#which i feel like is weird but at this point everything in my face aches a little bit

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

Anyone have advice for dealing with tooth pain cuz if not I’m gonna bc missing a few teeth in like 10 minutes

[userautumn]

#something something instead of being her replacement abby is the one who mentored maddie when she started working at dispatch.#they became friends outside of work which is how maddie and tommy meet. long after abby leaves los angeles maddie and tommy remain friends#maddie is there when tommy comes out. tommy is there when maddie gets kidnapped#(and personally gives howie his endorsement. he's a good guy and he thinks he's perfect for maddie)#but somehow his path doesn't really cross with buck until after everything with doug. maddie's in the hospital and tommys lingering outside#her room and sees this kid sitting on the hospital floor. he's shaking and crying and doesn't look like he's aware of either of those thing#he's all bloodied up and tommy *aches*. so he goes over and sits next to him. doesn't say anything. just sits and offers support to this#person who is technically a stranger but who *feels* familiar#and buck holds it together for five seconds more before he's leaning toward tommy and sobbing on his shoulder.#it's one of those intimate moments with strangers that are supposed to happen and then become a memory.#neither of them are supposed to see the other again and they don't think they will because they don't exchange names or anything.#but then there's a welcome home party for maddie and chimney at bobby and athena's house and tommy sees him across the room#and it's like magnets pulling them together. they're inseparable for the rest of their lives after that#tv: 911#otp: eye of the storm

can we please have more of this?????? i am on my hands and knees. i am begging. even if it's just bullet points. it's soooooooooooooo.

you asked so nicely, i will give you anything. <3

so. as i was saying. tommy sees buck across the room, and he doesn't... really know how to react. that memory of him, of them, sitting together feels like something precious. it's something he holds in the palms of his hands and looks at during nights when he's feeling fragile and alone and he doesn't really understand why. or. well. he kind of does. no one has ever... needed him for things like that. no one's ever really needed him at all, but no one's ever sought him out for comfort. no one's ever thought he was made of gentle things, that he could be a comforting presence.

so seeing this kid across the room feels... disarming. it also, irrationally, feels unfair. because tommy was so caught up in his feelings about the memory that he almost forgot it's a memory he shares with someone else.

someone who, apparently, can just show up in his life whenever they want.

he ducks away before the kid can see him. they're outside on the patio. he touches maddie's arm - gently, because he can't shake the sight of her in a hospital bed - and nods toward the house where the kid is still visible through the glass doors.

"who is that?"

her brow furrows. she follows his line of sight and the way her face breaks open into the softest, most loving smile tells him everything he needs to know.

"that's your brother," he says before she can.

"yeah." she turns toward him. "wait, have i never introduced you guys before?" tommy's eyes widen as she waves a hand. "buck, come here."

"oh." tommy is panicking. "oh, we don't... we don't really have to do that."

"hush, it's fine."

and that's all she's able to say before buck appears at her side. tommy clocks the moment he recognizes him. it happens the minute buck lays eyes on him. his face turns this beautiful shade of pink that has tommy's heart practically wrenching in his chest. he swallows, his hand tightening around his soda can.

"tommy, this is my little brother. buck, this is tommy." she looks between them. "it's kind of weird how you guys have never met before."

and all tommy can think of is the weight of this kid against his side. the smell of his cologne twining with the copper stench of blood. the protective arm tommy had curled around his shoulders as if daring the world to try to pop the bubble they'd built around themselves.

"yeah." tommy's laugh is thin, brittle. "weird."

buck recovers first and far faster than tommy himself. he holds out a hand. "evan."

tommy shakes his. "tommy."

maddie raises an eyebrow but before she can ask, her attention is being called away by someone or something else. evan nods his head toward the house, and tommy follows. it's quiet inside, everyone except the kids crammed out onto the cement and grass.

here in the kitchen, alone, it kind of feels like their bubble has made a return. it makes the atmosphere far too close, far too intimate for someone tommy's only shared a combined total of fifteen minutes with.

his breath catches in his chest when evan looks at him.

"so," evan says.

"so."

evan ducks his head. oh, he's shy. without the barrier of maddie's kidnapping looming over them, evan is awkward, and so damn sweet he could rot right through tommy's teeth. his heart twists again.

"yeah, so, listen, about the other day..."

"we don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." evan looks up, eyes wide and surprised. did he think tommy was going to make him? "i mean it. we can just forget about it if you want."

"no. i-i mean, i don't... want. i mean." evan huffs in a way that's supposed to be a laugh but falls flat and circles around to uncomfortable, unsure. "it's - my captain, bobby, he's... he wasn't answering his phone that day. and he's... he's more than just my captain, he's like... he's kind of like my dad, i guess. and he wasn't answering his phone. eddie wasn't answering his phone. my sister almost died -" his tongue trips over the word even now "- and i... i needed somebody. and you were there." he looks up at tommy and meets his gaze head-on, and it's at that moment that tommy learns that evan is, was, and always will be braver than he will ever be. "so, thank you."

tommy's soda can has gone warm in his hand. he knocks back the rest of it, if only for want of something to do, and sets the empty can on the counter.

evan watches him throughout the entire thing.

"i don't - i mean - it was nothing. i was just... doing what anyone else would do."

evan turns his head, a little half-shake like it's an argument he wants to have but won't. together, they look out toward the patio. howie sits beside maddie, his arm thrown over her shoulder, her hand on his thigh. they treat each other so gently, like they're both fragile things that deserve to be cradled. it's beautiful. tommy wants that one day.

when he turns, evan is already looking at him.

evan nudges his shoulder with his knuckle. "well, thanks, is all i wanted to say."

tommy shakes his head before the words are even finished leaving his mouth. "you don't ever have to thank me for that." it scares him how much he means it. "but, thank you for..." for letting me hold you, for letting me take care of you, even if just for a moment. thank you for letting me be the type of person i've always tried to be. tommy clears his throat. "just thank you."

evan's mouth turns up into a tiny little smile. he changes his voice to mimic tommy's and says, "you don't ever have to thank me for that."

tommy laughs. oh this one's sweeter than pure sugar, isn't he?

they look back out over the party for only a moment before bobby peeks his head in.

"cake time," he says before he disappears back outside.

cake time it is, then.

tommy gestures for evan to go ahead of him and, halfway to the backdoor, evan turns to make sure he's still following him. how silly. of course tommy's still following him. he's starting to think that this is becoming a recurring theme in his life. evan will march somewhere, and tommy will follow close behind. he winks and gives him a small smile, one that evan returns before he turns around again.

the cake is half-chocolate, half-vanilla, quite literally split in two because maddie and howie are the same in all the ways that matter and vastly different in all the ways that don't. evan hovers at his back and takes a paper plate when tommy offers it. they stick to each other's sides like saran wrap until the evening blends from dusk to nightfall, barely speaking to one another but never straying far from each other's orbits.

it's the damndest thing. years later, tommy still won't be able to explain it. when asked, the only word he comes up with is magnetism, something fundamental and cosmic that always, always pulled them back to each other.

they're the last to leave at the end of the night.

tommy watches from the driveway while evan hugs bobby and his wife goodbye, and then they're alone. it's not awkward, it can't possibly be when they've shared so much yet so little. but it feels... weighted. warm. heavy and scary, like holding a ten pound weight while balancing at the edge of a cliff. one wrong move, and you fall, and fall, and fall...

evan leans against the side of his jeep and faces him. "well."

"well."

"it's getting late, i guess i better leave."

"i guess so."

neither of them move. in both of their hands are tupperware full of cake and enough food that tommy won't have to cook for at least two days. having his hands full is not conducive for what he wants to do. what he wants to do is lean in, breathe evan's air, drag his nose along the line of his neck, and jaw. press his lips to evan's to see if they really are as soft as they look. but. well. he can't kiss someone he's just met.

can he?

"listen." tommy finds his mouth moving without his own permission. "i work down at harbor. you should come by sometime, i would love to show you around."

evan's eyes brighten. "really?"

"yeah. maybe i can even take you up in the air."

"i - yeah. yes, that sounds awesome, i -" he softens. "i would love that."

tommy swallows. his heart hammers in his chest. he clears his throat. "so, ah. it's a... it's a date then?"

evan's cheeks flush that lovely pink again.

"yeah. yeah, i - i guess it is."

a beat passes. tommy really does have to go. his hands are cramping from holding his goodies and he's got work in the morning. but before he can say as much and take his leave, evan swoops in. he presses a quick, barely there kiss to his cheek and then steps back. his eyes are wide, like he's surprised by himself, but he looks giddy. mischievous. precious.

he nods his head back toward his jeep. "okay. i'm going to go now."

tommy nods. his face is on fire. "okay."

"okay. i - bye."

tommy's face softens into a smile. "bye, evan."

he steps back while evan wrestles with his car keys. evan all but tosses his goodies into the passenger seat and then waves goodbye. tommy watches as he backs out of the driveway, watches as evan waves again before he pulls off. and then tommy's left in the still silence of a los angeles night, a feeling in his gut like something is pulling, tugging, drawing him toward the brake lights at the end of the street.

something like magnetism, isn't it?

[steddiealltheway]

(I think I’ve written something like this before but… oh well!)

Steve and Eddie don’t really remember becoming friends.

Sure, they know they must’ve bonded during the Upside Down shit and the aftermath with the series of tests they went through together at Hawkins lab because they didn’t want a repeat of the Will situation.

But they can’t pin point a moment when they started talking to each other as if they weren’t just mutual acquaintances who went through the same hell and shared the same love for Dustin. And the strangest part about it all was that it felt easy.

And here Steve is, sitting in Eddie room, flipping through a magazine he had laying next to his bed, asking question about random things in it just to hear Eddie voice. Plus, he liked all the random information he contained. It kind of reminded him of Dustin, but Eddie was always able to put it into the simplest terms so he could grasp what he was talking about.

