#this was supposed to happen over a month ago

[sabrinasopposite]

friends or lovers?

pt. 2 of drinks or coffee / college!charlie baker x photographer!reader

summary: stolen kisses, polaroids, photo booths, coffee and a questionable situationship. y/n waits till charlie ask her finally out, or are they just friends?

Autumn folds itself over New York like an old, beloved quilt—warm, golden, frayed at the edges. The air smells of cinnamon and rain-damp pavement, and somewhere between the red-brick college buildings and the quiet hum of late afternoon, y/n finds herself seeing Charlie Baker through a different lens.

They are not together. Not officially. But there are Polaroids of him in a box beneath her bed, tucked between receipts of late-night coffee runs and half-melted red lipsticks he once pressed a kiss against. There are moments—his laughter curling like smoke in the cold air, his hands brushing against hers when he hands her a camera, his eyes catching hers across a room—that make her wonder if she is something more than just a passing season to him.

She never asks. And he never says.

They start hanging out after class, in the spaces between their lives where time stretches slow and golden. She teaches him how to take professional pictures, and he watches her like she is the one worth capturing.

“Like this,” y/n murmurs, adjusting the lens. Her fingers, delicate but sure, guide his hands over the camera. Charlie is a quick learner, but he’s distracted today—his gaze flickering to the way her lashes kiss her cheekbones when she blinks, the way the afternoon light pools against the dip of her collarbone. He wants to tell her she is beautiful, but instead, he just says, “I think I like this.”

y/n only hums in response. Photography. Her. He isn’t sure anymore.

but later, when he isn’t looking, she takes a picture of him—grease-smudged and sun-drenched, working on his car, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A moment preserved. A secret, just for her.

He buys her a camera with his own money.

y/n doesn’t expect it. She unwraps the box with careful fingers, her breath catching when she sees the sleek, familiar frame—the model she had offhandedly mentioned wanting months ago.

“Charlie…”

His hands are stuffed into his pockets, but he shrugs, looking almost sheepish. “Your old one’s been acting up.”

She swallows around the lump in her throat, her heart pressing against her ribs like it wants to escape. This is more than a gift. It is him paying attention. It is him remembering. It is him saying something without saying it at all.

She doesn’t know how to thank him, so she just steps forward and wraps her arms around him, her cheek pressed against his chest. He stiffens for half a second before exhaling, his hands finding the small of her back. He holds her there, warm and solid, and she wonders how she is supposed to go back to being just his friend after this.

Their first kiss happened in a photobooth.

It is supposed to be a joke—crowding into the small space, laughing as they press against each other. The first photo is blurry, their smiles mid-motion. The second, exaggerated faces. The third—something quieter. Softer. A moment where y/n’s breath stutters because she is suddenly aware of how close they are, of the way Charlie’s gaze drops to her red lips, of the way time seems to hold its breath.

The fourth click of the camera catches the moment his mouth brushes hers.

A kiss, caught in black and white, immortalized before either of them fully register it.

Later, y/n keeps the photo strip in her box, between a napkin from the coffee shop where they sat too close and the memory of his hands laced with hers. But they do not talk about it. They never do.

Her friend asks one day, with an arched brow and a knowing smile, “Are you and Charlie dating?”

y/n hesitates. Laughs it off. “No, we’re just friends.” The words taste strange on her tongue. Because in her lenses, they looked like a couple. Like a couple of a movie or a book, simply the good looking guy from college likes the photographer girl. But it was more than that, Charlie was more than that. 

He was like a shot of espresso, being bathed in sunlight when he was around y/n. She made him feel like the best version of himself, without even trying. But for y/n, Charlie was her eternal sunshine. He was perfect for her imperfectness.

But then she hears it—Beth’s name, mentioned in passing by one of Charlie’s friends. His ex. The one who texted him after he soft-launched y/n on Instagram, a blurry photo of her in golden light, captioned with nothing but a heart.

It’s nothing, they say. Probably just a casual message. But y/n feels it settle in her stomach like a stone. What if she’s just the in-between? The girl who is there because Charlie is lonely, because it’s easy, because autumn is fleeting, and so is she?

She doesn’t want to be the other woman. The placeholder.

So she pulls away.

