah, you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

That gets Aaron to pull away, looking deep into Spencer’s eyes, awe filling his gaze. “I love you, too. Fuck it feels so good to hear that, to finally say that.”

“I know.” Spencer’s blushing slightly, the forwardness of his remark embarrassing him slightly. 

“Come on,” Aaron says, pressing one final kiss to Spencer’s lips. “Let’s get ready for bed. I’ll find you a top and I know I have a spare toothbrush around here somewhere…”

Spencer smiles, sitting on the bed as he watches Aaron bustle around the room, finding the stuff he needs for the night. This could be it, he thinks. This could be my life now. Domesticity had never much appealed to Spencer, but sitting there now as Aaron chatters away about the visit to the shopping centre that has resulted in buying the top he tosses Spencer’s way, he knows he was right to change his mind. He was right to crave this, to crave pancakes for dinner and new TV shows and lazy mornings.

And when they’re finally cuddled up in bed, warm under the covers and safe in one another’s arms, he knows he was right to share that craving with Aaron. 

[katsidhe]

If you wouldn't mind me asking, what are 7+ random headcanons you have about Sam? (Like he always lets his batteries drain to 0%, can't stand the scent of something, etc.)

Hmm good one! Not sure how imaginative these headcanons are, because I like canon analysis so much, but I’ve done my best. Some are happy, some are sad, some just are.

Sam is a Linux user. His browser is Tor. He religiously uses VPNs. After the near misses in season 7, he became fairly savvy about protecting their electronic secrecy. He’s not exactly a big time coder, but he’s fluent enough to have several programs that scrape major search engines and various news databases for particular key terms, etc. Charlie helped him out with several of these.

Sam hates wireless headphones. He can never find ones that stick in his ears properly without falling out, and he hates the inconvenience of keeping them charged. He is also bitter that the iPod shuffle was discontinued—he loved the convenience of the tiny clip thing when he was out running and was very sad when it got smashed. (Winchester phone/electronic device lifetime is... short).

Sam follows multiple obscure hobbyist forums online. He’s made accounts in several, but has only very rarely posted. (He’s also got a Wikipedia account he’s never posted with.) Some of these forum topics are explicitly work-related, like folklore and spellcraft; others, like lock picking and true crime, are borderline. Some aren’t at all, like woodworking and historical restoration.

Sam drinks so much coffee that he’s barely sure what way he prefers it anymore. It’s so much of a staple that he doesn’t mind if it’s black, latte, flavored, whatever. He doesn’t like too much sugar, though, as it gives him a headache. And he truly cannot stand the taste of artificial sweeteners.

Sam has to work pretty diligently not to mix up his memories, given how messed up his personal timeline is. He’s grateful that he’s kept decent case records that he can reference when he’s really unsure, but those are purely factual and contain none of his subjective impressions, so it’s hard for him to remember exactly how he felt. For childhood stuff, he’ll look through John’s journal to try to see if an event he remembers actually happened, or, more rarely, ask Dean. Sometimes, on impulse, he even has the insane wish that he could ask Lucifer if he’s remembering something real or imaginary. Usually he tries to focus on the here and now; that’s what’s important.

Sam would like gardening, if he ever found the time and space. He grows a couple herbs commonly used fresh for spellwork, in pots outside the bunker.

Sam committed suicide at least once early in season five. He told himself it was out of pragmatism. Sam believed Lucifer when he said he’d bring him back, but he figured it would have been foolish not to try at all.

Sam actually enjoys relatively infrequent casual sex tbh. The physicality of it grounds him. The main reason he doesn’t do it more often is his paranoia about potential emotional intimacy, and because he doesn’t particularly want Dean to tease or nag him.

Sam is not vegetarian, but he hates the smell of cooking meat enough that he commonly avoids it (especially the more rank varieties). It’s a health thing too, but honestly the smell is a more urgent factor.

Sam has a regimented exercise plan that he keeps to religiously—prefers cardio to weights, especially running in the morning. He sometimes bugs Dean to join him, but Dean really does not enjoy running for its own sake. Sam’s exercise habits have flirted with self-harm and over-asceticism, but they are usually a relatively healthy grounding tool.