But today, Eddie seems somewhat distracted. As if something big is on his mind. And Steve knows that it’s consuming him when he doesn’t answer or acknowledge one of the questions Steve asks about Ozzy.

Steve glances to his right and sees Eddie staring off twirling a silver ring over and over while he chews on his bottom lip. “Eddie,” Steve tries.

Eddie snaps out of it, teeth releasing his bottom lip which is now more plump and red than usual. His hands drop to his thighs as he shoots Steve an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was off in my own world.”

“What were you think about?”

Eddie shakes his head and leans back against the wall, pulling his hair in front of his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Steve continues to stare at him, shifting his knee so it presses against Eddie’s. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Eddie nods but doesn’t look at him. He looks far off again.

But Steve respects his wishes and doesn’t press further. He turns back to the magazine and continues reading on.

“I kissed someone in the Hideout bathroom recently,” Eddie says suddenly.

Steve slowly puts the magazine down and turns to him. “Someone?” Steve prompts gently. Eddie had told him before when they were in matching hospital gowns that he had feelings for men in the past and maybe women too. But he wasn’t sure. He confided in Steve that he didn’t see himself ever dating anyone at the time - didn’t think anyone would want to.

“Some guy,” Eddie answers and sighs, dragging his hands over this face. “I don’t know. It was weird because usually guys want more from me, you know? Especially if they’re dragging me off to the bathroom. But…” Eddie trails off, lost in thought again before he turns to Steve and locks eyes with him. “We didn’t do anything. We just kissed a little, and suddenly he told me he’d see me later. Just winked and ran off. But I can’t tell if he just chickened out or if maybe… maybe this is more than that.”

Steve takes a second to process everything, trying to connect the puzzle pieces of this mystery man to come up with an answer, but he knows there’s a bias within him. He wants so badly for the man to want more from Eddie. For him to want to take it slow and ask him out on a date.

But… a small (big) part of him, which he’s unwilling to admit, wants to find that the man chickened out.

Steve does what he always does and takes the feeling and stuffs it down along with all the other feelings he struggles to hide.

He distracts himself by asking, “And what was the kiss before like?” Which is a horrible question when jealously is practically pulsing through his veins.

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t really tell the difference between passion and lust.” He looks down and quietly adds, “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a kiss that wasn’t lustful.”

The statement fills Steve with a deep ache that he wants to file away with everything else. He wants to be detached from this all, but he can’t.

“Why don’t you show me?” Steve asks.

Eddie laughs. “I’m not going to make out with my hand or something.”

“No,” Steve says clearly, and doesn’t back down. “I mean, why don’t you show me.”

Eddie stares at him, the humor disappearing from his face as it’s replaced by disbelief. “You want me to kiss you?”

The question rings true in way too many ways, but Steve just shrugs nonchalantly. “It’ll help me understand the situation more.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before he licks his lips, eyes searching Steve’s then dipping down to stare at his lips.

Steve wishes he could read that expression. Is there longing there? Curiosity? Boredom? Nothing but unenthused wonder? Lust? Passion?

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “We can do that if you’re okay with that.”

He’s more than okay with that. Steve nods. “Yeah.” He wishes more words would come out, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie jostles the bed as he stands up. Steve looks up at him and his outstretched hand, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Recreating the scene.”

Steve accepts the explanation and lets Eddie pull him up. He follows him out of his room and into the small hallway.

Eddie gestures to the door and says, “So pretend that’s the bathroom door, okay? I’ll be the guy, and you’ll be me.”

Steve nods, heart already pounding in his chest so hard he can hear it in his ears.

Eddie glances at him and lays a gentle hand on his arm. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I can just try to explain it or embarrass myself making out with my hand or a pillow or something.”

Steve smiles and reassures him, “I’m good. As long as you’re good.”

Eddie nods at him once and turns toward the door hesitating before turning back to Steve. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Steve shrugs. “Sure.”

“Can I kiss you before this whole thing? Just as a warm up before I stick my tongue in your mouth.”

Steve laughs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Okay,” Eddie says with a small smile and inches closer to him, hands fidgeting nervously at his side.

Steve grabs them and runs his thumbs over the back of Eddie’s hands, squeezing them gently. He steps forward, hands trailing up his arms, his neck, cupping his face gently. “This okay?” Steve practically whispers.

Eddie nods and takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, leaning forward, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve takes a stabilizing breath before pulling Eddie in, letting his eyes close as his lips brush against Eddie’s, pressing in closer in a gentle kiss before they both pull away.

They stare at each other, eyes wide, not knowing what to say. But Steve’s too scared to say anything when he knows he’s going to sound breathless from a mere peck.

“Ready to recreate the kiss?” Eddie asks, moving away from him and breaking the moment.

All Steve can do is nod and remind himself what this is all about.

Eddie shoots him an awkward thumbs up before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door, pushing it open and closing it behind them only to press Steve against it.

Steve can’t help the moan that’s ripped out of him at the sensation. But Eddie takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss him, harder than before, almost instantly deepening the kiss, brushing his tongue against Steve in filthy strokes. His hands move through Steve’s hair wildly, pulling him in closer, and tugging at the strands, making Steve practically a puddle of goo in the process.

God, he feels like he can’t breathe in the best way.

His hands come up to press into Eddie back, trying to get him to move closer, to successfully pin him fully against the door, but Eddie keeps his distance. Pulling away from the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip before stepping back completely.

Steve breathes heavily, staring at Eddie’s pupils blown wide, the pink flush to his cheeks, and the glossy look to his lips that Steve can’t help but think is all his doing.

“Well?” Eddie asks.

Steve tries to latch onto the words in his brain floating around. They seem entirely unimportant in this moment, but Steve knows he has a question to answer. A reason he’s doing all of this.

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the wild strands, wishing he hadn’t messed with it before he got a chance to look at himself. He takes a deep breath and ignores the way he feels and focuses on the question at hand. “It felt more like lust to me.”

Eddie’s face crumples for a moment before he hides it behind his hand. He scrubs them over his face before he laughs humorlessly. “Figures. Jesus H. Christ, I should know by now.”

Steve’s mind lingers on what Eddie said before. “And what if you had a way to know?”

Eddie shakes his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Steve tries again. “Like, what if you had a measure to know the difference between lust and lo- passion.” Steve silently curses the slip up, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice.

But the other boy just frowns and crosses his arms. “Now how would I do that?”

“The same thing again, only I show you what it’s like on the other side of things.”

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds before inching closer. “You want to do that?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies instantly. “You of all people deserve to know.”

Eddie glances at the ground and shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

Steve’s heart breaks, wondering if he’ll be able to show him what he truly means to him. He slowly tilts up Eddie’s chin and takes a step closer, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He lets his hand linger before resting it against Eddie’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You do,” Steve says, looking him in the eyes to show him the truth in what he’s saying.

“Steve…” Eddie says as if it’s a plea and simultaneously a disagreement.

And Steve answers him by leaning in and kissing him again. It’s like their first kiss shared in the hall moment earlier, but Steve doesn’t let it be a warm up this time. His left hand presses against Eddie’s back, pulling him in as close as he can. His other hand makes it way into Eddie’s hair, intertwining in the strands as he pulls away to breathe before reangling and kissing him again.

Eddie’s hand comes up to the back of his neck, grounding Steve as his lips move against Eddie’s slowly but firmly. They pull away for a moment, letting their breath intermingle as they catch it before they both move together again.

He lets Eddie learn what it’s like to take his time, enjoy the slowness and linger in the moment. To be held close and gently caressed.

Steve’s hand trails down from Eddie’s hair, tracing the same pathway from earlier but backwards, down his neck, his arms, and to his hands, intertwining their fingers together.

Eddie gasps lightly into the kiss as Steve squeezes his hand, and takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting Eddie explore rather than take.

Steve’s not sure how long they stand there, kissing as if there was no tomorrow, lingering in every moment. Breaking away momentarily to catch their breath before swooping back in, not letting the moment end. Because once it ends, they may never come back to it.

The thought hits Steve, drenching his thoughts with painful clarity. This is the moment everything he’s tried so hard to push down finally all comes up. No turning back now.

He pulls away from the kiss and rests his forehead against Eddie’s. He pants out his name quietly when Eddie tries to kiss him again.

He seems to understand, moving to rest his forehead against Steve’s before squeezing his eyes shut. Their hands remain intertwined.

Neither of them say a word, not wanting to break the moment or face reality.

But a question lays heavy on Steve’s mind.

“I don’t think it matters about what the kiss with the guy felt like. What matters is how did you feel during it?”

Eddie shakes his head and squeezes Steve’s hand. “Steve…”

“Eddie…”

Eddie takes a deep breath and whispers into the shared air between them, “Nothing close to what I just felt.”

Steve slowly pulls away and looks Eddie in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“Christ, Steve. No one has ever made me feel the way you just did.”

Steve pauses and asks, “What about other than that kiss? Do I make you feel like that all the time?”

Eddie’s hand loosens it grip as he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t make me answer that, man.”

He’s stopped when Steve’s grip tightens, trying to keep him close. “You make me feel that way all the time,” Steve says, hoping he didn’t ruin everything they’ve built up to.

Eddie steps closer and cups his face. “You promise?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Thank god. I was about to silently pine for the rest of my life. Shit,” Eddie says with a laugh.

Steve smiles, a laugh escaping from him as joy fills his entire body. “Yeah?”

“I was a fucking goner as soon as you kissed me the first time,” Eddie says.

Steve laughs, “I already was way before then.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “You’re telling me I could’ve had this sooner?”

It’s seems like Steve’s incapable of doing anything but laugh.

“Steeeeve Harrington, we have so much lost time to make up for,” Eddie says, stepping closer.

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, moving in to kiss Eddie again.