Missed messages. Half-hearted smiles. Excuses.

Charlie notices.

It was a Friday afternoon, where the sun was disappearing from its sky and the stars were slowly shining around. Charlie found y/n in Central Park. She had left her phone in her dorm, wandering the city with her camera slung over her shoulder, trying to quiet the thoughts unraveling inside her. She took pictures of golden leaves reflected in puddles when the sun was still there, of strangers lost in laughter, of the sky stretching endlessly above her. She had planned to go to her favorite vintage cinema, lose herself in old film reels and dim lighting, but before she could, Charlie was there—winded, breathless, searching.

“There you are,” he exhales. y/n looks up at him, the weight in her chest pressing deeper.

“Where have you been?” he asks, voice softer now. “We were supposed to meet at our coffee shop.”

Her hands tighten around her camera. And then, before she can stop herself— “What are we?” she blurts. The more she looked at him, the more she felt. That was simple. Thats what she liked when she was around Charlie, he wasn’t an adjustment like in cameras. He was there that she could simply just tell everything, without pulling back or like adjust her camera for its perfectness. 

Charlie’s expression shifts, his features caught between surprise and something more careful. “What do you want me to be?”

y/n thinks of the Polaroids, the coffee receipts, the soft-lipped kisses caught in frozen frames. She thinks of the way she feels when he looks at her like she’s something worth capturing. “I want us to be us,” she whispers. “More than just friends.”

Charlie’s face softens, and then— A slow, brilliant smile spreads across his lips, like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “I was waiting for the right moment to ask you,” he admits. “But it seems you stole my moment or idea.”

Her laugh is a breath of relief, a quiet surrender. And when he kisses her this time, in front of the vintage theater, beneath the endless city sky, it is not something to be tucked away in a box.

It is something to be lived.

Something to be real, which was more worth than a camera pic.

y/n would have never guessed that being stuck in a lame and bad party, would give her the best thing like Charlie.

🍒 ps: I heard that y/n has polaroid pictures of shirtless charlie------ 💌: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @angelsgalore @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @tinainaction @seulgi-burgundy @floralscented @artyandink

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Dark as a Raven’s Feather

A night owl is what he is. The day is too bright for him. It pains his eyes and head.

“Are you a vampire, or something?” his classmates used to ask him.

He never answered them.

His looks points towards the romanticised figures from film and literature, he supposes. Dark hair, as a raven’s feather, like his grand mère used to say. His skin is pale as marble, and the face has peculiar angles that some find attractive, others quite the opposite. But it’s the eyes that put most people off. They are pale too, but the colours shift. Mostly, they are blue, different shades, but in the lighter spectrum. In certain lights and settings, they go green, and on rare occasions golden specks appear.

“You’re such a freak!”

Sherlock still has no idea how many times he’s heard that sentence being thrown in his direction. Over the years, he’s got used to it, but if he’s distracted, it still hurts.

***

Sherlock loves the city; London, his one true love. He knows her like the back of his hand. He’s walked every street and alley. In his Mind Palace, there’s a map, more accurate than any found online, or in books. 

Granted, the map in his head, is not that useful to others. When he comes home just after dawn, he retreats to that map, and plots in new information. Where the last murder took place, which roads he ran to catch the killer, the new shop on one corner, roadworks and hindrances.

***

Exhausted after running the streets and fighting a man with a knife, Sherlock takes a shower, then goes to bed. He quickly updates his map, before he falls asleep. 

When Sherlock doesn’t find his meal prepared as he wakes at five in the afternoon, he doesn’t panic. Not at first, anyway.

Didn’t Hudders say she was visiting her sister this weekend?

Sherlock has difficulties remembering such trifles. Half of what his landlady prattles on about, don’t even reach his brain, let alone his ears.

He finds bread, honey, and switches on the kettle. The silence in the flat is bliss. At least during his meal. Afterwards, he gets restless. He wonders how it would feel to have someone living with him. Seconds after the thought has invaded his head, he discards it. Who on earth would want to live with him? The Freak impersonated. Perhaps some nutter from the psychiatric ward, or a suicidal person.

Before Sherlock gets the chance to dwell any further, his phone chimes with a text. A new case! 