[blackcoffeeandblankpagess]

things

I feel like I’ve been MIA on here lately and want to post many backlogged pics but also feel like I should do a lil brain dump

Been home for like...3 weeks now? honestly, we’re dealing with it. I’ve actually been really busy and once I decided I wasn’t going to be able to run away any time soon I kinda committed to just doing my best to make it work and it hasn’t been terrible

But on that note, I basically live at our neighbors’ house. They’re essentially my second family, I realize that breaks ~quarantine~ rules and I’ll admit to that, but my family was also already in contact with them before I got home and they are basically the only people I ever see and tbh if I had to pick between coming back to NJ to stay with my family or them, I’d pick them SO... yeah. It’s been really nice spending so much time with them though, dylan (22) and sage (20) have basically been my pseudo siblings my whole life and I pretty much grew up at their house but ever since college it’s rare that we are all home at once and after this time period we will never all be here together again because my fam is moving SO trying to really soak it up- hiking, cooking, playing catan, drinking beer, watching movies, etc. very nostalgic

To my last point- my family (well my mom and ed) is moving! my mom has had a plan to retire and move to costa rica (it’s literally the ONLY thing she talks about ugh) for awhile and they officially put our house up for sale last week so THAT has been a little hectic (I’m honestly so glad they are moving tbh I really don’t like coming to my childhood home that has now been flipped upside down to accommodate a new marriage and does not feel like my home)

not much to report on the running front, have been running less days and doing more biking/swimming here. I took a glance at the site for the marathon I was eyeing for the fall and they seemed pretty adamant that they were gonna hold it which honestly shocked me but I guess it’s in a place that hasn’t been hit too hard?? idk though I basically assumed all 2020 races were off the table. I’d also have to start training in like...2 weeks and I’m not sure if my body is really in the place for that

^to go off of that (TW ED) I need to like...get my fucking shit together. Over the course of the past year I’ve lost x pounds, unintentionally, literally due to anxiety, but once I started thinking about it more I realized my period has really petered out since the winter (like...january I guess?), plus it was never like...FULL force normal to begin with even though I was getting it to some extent for basically all of 2019. so anyway red! flag! I actually weighed myself yesterday which is something I haven’t done in like 5 years (only at doctor’s visits where I usually don’t even look at the weight until weeks later), but I KNEW it was going to have gone down and I thought maybe I could knock some sense into myself and tbh it kinda worked. The disconnect in my brain truly astounds me sometimes. But after I type this up I’m sitting down to have a chat with myself and journal and figure out a plan because this is not healthy and I need to get a grip. (again, like I said, not intentionally undereating, in fact I’ve eaten more on a daily basis over the past year than ever before, but my output is high and whenever I’m anxious my appetite is zero which makes for a very confusing disastrous time) 

In other news! headed down to NC to visit jared next week and I am excited 4 that. tbh I am looking forward to the 10 hour drive I find it really meditative and gives me time to think, catch up on podcasts, etc.

in the process of figuring out my living situation for the fall which is causing me STRESS. but it’s looking like we will be at least to some extent having in person classes. Also it looks like jared might not have to be on campus after thanksgiving in which case maybe he would come stay with me for a few weeks in OR which makes me very very happy

Also in jared news, feeling very very grateful for that boy, he is truly astounding

Food things- I was honestly having like....a slight identity crisis about eating meat. Normally I never buy meat, I only really eat it if there is a very particular circumstance and it’s so infrequent that it usually doesn’t cause me too much angst when it happens, but being home I told myself I’d eat dinner with my fam to make my life easier but I honestly started to get real freaked out about the amount of animal products going on (from an ethical side, not health). I’ve appreciated the eye opening-ness of it from my perspective in a lot of ways. Idk, too many thoughts to type. Probably sounds hypocritical anyway but the thought of being entirely vegan is incredibly stressful to me given my ED (plus, I eat mostly plant-based in general). BUT I have started to try to cook vegan meals for my family which makes me feel good and like I’m promoting good things. I made my mom a TLT for lunch the other day. On Tuesday I made homemade veggie burgers for the first time and they were super good. Making vegan stuffed shells tomorrow. And! And! After talking to my neighbor about veg cooking she also made very very similar veggie burgers this week, she actually made them the day before me so we got to taste test eachother’s. And then jared sent me a pic of vegan bolognese that his sister made which I know was inspired by him making that and I know he was inspired by my plant-based nudges and that stuff makes me feel good. Like I’m spreading a positive influence.

This is super long as per usual and I need to go have my meeting with myself lol thx 4 reading 🐢