He hopes eventually Eddie will forget what it was like to only know lust filled kisses, but, for now, he settles on helping him learn about passion and love.

[miraclecherryblossomsblog]

I hope I'm not annoying you

Had another thought how would some autobots/decepticons react to their human darling just casually popping/cracking their joints

I can only imagine they're like

Darling: cracks joints

Auto/decept: concerned look

Darling: this is normal just some air bubbles stuck in my joints

Auto/decept: surprised pikachu face/ excuse me WHAT!?

Annoying me???? r u kidding AM LIVING for these ask u send op pls I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Also LMAO YES they would be so freaked out about it cuz like for them hearing noises in their joints when they move means they either got rust which i feel like its an uncomfy pain for them or that they need oil like when ur door creeks

I remember i had a friend that would twist their headtoo high up to make it pop and legit i looked at them like this the first time they did it infront of me

that's them. that's ur cybertronian s/o being traumatized by our weird human quriks

TFO B 127: He would go from fear to amazement.

Like he was just chatting ur ear off like he always does, telling stuff that happen today in his missions or something that was like centuries ago (i headcanon he sometimes repeats stuff he's already told you cuz he kinda forgets sometimes but u dont tell him that most of the times cuz he just looks so happy 😭💕💕💕)

And you listened to everything he said, some of the stuff was hard to understand cuz u know...alien stuff BUT ANYWAY- ur back was starting to scream at you cuz u been sitting for a while now, twisting yourself to stretch, your bones letting a pleasingly loud POP!

I can imagen him letting a squeal and backing away like he just saw a rat or something 💀

and it got u asking whats up and he just points at u and ask what was that noise and u just basically tell him that human joints have air pockets and when moved or stretched they just pop, "its just a human thing, nothing unusual to us" you say shrugging to him as he slowly closes his distance to you "but doesn't like....hurt?? it sounds like it does...wait you're not in pain right now are you?!" he starts to ask in worry already thinking into carrying you to ratchet, quickly you shut his worries telling him again its just a human thing and it doesn't bring any sort of discomfort as it for us it rather helps us when we feel ache in our bodies

and feel like this would go on him asking more questions about how our bodies work, if u dont got any medical knowledge then you might just pull ur phone to answer him cuz i feel like he would ask the wildest shi fr 😭

all and all he becomes more and more fascinated by humanity the more he learns from you, specially if its from you.

[iateyourparents]

clingy | c.b.

pairing: colby brock x fem!reader

summary: people start to point out your behavior and you feel insecure.

warnings: insecurity, bad writing and grammar(i’m sorry, english isn’t my first language)

pictures are from pinterest:)

You were confused.

Few days ago, your boyfriend and his friend published their newest video in which you were a guest.

You weren’t new to Sam and Colby’s fan, you and Colby were dating for good two years and you were in few of theirs videos.

But never before you got so much criticism from their viewers. And reason for that criticism? Apparently, you were too clingy towards your boyfriend.

You were naturally pretty touchy person, especially with people you loved. Touch and acts of affection were your love language and you never saw it as any problem. Colby weren’t complaining either. So you just assumed he wasn’t bothered by it.

But now you weren’t so sure about it.

Most comments under video were about how clingy and needy you were. Apparently, you were holding hands with Colby too many times, you were kissing his cheeks every second and your side hugs, holding Colby’s waist and leaning your head on his arm weren’t welcomed by boys’ fans.

And if that wasn’t enough to make you insecure about it, then twitter surely was.

People tweeted with cut outs from various videos where you were showing affection towards Colby. Colby never looked unhappy about it but people speculated that he was only acting happy when in reality he was annoyed and just wanted to have a break from you.

It was enough to make you overthink all two years of your relationship and how you acted. Were you really too much? High maintenance? Too clingy? Not aware of personal space? There’s many more things people tweeted about you.

You spend few nights thinking about it, you were scared that Colby really shared those people’s opinions and didn’t like you being so… clingy and needy.

You didn’t want to annoy your boyfriend with your behavior so you decided to change. It certainly wouldn’t be easy since you loved showering him with kisses and hugs but it was for the better, right?

Today Colby was supposed to be back from a short trip to some haunted place, so it was perfect opportunity to start your change.

“Honey, I’m home!” you heard Colby’s voice some time later, followed by sound of closing doors.

You smiled excitedly and almost ran to hallway but you calmed your pace after remembering your plan. You came to the hallway where Colby was currently taking off his shoes. He quickly kicked them under a wall and opened his arms for you with a big smile.

You quickly hugged him and kissed his cheek “Hi love, I missed you.” you stated with small smile while distancing yourself from his chest. You both went to living room with Colby telling you all about his trip. You loved hearing him being so excited about the evidence they got.

You both sat on the couch and you made sure to leave a little space between you two. Colby definitely noticed that as you could see a frown on his face. It was new for him, usually you would be snuggling to his side or sitting on his lap, so that space was weird.

He shrugged it off and slided closer to you, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

Next few days you continued with your changes, you rarely kissed him or showered his face with kisses out of nowhere, you tried to stop randomly hugging him and in public you only held his hand.

Colby quickly caught up on your behavior and lack of the affection that he loved, but decided not to comment on it hoping you just needed some space and soon everything would be back to normal.

His heart ached at the thought of you not wanting to touch him.

Colby himself was affectionate person and he absolutely adored the way you were, and he certainly didn’t want you to change. He loved being touchy with you.

So when after two weeks you still were distancing yourself from him, Colby decided to take matters into his own hands. He marched up to you while you were sitting on the couch and scrolling through instagram.

“Baby, we need to talk.” he said with a firm voice. You looked at him and seeing his serious face you straightened your posture and put your phone on the coffee table.

“Did something happen, love?” you asked with worry. Colby sat next to you and when he still didn’t say anything you spoke up. “Say something, Colbs, you’re making me worried.”

“I’m making you worry?” he asked and you nodded raising your brows. “No, you are making me worry. Do you want to break up with me?” saying it out loud was almost physically painful for him.

You were surprised and panicked.

“No! Do you?” you asked unsurely.

“Of course not but I just got this feeling that you’re not happy anymore. You’re acting differently.” he explained with upset frown.

“What do you mean? Did I do something wrong?” you asked uncertainly feeling tugging at your heart. The thought about hurting Colby in any way was making you feel sick.

“The question is, did I do something wrong?” now you were completely dumbfounded “Ever since I came home from Nashville you’re different. You aren’t so affectionate with me and I kinda feel like you’re avoiding me. Did I do something to make you want to avoid me?” he asked with pout on his face and your heart melted.

At least, now you knew what he was talking about but you weren’t sure how to explain the situation to him.

“Aren’t you feeling better now? Without me being so clingy?” you asked quietly.

“What? Of course no. And you weren’t clingy, who told you that bullshit? And even if you were, I absolutely love being center of your attention. Ever since you stopped I’m being miserable.” he stated. You were sure he was just over dramatic but it still make you feel better.

“Really? So it wasn’t annoying you? And you didn’t wish I would be… less too much?” you asked avoiding his gaze.

Colby gasped and held your jaw so you would look at his face.

“Who told you that? I would never even thought about you being too much.” he promised with a little frown. “Now tell me who said that? I think I need to have a talk with someone.” he looked visibly angry at just idea of someone saying such a bullshit.

“People were writing comments under your last video and tweets about me being too clingy and that I should give you a break. So I decided to do this. I didn’t want to upset you with being… well, myself.” you shrugged and he quickly hoisted you by your waist onto his lap and hugged you tightly.

“I don’t care what anyone says. I love you for being your affectionate, cute self. I wouldn’t want it any other way, so please, please be your ‘clingy’ self again.” he whined and you giggled although you felt really touched by his words. “Don’t ever listen to some jerks who are hiding behind a screen and if you have any doubts then just come and talk to me.”

You mumbled some words of agreement into his chest and then lifted your face to properly kiss him.

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Okay so hear me out. Angst. Pure hardcore I’m gonna crawl into a hole angst. DIVORCERRY. (I’m unwell I can’t help it)

I'm back! Feels weird tbh. Hehe, I had actually started writing this before going through my own. Feels timely that I post it now. It might not be as angsty as you requested, and/or as I intended, but I hope you enjoy... it's been so long since I've written that I have no idea of it's any good.

You never thought you'd be here. Then again, does anyone? Sitting in a cold conference room, with your lawyer beside you and the man you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with now avoiding eye contact, as he stares down at his rings from across the large wooden table. It's not something you ever considered happening when you said 'I do'.

But here you are, feeling every emotion and yet none at all, listening to a mediator list off all the 'assets' that you and Harry accumulated together over the years.

Item after item brings back memory after memory, and a part of you wants it to stop. What's the point? These are things you bought together, found together, did together. Now you are no longer together.

"Mrs. Sty-... sorry, I mean... Ms. YN."

“Hm?” Your eyes shoot up to the man at the head of the table, the one who is there to divvy up the material items from your relationship. The only one who seems to have a hint of compassion in his eyes.

“Is there anything you'd like to start with? Something in particular you'd like to have for yourself?”

What a loaded question. Is there something you want? Yes. How about the last few years back? Or how about a marriage that didn't fall apart in the first place? How about just the beautifully dimpled smile that would appear any time Harry looked your way, rather than the small, apathetic glances you occasionally receive when you have to be in the same room with each other?

You clear your throat, taking note of the fact that Harry still has yet to look at you.

"All I ask… is for my attorney fees to be covered.” You take a quick, deep inhale. “That's all. He can have everything else."

You immediately rise from the chair, oddly one of the most comfortable you've been in, especially considering the situation. Of course, this is the moment he looks up at you, with the most intense furrow of confusion plastered across his brow.

“YN.” Your lawyer whispers, causing you to look down to a face just as confused as the one sitting across from you.

“Just…” You shake your head, knowing that you'll only be encouraged to stay there longer, to continue with the torturous meeting, and dissect why something could mean so much to you. “Just send me the papers to sign.”