He puts on his coat and scarf, finds his leather gloves in his pocket, and leaps down the stairs. Outside, it’s already dark. January is one of his favourite months.

***

It’s nearly midnight when he returns to Baker Street. He hears a sound from 221A, Mrs Hudson’s flat. A strangled sound. His heart pounds in his chest, as if he’s run for hours. Carefully, he approaches her door, not sure if there’s an intruder, or the landlady herself making the sound. The door isn’t locked, and Sherlock opens it, making sure to be cautious.

He finds her on the kitchen floor. She’s fallen and hit her head on the table corner. Blood has trickled down from her temple and into her hair. It’s clotted now. The fall happened hours ago. Before Sherlock woke. Hence the missing meal. Bile rises in his throat, panic sets in his chest, tears pour from his eyes.

“Nonononono,” he whispers.

Trembling fingers find her pulse point, he can’t trust her moving chest, and relief washes over him.

Not dead.

He calls for an ambulance, yells into the phone: “Hurry! She’s the only one I’ve got.”

***

He stands back when the paramedics arrive. They stabilise her, puts on an oxygen mask, lay her on a stretcher. Sherlock watches, fascinated by the skilled men, knowing exactly what to do. Outside, they get the stretcher into the ambulance, and then one of the men turns to face Sherlock.

His eyes are blue as the ocean. Sherlock wants to drown in them. The blue orbits are so distracting, he needs to ask again what the man just said.

“Are you alright?”

Sherlock nods, knowing full well it’s not a very convincing nod. 

“Do you want to come with?” the man asks.

“I’m not family. Only her tenant,” Sherlock mumbles and looks to the ground.

A warm hand is placed on his upper arm. No one ever touches him. Apart from the woman in the ambulance.

“I overheard the emergency call,” the man admits. “It sounded like a bit more than a tenant/landlady relationship to me. Come on.”

And then, he ushers Sherlock into the back of the ambulance, gesturing for him to take a seat beside his beloved Hudders. Her colour is less pale, and her breathing seems to be more even. He takes her tiny hand in both of his, stroking his thumb soothingly over the knuckles.

“She’ll be fine. Made of a sturdy material, this one,” the blue-eyed man says. “I’m John, by the way. John Watson.”

Sherlock introduces himself, and when he looks into those eyes again, he realises that he can trust this man with his life. He bends down to the elderly lady’s ear and whispers: “John Watson says you’ll be fine.”

Her eyes open slowly, clearly confused, but it doesn’t last long. When she spots Sherlock, a smile forms on her lips, and she squeezes his hands once. Then, she turns her gaze over to John, and her smile broadens into a full grin.

***

“You and Mrs H. were my favourite midnight distractions,” John whispers in Sherlock’s ear, some weeks later, while his fingers card through the raven-coloured curls.

“Hopefully, only I remain as such,” Sherlock quips and kisses John’s jaw.

John’s chuckle reverberates through Sherlock’s chest and sets in his heart. He’ll tell John about that later. After distracting him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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[loveatfirstfight5-0]

@boazpriestly thanks for this coda, hope you don't mind I had to write this little something to get it out of my head ...

Never let me go

Steve had left after Daiyu Mei’s attack.

Danny understood why. At least, he had tried to.

Steve had spent a decade carrying weight that no one else could see. Losing his father. Losing Joe. Losing Freddie. Losing Catherine in more ways than one. Losing the future he had once imagined for himself. And when Daiyu Mei came back into his life, dredging up old wounds and forcing him to relive his father’s murder all over again, it was too much.

So, he left.

Danny had told himself that he understood. That Steve needed to figure out who he was when he wasn’t carrying Five-0 on his back, when he wasn’t holding the entire world together with sheer force of will. Danny had even convinced himself that he wasn’t mad about it. Because that would be selfish, right? Steve deserved to find his peace.

But when Steve had left—when he had actually walked away, boarded that plane without any kind of real plan or promise—he had taken something with him.

Danny had felt it the second Steve disappeared through security at the airport. A hollow space had opened up inside his chest, like someone had scooped out an essential piece of him and walked away with it.

And then, for weeks, months, nothing.

Sure, Steve checked in. Occasionally. A text here, a phone call there, always just enough to let Danny know he was alive but never enough to make it feel like he was still here.

Danny had kept going, of course. He had to. He had Charlie, and Gracie when she was home from college. He still had Five-0, sort of, though it wasn’t really the same. But every time his phone buzzed, he hoped it was Steve. And every time it wasn’t, he felt that stupid hollow space get just a little bit bigger.

Then one day, Steve had come back.

Like it was nothing. Like he had never left.

Danny had been standing in the middle of his kitchen, half a sandwich in his hand, when Steve knocked on the door and then just walked in. Danny had nearly choked.

"Hey," Steve had said, like he was coming home from a weekend fishing trip and not months away on some vague soul-searching adventure.

Danny had stared at him for a solid ten seconds before he spoke.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Steve had blinked, clearly thrown by the reaction. Like Danny was supposed to just roll out a welcome mat and hand him a beer.

"I, uh, came back?"

Danny had put his sandwich down and exhaled through his nose. "Oh, you came back, did you? Just like that? Like you didn’t up and vanish on me with nothing but a see you when I see you?"

Steve’s jaw had tightened, his body shifting in that way it did when he was bracing for a fight.

Danny had shaken his head. He wasn’t doing this. Not right now. Not when his heart was beating so damn fast in his chest that it actually hurt.

"Go home, Steve," Danny had said, turning away. "I can’t do this right now."

Steve had left without another word.

That was a week ago.

And now, Steve was here, standing in Danny’s living room, looking at him like he was trying to see straight through his skin. Like Danny was some kind of puzzle he was desperate to figure out.

Danny was tired. So tired.

He exhaled and let it happen.

"I loved you, Steve," he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I was in love with you, and I—"

“Was?”

The word pushed down on Steve’s tongue, scraping hard like sandpaper across an open wound. His heart pounded ruthlessly behind his ribs, so loud in his own head that Steve was certain everyone within a ten-mile radius could hear it. “Are you not anymore?”

Danny let out a sharp breath and ran both hands through his hair before dragging them down the sides of his neck. “No,” he muttered, then groaned and shook his head. “I mean, yes, I’m still in love with you, but…”

Steve lifted his foot to take a step forward but set it back down just as quickly. The ache to reach out and touch Danny, to just hold some part of him—his hand, his wrist, the hem of his shirt—burned through Steve’s entire body like a dry log in the middle of an inferno.

He stayed put.

Danny turned slowly and looked at him, something in his expression crumbling just a little.

“Steve, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep chasing you and putting you first if you aren’t going to do the same for me.”

“Danny—”

“Please, just let me say this. I have to get it out before I lose my nerve.”

Steve nodded.

Danny exhaled and sat on the couch, covering his face with his hands briefly before patting the cushion next to him.

Steve sat as close as he dared, but Danny scooted over until their bodies touched.

Steve couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped his mouth, or the way his body just lost all of its tension the second Danny’s shoulder pressed against his.

“Listen, I’m in love with you, Steve,” Danny said quietly. “I have been in love with you for so long, and I hate that it took you leaving for what felt like forever for me to be able to admit that out loud. I hate it so much. But what I hate more is that you left me. Here. Alone. Again.”

Steve swallowed, his fingers curling into the fabric of his jeans.

“And I get it,” Danny continued. “I get that you needed to go. I understand that you’re on this whole self-discovery journey, and I’m happy for you. I support you. But Steve, I need you to choose me. Not— not before yourself or whatever, but if you love me like you say you do, then I need you to choose me. Please.”

Steve opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Danny closed his eyes and nodded, like he had expected as much. “Yeah. Okay.” He moved to stand, but Steve grabbed his wrist.

Not hard. Just enough to say stay.

Danny stopped.

Steve loosened his grip, let his fingers slide down until they curled around Danny’s hand.

“I do love you,” Steve said, voice hoarse. “I love you, Danny. And I—I don’t know how to do this the right way. I don't know how to be good at this. But I don’t want to lose you.”

Danny exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around Steve’s. He tilted his head, eyes searching Steve’s face, trying to decide if he believed him. If he could trust this moment.

And Steve didn’t let go.

“I don’t need perfect,” Danny said again, softer this time. “I just need you to try.”

Steve nodded. “I’m trying.”