“Come on YN…” The sudden deep tone of that familiar British voice sends a shock through your system. With how little you've heard it lately, you'd almost forgotten what it sounded like. Almost. “There has to be something you want. I’m… I'm willing to negotiate.”

You drop your head and rest your palms against the wooden table in front of you. There's a lot that you want, but right the only thing you need is for this meeting to be over.

"Harry, I was never with you to get something from you, other than love.” The tightening in your chest begins, leaving you to feel as if words and air are both now difficult to find. “Now that's gone, so I don't really have anything to fight you for."

You stand back straighter, reaching into your purse and withdrawing the last thing you still had from him.

In your hand is a box, a small box, which you place on the table and glide across the wood, your heart almost questioning if you'll be able to let it go. You release it with a sigh and a full ache in your heart as you realize that this is it. This is the end.

Harry's gaze darts back and forth, never landing on your eyes or the object for more than a few seconds. There's a look on his face of potential disbelief. Maybe it's finally hitting him too, though neither of you should be surprised.

“It's my-”

“Wedding… ring...”

You aren't sure if either lawyer or the mediator heard the whispers of the short interaction, but the room suddenly becomes silent, the void paralleling what's left of your marriage.

What do you say now? What's an appropriate parting statement to give the man you never thought you would part from?

Then again, you've both said all that you needed to say. That's why you are there. So maybe it's best to leave it at that.

You allow yourself one last look at him, and your heart feels as if it's breaking all over again, seeing the same sentiment in his eyes. Those beautiful green eyes you wanted to look at forever.

Considering all the songs Harry's written about sweet fruit, you wish this moment didn't taste so sour.

Taglist: @watermelonsugacry @tw1nflamebruis3 @hopefulwastelandcreation @tenaciousperfectionunknown @queenmadi2 @runway-to-my-aid @theekyliepage @be-yourss @behindmygreyeyes @michellekstyles @a-strange-familiar @yousunshineyoutempter @buckybarnessimpp @msolbesg @sleutherclaw @katiebaxterrrrrr @percysaidnever @mrspeacem1nusone @thurhomish @itsbebeyyy @divalovesyou @bxbyysstuff @sunshinemoonsposts @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @boybands-baseball @austynparksandpizza @missmielyhoran @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @matildasatellite @cherryshouse @yatebe-kohayu @perfectzinenerdperson @babyiamperfectforyou @daphnesutton @around1302 @daydreamingofmatilda @swiftmendeshoran @one-sweet-gubler @jerseygirlinca @carey86 @lomlhstyles @vrittivsanghavi @fdl305 @sunflowersloverr @lemoncrushh @groovychaosavenue @justlemmeadoreyou @copiastricycle @lillefroe

[a-b-riddle]

tw: bondage. Body hair removal. A bit of torture? (imo it would be) teasing. This is just… idk. Weird. Just a blurb about ingrown hair and how Price would handle it.

Price told you when you first got together how he liked his women groomed. He didn’t shy away from it. The man knew what he liked 🤷🏼‍♀️

And that was some hair down there. Be it a bit of scruff or a full bush, he liked his women to have hair.

“Need something to keep that pussy warm while I’m away.” He once joked.

But you had thought it was just that.

A joke.

At least it was until you had shaved everything — and I do mean everything— to be a bit spontaneous and boy were you regretting it now.

John had refused to eat your pussy. At first you thought he was being a right prick refusing you until you felt the scratch of his beard against your very sensitive cunt. You practically pulled him up by his ears while he met you with a cocky “I told you so” look on his face.

You didn’t even like being bare down there, but his smug ass smirk had riled you up. You had insisted on keeping yourself shaved, making John’s eyebrow raise in a challenge. He had warned you what would happen if he wasn’t able to get his mouth on you.

Shame you didn’t listen.

Ingrown hairs and obvious irritation made you feel absolutely disgusting. It was perfectly normal, but the constant scratching like you were trying to relieve an itch from a veenirial infection wasn’t exactly… sexy.

You had passed through it. Making a vow to never do it again….

Until you did.

And John had warned you.

Which was why on the second day after shaving, he had tied you to the bed. You had prepared yourself for a proper fucking only to feel that tickle begin to spread the moment he secured the final cuff.

You didn’t know what a devious fucked you had married. Only John Price would refrain from eating your pussy (his favorite past time) in order to prove a point.

You were nearly in tears after thirty minutes of having the irritation flare up and nothing you could do to relieve it. To make matters worse, John was barely a few inches from your soaked cunt.

“Would love to get my mouth on you, but I don’t wanna hurt you like last time.”

“You won’t,” you promised. Pulling at the restraints. Angling your hips upwards to get closer to him.

“Warned you what would happen if you bothered your pussy again. No need to shave it down. I can see her juuuuust fine.” He teased.

“John, please.” Tears had began to spill from your eyes at this point. Not sure whether from the sexual frustration or the torment of not being able to relief the other ache from between your thighs.

“Promise me you won’t take a bloody razor to this pretty little cunt.” He practically growled, his breath hot against you. In that moment you would have never picked up a razor to shave any part of you if he had asked.

When he was finally satisfied with your pleading, he released you. Telling you when she’s a bit more covered and could handle it, he’ll have you sitting on his face. But for now there was a brand new exfoliation glove in the bathroom that he read would help.

You practically bolted out of the bed. No longer caring about coming six ways to Sunday. You had an itch that you definitely didn’t want John to scratch.

[angelpuns]

50au part 26

When Leo woke, it was with a throbbing pain in his leg ( big shocker ) and a faint memory of the nightmare he'd had. 

He sat up as quickly as his aching muscle would allow it, glancing around the room.for evidence that it had been real. Because it had felt so, so real. 

His leg ached, sure, but it wasn't concrete enough. His room was dark, but everything seemed to be in place. His TV was still on his desk, where he'd moved it on a whim a few days ago. His bed was still halfway made and there were no green, shadowy mutants in the corner of his room. Even the step stool was gone. 

The camera! Leo squinted at the corner of the room, but there was nothing. Just darkness. 

“Holy shit I'm losing it…” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face. The TV flickered on a moment later, Leo only jumping a little bit. 

It was dark for a moment before a hand pulled away and a mutant - a turtle mutant - in bright orange grinned into the camera. 

“ Good Morning, Leo! You probably don't know who I am, but don't panic! First of all, there's water and medicine on your nightstand for your pain,” The turtle said cheerily. Leo glanced at his nightstand. Sure enough, there was two pills and a glass of water. 

Leo didn't like this, but he fought back the panic. Something was happening here, clearly, but his nightmare had been just that. A nightmare. Because there wasn't a shred of physical evidence it had actually happened, save for the weird TV shit happening and the water and meds. Which was still scary and weird, but not nearly as bad as the camera. 

“ don't panic, okay? I'll explain everything!” The turtle grinned. He seemed to be a bit nervous. That bothered Leo, but he kept watching. Because hopefully whatever this guy said would make sense and would clue him into what the hell was going on. 

“ So, like 4 or 5 days ago you were cursed, by a witch! Specifically a witch from witch town? And we all totally thought it was a dud, but it turns out that she actually curse you to forget all your memories of your family - that's us!” the turtle rambled on, “its kind of like 50 First dates, and you’re Drew Barrymore. I know that makes more sense then my explanation, except its not really a brain thing, its more like a mystical thing. Anyway, today we're going to help you get your memory back, by washing away the curse!”

The turtle leaned off screen for a moment, seemingly murmuring to someone else. 

“ oh, yes, and if we have to put you to sleep or something, we will. But we really don't want to, so please, please cooperate, okay?” 

The turtle gave him a wink and started to turn the camera off, before a voice off screen muttered something and he suddenly stepped back, “ oh, right!” 

“ I'm Mikey, and Raph and Donnie are here too! And we're your brothers! And we love you so much and-”

“Okay, Mikey, that's enough, he gets the point” someone off screen said, and Mikey chuckled. 

“Okay, here's a montage and a message from Donnie! Love you lots!” he added, before the video shut off and was replaced with a montage of pictures and video clips of- of Leo. Leo and some.other turtle mutants he’d never seen before. 

And the most shocking and horrific thing was that the purple turtle mutant from his dream was there too. He swallowed down the panic that made him feel. Because that was a lot of evidence that his nightmare had been real. And that these guys were evil and going to something to him and- 

The montage ended and the purple turtle appeared on the screen. He looked tired. But he didn't look as menacing as he had in Leo's dream, and  he didn't even look injured. From what Leo remembered, he'd punched this guy hard enough to break something. But he looked fine.

So it- it had to be a dream, right? 

“ ‘Nardo, I’m sure you're really confused and scared and- and you can't possibly believe us, but I promise you we're not going to hurt you,” He started, sighing deeply, “ I am not going to hurt you. We just want to get rid of this curse and- and if for some reason we can't and you're stuck like this…then we’ll figure something else out. But we are not going to hurt you, I promise. So please cooperate and let us help you, okay?” 

The video flickered off, and Leo was left alone in his dark, silent room. 

He let out a shaky breath. He knew they were probably waiting on him out there. Maybe with weapons or some kind of evil plan. 

Or maybe they were just waiting to see if he was going to hear them out. 

He honestly didn't know if he believed it. Any of it. Because the dream had seemed so real, and he knew his own memories. He trusted his memories. But…

Leo looked down at his hands. He really didn't have a choice but to trust them.

---

My back still hurts and I wrote this one last night as well so I don't have much to say bout it. Hope y'all enjoy tho <3333

part 1 | part 25

[victorbutnotreally]

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH - LEE KNOW X MALE READER

warnings: fever, implied dust allergy, throat infection, body pain, medicine, migraine, sweetie pie lino

It felt like there were blades and sand in your throat. Your nose was blocked, your chest too. Every time you cough from the sheer pain and discomfort your throat was giving you, your head hurt more. Your body ached, you could barely stand without gripping onto something, and you couldn't even breath. You tried breathing with your mouth, but that just hurt your throat more. You had woken up in the dead of the night to make yourself some scalding black tea. It felt like CIA torture, but you drank it anyway. You took a Tylenol, but nothing seemed to make it better. Even the slightest amount of cool air made you shiver, the sound of your own breathing irritating you more.

It wasn't unusual for you to do everything yourself when you were sick. You just had a hard time asking for help, having people do this for you. It was your upbringing, you'd say. Your parents were adamant about making you self-reliant to a point where your heart would try to break out of your ribcage when you had to ask for help.

You were in the kitchen now, death grip on the counter as you made more black tea. You couldn't bring yourself to eat at the moment, food disgusted you in this state. A soup would be nice, but you can barely move. The effort wouldn't be worth it, you decided. Your body felt hotter than the stove as you inhaled the steam from the tea. Sliding down to the floor, you buried your face in your hands, trying to breathe without inhaling all the dust.

"Baby?" You heard Minho say, and you got up, gripping the counter for support.

Minho rushed over to you, concern painting his pretty features. He reached up and put a hand on your forehead, wincing as he felt your temperature.

"What are you doing in the kitchen right now, hm? Sit, I'll make something," he said with an almost motherly tone. You smiled internally, not having the energy to show it in your face. But you didn't want his help. You needed it, but you couldn't ask.

"Minnie, I'm fine. Just a bit of a cold, is all."

He shot you a questioning look, leading you to the chair and practically pushing you onto it.

"You're hotter than the stove," he said with a determined look, wanting to break your stubborn nature and make you something to eat. You let out a chuckle at his pout, feeling better somehow as you looked at him. "Thanks," you smirked, earning you an eye roll and a smack to your arm.

You coughed, covering your mouth. You then stood up to get the tea from the stove and he stopped you.

"I'll get it. You are not moving, Mister."

"I'm not a baby," you said, but the whine in your voice said otherwise. He cupped your cheeks. "You're my baby."

"Cheeky little shit," you mumbled, fighting back a smile. The pain in your body didn't go away one bit, but he was a nice distraction. He handed you the cup of tea which felt like fire in your throat, but it was still a bit soothing. You wanted to swallow every Tylenol you had, but that's definitely not a good decision.

You laid your head on the table and watched as Minho moved around the kitchen, making soup. You still felt that weird feeling from having to ask for help, but it was better since it was Minho. "It's just Minho," you thought to yourself.

When he came back with the soup, he sat on the edge of the table and took a spoonful of soup which he brought to your mouth.

"Ah~"

You rolled your eyes despite the smile on your lips.

"Feeding me now? What's next, you're gonna swaddle me?"

"I plan on burrito wrapping you and not letting you get up, so yeah."

You opened your mouth to protest but he fed you the soup. It was scalding hot and delicious, warm and comforting. Just what you needed.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you said, gazing up at him who was perched on the edge of your dining table. You put a hand on his thigh and squeezed it. "I love you, darling.." There was so much tenderness in your voice which was audible even through the weird voice you had because of your throat infection.

He swore he melted right then and there. The look in your eyes, the sweetness of your voice, and the firm yet gentle touch of your hand on his bare thigh, it was enough to make his heart swell. "I love you more."

"Using my sickness to win this fight, aren't you?"

"At least let me win when you're too tired to fight back."

And to that, you just smiled and gave him a soft kiss on his thigh.

"Eugh you're gonna give me your germs-"

"It's an allergy!"

[dreamingofmarauders]

I'll Always Love You

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Y/n feels unloved and isolates herself from the rest, and Sirius wants to know what is going on in his gorgeous girl's mind.

Warnings: Anxiety, feeling low/depressed, isolation, sad, angst, panic attack, points of fluff here and there throughout

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Y/n lay down on the ground, the grass providing a soft yet weak cushion, as she stared up at the sky. Looking up into the outer world, a sense of hopelessness filled y/n. She put a hand out, to reach for the sky. A sky that stretched out wide, out of her reach, just like her happiness and love. Only sadness and dread filled her. Her eyes glossed over.

She was all alone.

It was all fine at first, and her heart ached for the days where she smiled naturally, laughing and enjoying her life so much with friends and family, that she had felt like the luckiest person in the world.

It was the sixth year at Hogwarts and everything was wonderful. Y/n had an amazing group of friends, Lily, Marlene, Alice and on the other side were the Marauders. She would study with Lily and Remus in the library in the evenings, sneaking in laughs in between. Y/n played Quidditch alongside, James, Marlene and Sirius, sparing no effort as she was the best on the team, making James grumble at times but he was proud of her nonetheless. Y/n would listen attentively while Peter explained weird facts no one ever knew. All in all, she was happy.

A soft padding caught her ears and beside Y/n plopped down a figure.

"What are you doing out here, darling?"

Y/n's gaze slowly moved from the blue sky to the striking grey eyes of her beloved.

It was near the spring break and when Y/n thought things couldn't get any better, they did. Sirius and Y/n were out at the astronomy tower, and on their way back, the two were walking peacefully until a pair of footsteps began to echo up ahead. Y/n looked at Sirius with wide eyes, who grazed his eyes over the landscape until they halted upon a wooden door. Sirius grabbed Y/n's hand and ran for the broom closet, ushering her in before closing the door behind. Sirius lit up his wand and felt the breath leave his lungs.

Y/n stared up at him with a sparkle in her eyes, her hands resting upon his chest, the two standing flushed together as the broom closet contained barely any space. Sirius reached down and brushed a strand behind Y/n's hair. Y/n let her eyes shut for a brief second, her heart pounding madly in her chest.

"Y/n," Sirius softly whispered out, "I fancy you." He said straightforwardly. "A lot." He paused awaiting an answer but silence greeted him as y/n processed his statement. "Shit, I genuinely hope I didn't just ruin our friendship-"

Sirius broke off as Y/n pressed her lips to his. It took Sirius a few seconds to process what was happening before he shut his eyes, his hands sliding down to Y/n's waist. It was a slow yet affectionate kiss, and the two slowly pulled apart, foreheads resting together, as they tried to catch their breath.

"I like you too, doofus." Y/n breathed out lovingly.

Sirius softly smiled, "I figured as much, love." Sirius paused, "Would you like to be my girlfriend?" Sirius felt himself melt entirely when he saw Y/n's face beam with happiness.

"I would love to."

Sirius returned her expression, "Perfect." He said, before pulling her in for a kiss again.

After that day, the two were together and strong as ever. Their friends were exhilarated when they found out, revealing they had even placed bets on the couple. Unfortunately, James and Marlene owed the others, for which they cursed the pair playfully as they were happy for their friends nonetheless.

"Y/n?" Sirius spoke out softly. He was beginning to get worried. He knew something was off. Ever since the start of the seventh year, his Y/n's been off and it's killing him not knowing how to help her. "Are you alright, dove?"

"M'fine." Y/n mumbled, closing her eyes once again.

Sirius frowned before speaking, "How about we head inside? We could work on our homework together."

"I already did mine." Y/n replied.

That was a lie.

Y/n had begun to lose her motivation, her energy. She performed well in school and met deadlines. However, now her grades were slowly dropping. She disliked going to class because she hated seeing people, when no one out of the many at Hogwarts truly cared for her.

"Alright then." Sirius drew out, and placed his jacket on the grass, laying down beside his girlfriend.

The y/h/c haired girl peeked through her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Spending time with my girl." He instantly replied, flashing a smile down at her. Despite the heaviness she felt, a very tiny warmth flickered in her heart for a second. A small yet brief smile crawled onto her lips, and Y/n reached out to interlock her fingers with Sirius'. At that, Sirius smiled.

His girl was still in there somewhere.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

"Miss. L/n, a word please." McGonagall said as the final bell of the day rang, signalling the end of lessons and the start of the weekend.

Y/n heaved a breath, already knowing where this was headed. Sirius slightly frowned, wondering what McGonagall could possibly want with his girlfriend, after all, she was one of the smartest students in the entire year.

Sirius threw a small smile at Y/n, telling her he would meet her back in the common room. Y/n nodded and headed to McGonagall's desk while Sirius left through the door.

"Yes, Professor?"

McGonagall studied Y/n for a moment before beckoning her to sit, the latter doing as instructed. "Miss. L/n, I am concerned about your academic performance. You are one of the best performing students and yet, suddenly, your grades have begun to drop, and not just in my class, but your other professors have expressed the same concern."

Y/n released a breath, "I just..." She trailed off, unsure of how to respond.

McGonagall's expression softened. "Have a biscuit, Miss. L/n."

Y/n politely accepted the one offered to her and nibbled on it as McGonagall spoke once again.

"Miss. L/n, I am not just your Head of House but also someone who cares about you, whom you can talk to whenever in need. How are you actually doing, Y/n?"

Y/n's eyes slowly glossed over, "I am sorry, Professor-"

"There is no need to apologize." McGonagall said, "Just remember to take care of yourself and that I am here for you. Do you want to talk about it?"

Y/n slowly shook her head.

"Very well, you may leave."

Y/n stood up. "Thank you, Professor." She said before rushing out, not noticing a certain grey eyed boy who had been listening in on the conversation. He felt his heart clench.

Y/n was definitely hiding something but he couldn't figure out a way to help her.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

"Everyone line up!" The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor yelled out, as all the students in the room scrambled into a single file line, pushing and shoving each other as they awaited their turn with the Boggart.

With the war coming, it was necessary to review and practice all skills, so even though the students had worked with a Boggart before, the professor thought there was no harm in trying again.

Each student went one by one, until it was Sirius' turn followed by Y/n's.