Danny studied him for another moment, then exhaled and sank back onto the couch. His shoulder pressed against Steve’s again, warm and solid.

This time, he didn’t move away.

“Okay,” Danny said finally. “Then don’t stop.”

Steve didn’t let go. And Danny didn’t pull away.

For a long moment, they just sat there, the silence between them thick but not heavy. Not the kind of silence that meant something was breaking. It felt more like something was settling. Something that had been unspoken for too damn long.

Danny exhaled, his fingers twitching a little beneath Steve’s, but he didn’t try to move. If anything, his grip tightened, like he needed to remind himself that Steve was still there.

Steve swallowed, his free hand rubbing against the seam of his jeans. He wasn’t good at this. Never had been. But this thing with Danny—whatever it had been, whatever it was—had always been different.

Danny sighed and shook his head, a small, self-deprecating smile curling at the edge of his lips. “I really didn’t expect you to grab my hand, y’know,” he muttered. “Thought you’d just let me walk out.”

Steve frowned, his fingers flexing slightly. “Why?”

Danny scoffed, tipping his head back against the couch. “Because you’ve let me go before.”

Steve flinched. He didn’t mean to, but it hit him square in the chest, stealing the breath right out of his lungs.

Danny must have noticed because he let out another sigh—less sharp, more tired. “I don’t mean that the way it sounded,” he admitted. “I just— I thought you were always gonna be the guy who needed to run. And I was always gonna be the idiot chasing after you.”

Steve’s throat felt tight. He turned slightly so he could see Danny’s face more clearly, the soft glow of the lamp throwing shadows across his sharp features.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” Steve admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Danny blinked, clearly surprised.

Steve licked his lips, his chest tightening as he tried to string words together. He wasn’t good at this. At explaining things. At making people understand what was happening in his head. But if he didn’t try—if he let Danny walk away again—he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

“I thought leaving was the answer,” he said slowly. “Thought if I got away, if I could just figure myself out, then I’d come back knowing what I was supposed to do. How I was supposed to fix things.”

Danny nodded slightly, but his expression was guarded.

Steve inhaled sharply. “But all it did was make me realize that nothing out there made sense without you.”

Danny blinked again, and this time, something in his expression cracked.

Steve let go of Danny’s hand just long enough to reach for his wrist again, his fingers sliding over the warm skin there, feeling the steady pulse beneath his touch.

“I love you,” Steve said, the words coming easier this time. “And I don’t know how to be the guy who gets it right all the time, but I do know that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to run anymore.”

Danny exhaled through his nose, his eyes flickering away for a brief moment before coming back. His lips pressed together, like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe it.

“Okay,” Danny said finally, voice quiet. “Then don’t.”

Steve nodded, his grip tightening. “I won’t.”

Danny held his gaze for another long second before sighing and letting himself lean into Steve’s shoulder again. This time, he let his head rest there, like he was too damn tired to keep holding himself up.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a second.

Then, slowly, carefully, he turned his head just enough for his lips to brush against Danny’s hair.

Danny made a soft, barely audible sound but didn’t pull away. Steve exhaled.

Danny didn’t move for a long time. His head stayed where it was, pressed against Steve’s shoulder, like he was testing the weight of it, seeing if he could trust this moment—trust Steve.

Steve didn’t dare shift, didn’t even risk a deep breath, afraid that if he moved too much, Danny would pull away. That this fragile, tentative thing between them would shatter before he could prove that he meant what he said. That he wasn’t running this time.

Eventually, Danny sighed, the warmth of it ghosting across Steve’s collarbone. “So what now?”

Steve swallowed, his fingers still curled around Danny’s wrist, feeling the slow, steady pulse beneath his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if it was Danny’s heart pounding or his own, but it didn’t really matter.

He turned his head slightly, resting his cheek against Danny’s hair, just for a second, just to feel close. “I don’t know,” Steve admitted, voice low. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Danny let out a quiet huff of laughter, but there was no bite to it. “That’s a start, I guess.”

Steve tightened his grip just a fraction, like a silent promise.

Danny exhaled again, and his fingers twitched against Steve’s knee before curling into the fabric of his jeans, holding on like he wasn’t quite ready to let go either.