Sirius paled at what stepped out through the cupboard. It was his mother, followed by his father, dragging along his younger brother, Regulus, who looked so small and fragile and broken. Sirius had faltered, his hand beginning to shake but before he could succumb to his fears and insecurities, he flicked his wand while muttering "Riddikulus!" And the horrible sight vanished to be replaced with a black dog trying to chase his own tail, which managed from Sirius and his fellow marauders, shit-eating grins.

As Sirius stepped aside, Y/n stepped up, her hands beginning to sweat, not prepared for what was to come. In the blink of an eye, the black dog warped into what were Y/n's parents, whose usual faces of kindness and love were replaced with anger and disappointment, and Y/n felt all the breath leave her lungs. Sirius watched with concern, realizing something was wrong.

"How can you disappoint us like this?" Y/n's mother spoke. "We've given you nothing but love, and you can't even complete your education like a normal person!?" Her mother suddenly shouted making Y/n flinch as a tear slid down her cheek. Suddenly, another figure appeared, making Y/n whimper.

Sirius.

Looking broken, disappointed and angry.

Y/n began to shake her head.

"I've given you all my attention since day one and you can't even let me in!? How am I not good enough for you!?" Sirius screeched, making Y/n let out a sob as her body began to shake.

"That's enough!"

And the Boggart disappeared as the real Sirius appeared into Y/n's view as he wrapped his arms around Y/n, who was sobbing loudly. The whole classroom was dead silent, astounded by what had just transpired. Lily and the girls exchanged worried looks while James, Remus and Peter looked on with disbelief.

"It's alright, I'm right here." Sirius whispered into her hair as he rubbed comforting circles into Y/n's back.

Y/n hiccuped and broke away from Sirius, leaving the young Black slightly startled.

"I'm sorry." She said before she ran out of the room, wanting to get away from everything. She ran and ran and ran, until she got into the safety of one of the girl's bathroom cubicles.

Y/n slid down to the floor, crying her heart out. Why was everything so hard? She was being so unfair to the people around her and she hated herself.

Y/n felt her chest begin to tighten and she placed a hand on her chest as she felt herself unable to breath. Her body shivered uncontrollably and her heart felt as if it would jump out of her chest any second.

The door opened and rushed in Sirius, who surveyed the situation and realized what was happening. He knelt down, pressing Y/n's hand to his chest.

"Love, look at me, copy my breathing." He instructed, but Y/n could barely comprehend what he was saying, hell she could barely see his mouth moving as she felt her vision begin to blur.

"Dove, tell me five things you can see." Sirius said, and Y/n drew in a excruciatingly painful breath.

"Y-you, the door, your tattoos, the toilet a-and my hand." She uttered out.

"Good, darling. What can you hear?"

Y/n spoke out a bit slower this time, "Your voice, the sound of rain outside, students moving out in the hall." She finished, taking in a shuddering breath as she felt her body very slowly begin to relax.

"That's it baby girl, you're alright, you're safe." Sirius spoke out gently, rubbing comforting circles into Y/n's hand, which he softly held between his hold.

"I'm so sorry." Y/n said as she kept her gaze on the floor, too embarrassed to look at Sirius.

"Hey, Y/n/n, look at me, love." He placed a finger under her chin and moved her head until she was looking into his eyes.

"Y/n, I love you so much, and I really care for you. It's hard to watch you losing yourself. You will have to tell me what's going on if you want me to help you."

Y/n felt her eyes burn and she buried her face in his chest, as Sirius placed his head upon hers whilst murmuring reassuring words.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius. I don't deserve you." You said while crying. "I have been so unfair to you and everyone else and I'm sorry for it."

"Shh. You don't need to apologize. I'm sorry I didn't try harder." He pulled away to cup Y/n's face. "What's going on in that gorgeous mind of yours?'

Y/n let out a small watery laugh as she wiped her tears. "I just don't feel good anymore. I feel so... empty. So hollow and alone, I can't find it in myself to think that there are people in my life that truly do care for me. I can't find the motivation to keep up with school. I don't..." She let out a defeated sigh, "I don't see a point in my life when all I'm doing is hurting and disappointing the ones around me."

Sirius felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He knew something was wrong but he had no idea his beloved Y/n was going through so much. He placed a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm sorry, darling, I wish I had known sooner. But believe me when I say this that we all do love you. Lily's been worried and keeps asking me constantly what's on your mind but I had no answer for her." Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You matter a lot. You have no clue what would happen to me if I lost you, you're my life, Y/n. I can't bear seeing you unhappy." Sirius took her hands between his. "I promise you, we will work through this together, you and me, alright?"

Y/n nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over her, making her heart feel warm after a long time. For the first time in a while, Y/n felt loved and felt a certain satisfaction that she was in good hands.

She embraced Sirius tightly.

"I love you."

Sirius smiled, pulling Y/n closer.

"I love you too, darling. I'll always love you."

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

A/N: I hope you all liked the oneshot. I was going to do a birthday party for the reader and everything but I felt this was the best place to end it off.

For anyone ever feeling they are not enough, you are enough and deserve the whole world. If you ever want to talk, just send me a message. :)

I had begun writing this when I was feeling low. I felt unhappy, I couldn't smile, it was a bad phase. I felt that no one around me actually cared for me, but I know some people will always be there for me and others need to be let go (which I suck at doing). I still do at times feel that I will never be enough and no one wants to be around me, but I am trying. Anyways, I love you all so much and you all deserve the world and beyond! I hope you're all doing well and staying smiling! ❤

Love,

Serina

P.S. Also, can someone please get me a Sirius, like where can I get one from? He's too precious 😭

[marimayscarlett]

It’s cold outside. Our heating is still off, I am desperately trying to get warm.

Do you happen to have some Richard pictures/stories that might warm my insides?

Thank you for your service, m’am🖤

Hi 👋

First of all, I truly hope that your heating will soon be working! Sending warmth and hugs your way 🤲🏼

Now, regarding some stories - not sure if these will do the trick, but I always feel warm/smile/sigh and look into the distance dreamily when I think about the following (sadly, I can't find sources for every story here - so some might just be cute "urban legends", but I just choose the believe them ☝😌):

A story of a fan about meeting Richard after a concert: "The hug I got was bone crushing. I was right in front of him. Cried my way through Frühling [...]. He checked on me and asked me if I was ok. Said i was fine and even the amount of times I'd seen them play, i got so caught up in the emotion. Richard told me they were the most moving moments for him at least and pulled me into a huge hug that if i think about it, i can still feel. Sounds weird but when you get a hug like that you dont forget it." (X)

It's incredibly nice to see how much he seems to care about his kids. Of course, that's the job of a dad, and yet it's not always the case. This situation warms my heart and makes it aching for him at the same time: “When my daughter, Khira, was 3 years old, she became very ill. There was nothing to worry about, a typical advanced tonsillitis. She was admitted to hospital. As always there were no seats in the wards I faced a choice: either pay for the ward or stay in the corridor. Only very wealthy people could afford the paid hospital ward. I was at that point that still could not afford it. We needed expensive medication, and I did not earn much. And she was put in the hallway. I slept with her in the hallway at night and her mother at daytime. And so the weeks passed until a free place appeared in the ward." (X)

Richard once mentioned (I think it was one of the festival interviews in 2017, yet I can't find the source anymore, so I might be wrong), that he was present during the birth of both of his daughters, and that the birth of a child is one of, if not the most, impressive things he has experienced in life. He seemed truly positively enthusiastic and sincere in that moment, which I found very beautiful, since not every man/father thinks like this.

Just this moment from this interview:

I find it rather endearing that he seems to love fantasy and would have liked to play a role in "Game of Thrones" or "Westworld", to let certain characters in him come to life. Richard seems to find enjoyment in movie worlds like these and I love that he speaks so openly about it 🥰 (X)

A long time ago, I read about an anecdote of the time when he lived with Till in the early 90's - they had little to no money, let alone food, so they apparently stole all the necessary ingredients, so Richard could make donuts for Till, who has a major sweet tooth. No idea if this is true, but it's really sweet.

In this interview, Richard expressed that he would drop everything to play a benefit for abused children.

He once gifted his guitar to the Hard Rock café in Berlin and signed it with "Rammstein!! RZK YeaH" which is kind of cringy, yet very cute?? (X)

Some pictures which just warm my heart - his comfy travel outfit, product free hair, him being soft and smiling, meeting a fan this year and being seemingly quite open, or just downright adorable on stage...

Weird assortment, I know and I'm sorry, but maybe it helps a bit 🤍

[voxisdaddy]

Rewritten

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

C/TW: Implied cheating/infidelity, depression

Type: Oneshot | Angst but bittersweet ending

In which even if you were meant to love Lucifer, despite everything’s that happened, you could still love another.

It was difficult existing sometimes.

You felt like you served no purpose. Like you failed the one thing you were meant to do. What was that one thing?

Betrothed to Lucifer—the favourite son of the Heavenly Father.

Things were so heavenly between the two of you at first. Lucifer, while not enthusiastic about being given a bride, quickly fell for you. And you? Well, you were made for him. Of course you loved him. Anyone who knew of you two, all agree that you two are a match made in heaven.

If only that lasted the eternity that was promised to you.

When the creation of Adam and Lilith came to be, your joyous attitude to this new wonder quickly started to sour. It only worsened when you eventually found out the truth. Lucifer didn’t love you anymore. Whatever he felt for you seemed to pale in comparison to what he felt for Lilith.

Then the creation of Eve came to be. Lucifer, ever the dreamer and occasional trouble maker, meddled in that too—carving an ugly mark into heavens plans which would lead to the banishment of Lucifer and his new bride.

You had spent many nights and days sobbing over the man. How could he love another? How could he promise to love you for eternity and lie? How could he sneak off and…never formally end things with you if he no longer loved you?

Your heart ached for centuries. He betrayed you. Angels…shouldn’t be capable of that. But he had it in him to do it anyways.