After a while, Danny shifted, sitting up a little, but he didn’t move away entirely. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose, and then turned slightly to look at Steve, really look at him.

“You don’t get to back out of this,” Danny said, quiet but firm. “You don’t get to tell me all this and then decide later that you’re not sure.”

Steve met his eyes, steady. “I won’t.”

Danny searched his face, like he was looking for a crack, for an excuse, for some reason not to believe him. But Steve didn’t give him one.

Finally, Danny let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

Steve nodded, his fingers still tangled in Danny’s.

Danny shook his head slightly, lips twitching, like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “You’re gonna drive me insane, aren’t you?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, shifting just enough that their knees bumped together. “Probably.”

Danny sighed dramatically, but there was a warmth in his expression now, something softer. “Yeah, well. That’s nothing new.”

Steve smiled, small but real.

Danny eyed him for a second longer, then sighed and muttered, “Come on,” before pushing himself up off the couch.

Steve frowned slightly, immediately feeling the loss of contact, but Danny just jerked his head toward the hallway. “I’m going to bed. And if you meant what you said, you’re coming with me.”

Steve’s throat tightened, but he nodded.

Danny didn’t wait. He just turned and walked toward his bedroom, and Steve—without hesitation, without doubt, without any of the fear that had kept him stuck for so damn long—followed.

Steve followed Danny down the hall, his heart thudding in his chest with something close to anticipation but edged with nerves. This was it. No running. No excuses. Just them.

Danny pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside without looking back. He didn’t make a big deal about it, didn’t pause for dramatic effect—just kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head before tossing it somewhere in the general direction of the hamper.

Steve hesitated for half a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Danny turned, watching him, his hands on his hips. “You planning on standing there all night?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he toed off his shoes. He pulled his shirt over his head as well, more hesitant than Danny had been, but when he met Danny’s gaze, there was no judgment there. Just something warm, something patient.

Danny slid onto the bed, sitting against the headboard, one arm resting casually across his stomach. He patted the empty space beside him. “Come on, Commander.”

Steve didn’t hesitate this time. He moved toward the bed, slipping under the covers, the warmth of Danny’s body immediately seeping into his side.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The room was quiet except for their breathing, and Steve realized that despite all the times they had been in bed together—not like this, but still—this felt different.

Danny shifted slightly, turning on his side, one arm tucked under his head. “You still good?”

Steve turned to face him, mirroring his position. “Yeah.”

Danny exhaled, his fingers twitching slightly against the mattress. “Okay.”

Steve watched him for a moment before hesitantly reaching out, his fingers brushing lightly against Danny’s wrist. He expected Danny to pull away, but instead, Danny let out a small breath and turned his hand, lacing their fingers together.

Steve squeezed gently, grounding himself in the moment, in the warmth of Danny’s palm against his.

Danny let out a quiet, tired laugh. “You realize I’m gonna make you work for this, right?”

Steve smirked. “Yeah, I figured.”

Danny shook his head, but his fingers tightened around Steve’s.

A beat of silence stretched between them, comfortable this time.

Then, quietly, Danny murmured, “Don’t make me regret this.”

Steve swallowed against the tightness in his throat and squeezed his hand again, just a little. “I won’t.”

Danny didn’t say anything else, just let out a slow breath and closed his eyes.

Steve stayed awake a little longer, just watching him, letting the reality of this settle into his bones.

No more running.

No more hesitation.

Just Danny, warm and solid beside him.

And this time, Steve wasn’t letting go.

“I loved you, Steve. I was in love with you, and I —“

“Was?” The word pushes down on Steve’s tongue, scraping hard like sandpaper across an open wound. His heart pounds ruthlessly behind his ribs, so loud in his own head that Steve’s certain everyone within a ten mile radius can hear it. “Are you not anymore?”

“No,” Danny says, pushing both hands through his hair and then dragging them down the sides of his neck. “I mean, yes, I’m still in love with you, but...”

Steve lifts his foot to take a step forward but sets it back down just as quickly. The ache to reach out and touch Danny, to just hold some part of him, even just the hem of his shirt or the cuff of his sleeve, burns through Steve’s entire body like a dry log in the middle of an inferno. He stays put. Danny turns slowly and looks at him.

“Steve, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep chasing you and putting you first if you aren’t going to do the same for me.”

“Danny...”

“Please, just let me say this. I have to get it out before I lose my nerve.”

Steve nods.

“Good. Okay,” Danny sits on the couch and covers his face with his hands briefly, then pats the cushion next to him. Steve sits as close as her dares, but Danny scoots over until their bodies touch. Steve can’t stop the sigh of relief that escapes his mouth or the way his body just loses all of its tension the second Danny’s shoulder presses against his.

“Listen, I’m in love with you, Steve. I have been in love with you for so long and I hate that it took you leaving for what seemed like forever for me to be able to admit that out loud. I hate it so much, but what I hate more is that you left me, here, alone...again. And I mean, I understand that you’re on this journey of self-discovery, and I’m happy for you and I support you, but Steve, I need you to choose me. Not like — not before yourself or whatever, but if you love me like you say you do, then I need you to choose me. Please.”

[stevie-baby]

I finally have my interview for the trade school I’ve been trying to get into since last summer and I want to fucking vom

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

men are so disappointing in so many ways i know i shouldn't expect most of them to be dignified humans but it's crazy. i need to get over this guy he's making my sense of self crumble even faster than it usually does. like he's just so unlike my usual type and i'm pretty convinced he's stupid and slutty and not discerning whatsoever. not to mention boring like i know even if i did have a chance with him he wouldn't Get Me at all so it's a bigger waste of time that usual and i'm actually pretty tired of men in general and definitely tired of parasocial relationships because they drive me insane for months typically. thankfully it's only been like 2 weeks if that at this point. idk. sigh. i know literally virtually nothing abt him as a person and ofc liking any public figure who you know nothing about is only setting yourself for heartbreak and disappointment to begin with bc you already know nothing is gonna come from it but. in a way it's almost addictive to become obsessed with someone and not be looked at with the same level of scrutiny. i don't think anyone in real life would ever try to get to know me as much as i try to get to know people who i'll never even meet. lmao! but that's the thing... idk... i have a lot of love in my heart and it consumes me and i reject my pride usually when i'm into someone. i want to know more... like VORACIOUSLY consuming anything with information about them involved simply because i think knowing someone is a very deep form of love but of course you can never truly know anyone. not completely. and that scares me i think which is why it's always probably been easier for me to never really TRY to be with anyone or have anything real. idk. this turned into me psychoanalyzing myself real quick but SOMEONE needs to bc i need to understand what the fuck is wrong w me.

[faaun]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[seaofreverie]

I knew about the post concert depression but no one told me about the post concert constant feeling of AAAAAAAAAHHH that lasts days and makes everything much more bearable and beautiful and some sort of ethereal type of hope is restored into the world, or maybe it's just the "seeing your favourite band after first thinking that it would never happen and later spending many months waiting for it all the while fearing that it wouldn't happen after all because of circumstances outside my control or feeling like it was too beautiful and wonderful to be true so ofc it wouldn't come true" part of it all

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out

[omegawolverine]

rewatching teds 400mg edible story now that i know what it feels like

[esshades]

What a day huh

(It's not even 8AM)

[sinnettini]

the REAL tragedy of having my phone stolen is that i'm gonna have to rebuild my meme folder from scratch 😔😔😔😔

[permafrown]

was talking to tad about my lil crush on dei and how like. strong it's going despite it being like. two months now. and I described it as "it's like a tornado hits and when it's over, and the dust clears, and there's debris everywhere, he's just fucking sitting there in the middle of it (unharmed), eating a bowl of mac n cheese or something"

[lesbiansanemi]

I am so fucking sick of living with my roommate and his fuck ass boyfriend. Also watching my roommate burn every single one of his (already rather minimal, I might add) bridges for this guy is also kind of painful but also his relationship with me is one of said bridges so I'm almost past the point of even feeling bad for him lmao

[mixtapedoh]

WHERE IS MY UTILITY BILL WHY HAVEN'T THEY SENT IT TO ME

[seilon]

shouldn’t have checked my bank account as expected my mother has taken thousands more dollars from my savings and has almost run me dry more or less. Cool!

[ourladyoftheflytrap]

1 month ago today my exes mom died is it too soon to tell him I unfriended him and ignored his message because I kind of think he raped me