Naturally you’d find a weird sort of friendship with Adam. It wasn’t long until he came to Heaven as the first human soul when you became acquainted. You could see through him—his attitude that everything’s okay. You saw that same look in your own eyes every time you looked in a mirror. Just like you he was hurt. The two people who were meant to be his forever loves were taken from him. And his sons turned out…less than ideal.

As centuries and centuries went by, things became easier. Lucifer wasn’t on your mind all the time by a certain point. Eventually the only times you’d remember him would be if you happen to overhear someone sharing the story of Lucifer—Heaven’s most famous fallen angel.

You didn’t think you’d stay single and moping forever would you? Of course not. As heaven got more populated, the more charming faces came about, each with personalities of all kind at every corner. Heaven’s never felt more lively.

Eventually you’d meet someone who found a way into your heart—intentionally or not. You didn’t know you were even capable of loving again.

You hated it.

You hated that every moment you spent with your partner, a part of you ached. You hated that every time you gazed into their eyes, you couldn’t get fully lost in them. You hated how an ‘I love you’ felt like a betrayal.

You hated Lucifer.

Even if you could fall in love again a part of you yearned for Lucifer. How could you not feel it? You were quite literally made for him. You were made to love him. You didn’t have a choice on who you could and couldn’t love when you were created. Your heart and very being was created to love Lucifer for every eternity.

“I wish I wasn’t created sometimes, your highness.”

Sera tries her best to offer you a safe space to vent. A place to let you be upset, for you to mourn, cry, be angry, and sometimes laugh;

“—and despite my wings still healing from the noodle incident, they still took me on a cloud flying date, your highness! They held onto me and never let me go!”

Seeing you fall in love again is a favourite of Sera’s.

With that comes with it’s heavy weight of guilt and anguish due to who you were made for but…you’re proving the odds to become your own person.

Even when you meet Lucifers daughter, you can’t help but feel satisfied with yourself for how strong you feel like you’ve moved on. You thought you’d never forget a single detail of Lucifer but when seeing him again through his daughter? Well, you hardly recognized her.

A part of you will always long for Lucifer—a part of you you’ve grown to hate but learn to ignore—but at least now as you say your vows to someone who actually means every single word of love and promise, you know you can love again. And no matter how hard the strings tug, your love will never waver for your new life partner.

The new partner reader meets can be anyone really. I wanted to write something to join in on the “Lucifer leaving reader for Lilith” stories that pop up every now and then, but give it a more happy ending for reader

[takami-takami]

I Think I Love You.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. fluff.

warnings— gn!reader. keigo is in denial. tooth rotting fluff.

It takes Keigo eons to realize that he loves you.

As intelligent as he is, for every intuitive observation that turns the tides of his hero missions, he isn't the best at analyzing his own feelings. He prefers to put his emotions in a box, to scribble a smile on the lid, lock it with the heaviest brass he can find, and call it a day.

He's handling everything perfectly, thank you very much.

But when he tries to put his friendship with you in that box, you keep opening the damn lid. You keep crawling out, perching yourself on top and blinking up at him. Frustrated, he attempts to shove you back down with frantic hands, using all his weight; but for the first time in his life, it just isn't working quite as it used to.

So after months of coughing and telling himself his chest aches around you because you're such good friends, of explaining he's obsessed with you like you're a goddamn love interest in a movie because you're just so platonically compatible, of practically scribbling your name in his notepad with little hearts around it during commission board meetings, he finally flops face first on his bed and groans.

He's got a crush.

Are crushes supposed to make you think about owning a cozy cabin somewhere quiet together, where he can listen to your breathing without any distractions? Do other men fantasize about what they'd write for their wedding vows at some flower-adorned, ivory altar when they think about their crushes? He hopes they do. Maybe then, he could write this stupid tightness in his chest away as some childish, grade-school crush. That's a lot easier to deal with than love.

Yeah, this is a crush. Everybody gets those, right? He can work with that.

It comes to a boiling point on a too-quiet Saturday evening. You're practically sitting in his lap as you watch some television show he's just a bit too distracted to follow. It's not weird that his arms wrap themselves around your front, and it's not weird that his chin finds its resting place on your right shoulder.

"Oh my god, I love this actor," you nestle back against him snugly. "He's so cute, it's not even fair."

Keigo's jaw clenches.

"Hmm. I don't see it."

Narrowing his eyes, he tries to soothe himself by analyzing the wretched actor's features. He already knows your type— he knows you so well, better than anyone could ever hope to, he seethes— but it helps to remind himself. He's blonde, lithe yet muscular, with a patch of stubble to boot.

Keigo does it better. His arms tighten around you as he places a platonic kiss on your shoulder to ground himself.

The next day, he decides to pick up an extra early patrol shift. He won't be sleeping, anyway.

If Saturday's the boiling point of the kettle that is his emotions, then Sunday's the fever pitch. The screeching whistle becomes impossible to ignore.

You slept over at his place that night— which is, again, not weird in the slightest— so he's greeted by the sight of you when he walks through the doors of his dimly lit bedroom after work.

But this time, it's not a comforting sight. His heart rate slams suddenly, nearly knocking him to his knees.

You're fussing over your appearance in the mirror, putting together the finishing touches on your look for the gala Keigo (should not have) invited you to tonight. Your jewelry clinks with your movements, echoing off the walls of his head and knocking each thought out somewhere he can't reach.

When you turn to meet his gaze, you don't mention the way his mouth is hanging open ever so slightly.

"Oh! You gonna get ready soon? We have to leave in—"

"Can I kiss you?"

The words spill from his lips before he even has a chance to cover them with his hands, to shove them back down his throat. The bubbles of regret start to well up in him, thrums of panic making him scramble to take it back. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, this isn't, he's not meant for, you're too—

You throw your arms over his shoulders as you honest to god laugh.

His hitched "mmph" when you plant your lips against him melts your heart. Shaky palms find their place against your hips, finally having the permission they've begged for all this time.

"Fucking finally," you sigh.

[aebeism]

it's time to go — bada lee

synopsis : stress takes over your brain, to the point where you wander through a world you can’t remember much about. while your memories are gone, bada, love and sadness are the only things you carry with you for a while — as well as your limitations in having and offering each.

wc : 2.1k

warnings : angst, ex!bada, reader suffers from temporary memory loss, homophobia, clichés, mention of reader as y/n, lowercase intended. inspired by paris, texas by lana del rey.

'how long would it take for you to forget me?' you would ask. 'a lifetime wouldn't be enough' bada would always say, without fail. it's been months since you last saw your ex. or smiled. and you're back in the country, nervous to see her again, when she insists on taking you for a walk, which seems to be going smoothly . . until she gets weirded out by all your questions and the fact you seem genuinely lost at everything.

but, even though you're not together anymore, she cares a lot for you, enough that she doesn't mind retelling bibles and bibles of the endless moments you spent together. that is, until your eyes light up at the map you come across on her phone case.

"we've been to france before, haven't we?" your voice echoes through the place you're in, the moonlight shining through bada's blonde strands as she seems to glow softly, as a whole.

she only seems to be able to whisper, as if that’d keep her feelings suppressed well enough. "we have. paris, with barely anything but a suitcase" she slightly smiles at the memory. "i'd take you there again, if i could."

silence floods the air around you.

"why can't you?" you stare at her face, intensely, waiting for her answer as you clench your hand into a fist.

"you know why" she says, and your heart aches at the familiarity of her look. "because i loved you, so i can't anymore. and you remember i hardly ever change my mind, don't you?"

“i do” you nod, even more confused, eyes stuck on the map that she had let you take from her hand. the tiny map tucked inside her phone case is covered in doodles — lines and hearts mark so many places. "why does spain have a heart?"

"that's where we performed together for the first time" she sounds happy until you question further.

"you still love me, right?" your voice is soft, you don't raise your tone, nor did you try to force the sentence into her head. yet, bada seems like she was struck by a thunder right next to her ears.

it's no surprise that bada was caught off guard, her head tilted from an angle that would make her eyes stare at yours directly. "why ask that?" she says, her voice a bit shaky.

"hm . . you said that in the past. and you still keep this thing, with hearts on both countries."

"ah. yeah" bada shifts her attention back to the paper, her eyes slowly direct themselves to your shaky hands and your shivering body, and it makes her question why you're shaking so much even though what surrounds you is a warm summer breeze. she gives you a look, her eyes taking a peek at your face as she slowly says the next sentence. "for the memories. i don’t know about now. people never really understood our love, y/n. all of my friends could show off their lovers, and some were more loved by people than others, but you always had to be my secret just because we're both women. . and i hated that."

you don't seem to recall that, you can't seem to remember what she's talking about. yet, for some reason, as painful as a heart-wrenching breakup could be . . it still burns all over your chest; the pain seems to spin, and twist your insides, in flames. perhaps, the pain was made from acid and was turned into acid as it burns your whole body. your eyes water for a second, and you frown. your expression shows that you're a bit too lost by your own emotions.

"the more they knew, the worse it got. we've been over this, y/n, don't cry" bada's words seems to pierce your heart, they make your stomach churn as you stare intensely down to the ground beneath you.

the new sentence only adds to your confusion, and although you understand every single word, you don't even know why you're here anymore, or why it hurts so much, why a woman so pretty remains by your side. it feels like your brain is trying to reconnect to reality in the middle of the night but can't catch up on anything.

“this isn’t funny” you mumble, your hands shaking, and your jaw closes up as you furrows your brows. your brain tries to work to its max as you try as hard as you can to figure out what's going on.

"it really isn’t. i proposed to you here, in venice, not long after you joined our team. and we broke up in california, remember?" she shows you the circle around italy and a small dot in the united states. "it was sweet while it lasted, though, wasn't it? our friends would get drunk on any shit they could get their hands on and pass out, and you'd just be talking and dancing with me. my memories of you are really pure, y/n."

her tone is warm, her words are just as lovely, her eyes still sparkle whenever they glance at you. but there's something so heavy behind all of that, that knowing her, you can feel it even though you can't tell what it is.

"but it really was time to let you go" bada says, a deep sigh leaves her mouth as she shifts her gaze up to look at the sky, and you think you can see the corner of her eyes starting to turn red as her eyes sparkle so brightly.

while your mind remains empty, malfunctioning even, you stare and stare as it starts to get a bit too hazy. bada's mind, in another case . . is running through all the flashbacks of the flight you two took together back home, the time when you had to leave as you two were breaking up, the many times she agonized as she wanted to call you but knew she shouldn't, she let herself sink into her own loneliness . . everything burns behind her eyes. and staring at the pain she possessed hurts you just as badly.

if you could remember all the good things she did to you right now, at this moment, you think you wouldn't be able to live with yourself anymore.

. . but, in reality, you really can't live with yourself. because you do remember.

that's why life's been so stressful. that's why suddenly your memory has a gap.

"i hope you can forgive me for that" bada says, her tone ever so softly as she still looks up at the sky. her face lights up a smile, so, so bitterly.

your brain unwires slowly as she speaks and you're met again with that look on her face, one that could make your heart ache and your stomach churn from the pain it feels. bada's watered eyes make your cheeks wet unintentionally as you dodn't realize how a cheeky tear softly rolls down the surface of your skin.

"and i'd rather you didn't ask me about love anymore, if you could" bada speaks up again. this time, she turns her head to look into your eyes, and you feel like she's begging you with how intense her gaze is.

"but our love is so sweet, why wouldn't i?" you say, your hand raises up to wipe the tears that are waiting to sneakily roll down your cheeks once again before you clench your hands into a fist, as an attempt to hold your tears back. "people don't understand it, but does that really even matter if we understand each other?" your voice is yet again so soft, unlike how determined bada sounds like when she asks you to stop asking about your relationship. you don't know why you clenched your hands, or why you cried, you don't even know why you asked bada that question, but you eagerly wait for her answer, like a puppy waiting for a treat.

the bitterness in bada's stomach feels like it's climbing up her throat and staying stuck in the middle of its way, her eyes are burning as they bore into yours, and perhaps the pain she's feeling has taken its toll on you as you can feel your heart drop for a split second. you never really want to know why you're feeling her pain, you just always do.

. . but you're content with feeling that pain, because that's the closest you can get to her heart now.

"didn't you just hear me?" bada says, her voice cracking as her eyes water once again. it's as if she's taking all her will power to hold back the tears in her eyes. it's as if she could breakdown at any moment if she let her guard down.

yet, it seems like everything suddenly goes away; you can't recall why bada is crying, and a confuse look displays on your face.

"not sure i did" you blink, your head tilted as you see the map in your hands once again, a glimpse of a memory brings you back as you quickly say . .

"oh, that's cute. we've been to france before, haven't we?"

“i just told you, y/n” bada's voice is shaking as she stares at you, her brows furrow as she starts to think that this is some kind of joke; a sick joke that you thought of to make her feel embarrassed, to remind her of how sweet you two were, and how she can never achieve what she had always wanted with you.

bada stares intensely into your eyes, she tries to get pass your facade. she wants to rip off that mask, that unfunny joke that you're trying to make. she wants to scream to your face that this isn't funny. yet ,your innocent look and your sweet smile catch her off-guard as you still wait for her answer. you even have a confuse look on your face, as if you don't understand a single word she's saying.

. . as if . . she's the mad one.

"you really don't . . know?" bada asks, worried. "do you even remember what we are?"

you nod, a weak smile on your lips as you sound way happier than you should, even though tears stream down your face just because they're streaming down on bada's face. "girlfriends."

even when bada's panicking slightly, her pretty presence still glows, and it's distracting enough. she rushes to get you in her car and you don't understand a thing, yet you let her do whatever she wants. and that's how your first hanging out in months ends.

while you're in the passenger seat, your eyes scan her whole being. and your chest does flips as you stare at her form.

"why are you so worried?" you ask. "where are we going?"

"we need to get you checked out, y/n."

you go quiet for a moment, not enjoying the concerned look on bada's face, not enjoying something despite not being able to tell what it is. you feel uncomfortable, your head's light as a feather, and the pain is spreading and slowly taking over your whole body on its own will. "ah, maybe. maybe . . everything feels . . fuzzy" you mumble. her hands grip the steering wheel harder as she speeds up. "don't worry, though. it's fine. i'm fine" you reassure bada, a weak smile shows up on your face as you hold your head.

that reminds her of how she died a little inside every time you'd say that, whenever she'd see your suffering. it doesn't help how you'd say that so many times whenever you'd both be upset about how others seemed to hate seeing you together, and the way you're saying it now only reminds her once again that her heart still aches for your words.

it reminds her that she can't put you through anything as heartbreaking again, it doesn't matter if she still cares enough to keep you alive in her memory.

letting you go was the right thing to do, and when she's right, she's right. even when she's wrong.

and she feels at home when she's alone, anyway.

© aebeism 2024

[ryomaandgundhamkin]

11/18/24 TW/CW: vent (sort of), mentions of blood, vomit (slightly), mentions of yelling, trauma, blood, et cetera. Thank you.

“My brain works in a weird way. It’s sort of like how celebrities or others online only show their best side. They only reveal the highlights of their life and positive moments, and the audience may look up to them or feel… insignificant, in comparison. After a bit, in my case, my mask can wear down. I play this positive character in this show, and my depressed states are merely my expressions when I am off-stage. And so, I want to find a way to cope with all my stress, my trauma. And until I do, it is broken. I cannot wear it again, or lies will show. I can’t play out-of-character in a live show; the live show being, well, my life. No- I need to find a way to cope. If I don’t, I’ll never forgive. I’ll never forget. I’ll never get over it. All I have sinned for. But. I am scared. What methods do I have where my writing keeps safe? What platform is not going to be tracked by my guardians? No matter where I go, they are there. They are watching. I can’t feel safe online if they are there. I can’t express my true potential if my mom will eventually find my account and brag to her friends over how great I am. Over how… talented I am.”

“I’m crying too much. Emotions flood me as if dams are broken. The water, a growing flood, overcomes my emotions and my rationality. I do not panic, but I am scared. But I must hide my sobs before my father finds me and mentally beats me up about it. ‘It won’t do any good for you’; I can’t help it. If you keep yelling at me, what am I supposed to do? For I have not matured to your liking. I only exceed your standards, and my mother’s standards, in art. Something they seem to never get over. I start overthinking things. I grow anxiety. My head starts to throb and my hands begin to tremble so much. I feel so sick, I might throw up. The idea of multiple tests this week doesn’t help. I sit in the bathroom, silent. If I am caught, I am beat. I am lectured. They will ask me: ‘whats the matter? Why are you so sick?’, as if they are clueless that they are the main cause. I grow weak at the thought of the future, the past, and the present. ‘This could have been worse’; I comfort myself. This isn’t the worst, but it’s not the best. Tears slowly roll down my face at the memory of all the people I have lost. I’m sorry. Everything I’ve done. Every sin I’ve committed to have gotten where I am today. I’m so sorry, everyone. I deserve this. Don’t I? My lack of rationality grows my thoughts to believe in your lies. Am I just in denial? At this point, I’m stuck in here for 3 hours. I’m too scared to leave, but too scared to stay. I close my eyes and hope everything will go away. I hope everything is merely just a dream, I just need to wake up. Wake up, or you will die. Fuck. Why me? I sob silently, watching my volume as I can lightly hear the footsteps of my family emerge from the hallway. I feel so sick.”

“After another hour or so, I leave carefully. It’s midnight. They are all asleep at this point, and I am spared for another day. I immediately retreat to my room in a silent run, which slightly makes the nauseated feeling return. My pace slows as I walk to my bed, flopping down. My hand immediately reaches for my phone, an instinct. I feel something dripping from my mouth, and I carefully run my hand over it. Blood. Or so, I suppose it is. It tastes like it at least, but it’s too dark to tell. I ignore that and change my glance to my phone, going to Tumblr. My hands still tremble and my eyes are dry. The nauseated feeling slips in and out: irritating yet worrying. I scroll, looking at more art. I force a light smile to myself, and my jaw aches. It leaves after a few seconds. ‘Is this my last resort?’; Do I have to do this? This will only cause me more overwork, stress and anxiety. I exit the reblog. I am sorry, but my body still aches with the need for drawing more, making up perfect animation and drawing ideas in my head. This needs to stop. No. Please. This can’t be it. I can’t draw anymore, but my body refuses. My mind races with the thought of all my requests I have not finished, silently apologizing to the users.”

“…I can’t do this anymore.”

“I need to stop. I need to take a break. I can’t continue this continuous cycle of self-torment. If I do, I’ll become depressed. If I do, I’ll distance myself further from my friends.”

-

Thank you all. I appreciate your support and words of encouragement, and I know this may be a bit excessive, but I felt like releasing my emotions into a piece of text, even at the risk my mom may see this. I apologize if I have not finished your art requests. I am not taking a break, and I will continue making art (I’m sure you little shits are gonna be happy about that, huh, you guys who only care about my art). But I will not be as active, for school is still occurring. I have a break for a week next week, so I’ll try and make more art then. I just want you all to be happy, I’m sorry. I know this is a bit of a 180 from how I was earlier, but I gotta cope. My parents are arguing again (fml). XOXO.

[stripedstarsblueflags]

If you could do 9 and 17 from the dialogue game for loscar it would be amazing (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

I read your another one with sargebon and it's dknfkskdnsjks *explodes from emotions*, please write more🙏🙏🙏

i swear i didn’t mean to write 4.7k, but what did i wake up to this morning? no beta we die like williams public image

here you go loscar nation 💙🧡

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.