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#it's the little crumbs that make the big bread

hedgehog-moss · 11 months

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Welcome everyone, please join us on Baby Poldine’s First Hike! This is going to be a long post because lots of nothings happened :)

Our short-term goal was making it all the way to the torrent without Poldine getting so stressed about being away from her family that we had to turn back.

Our long-term goal: finally having a picnic-carrying llama to accompany us on hikes, which isn’t something I’ve been able to achieve with Pampe because she’s Pampe, nor with Mama Pampy because she’s the matriarch and dislikes leaving her herd behind. (Is there a collective noun? a misdemeanour of llamas? or is it just herd?)

Emotional support cats were recruited to make things less stressful for Poldine. I had to interrupt their afternoon nap on the couch and carry them to the pasture one after the other, and they just lay there looking a bit bewildered, like can we resume our nap or...? But once they saw us dragging Poldine away into the woods they all got curious and followed.

The llamas were a bit suspicious of these shenanigans and started retreating when I carried the second cat outside, so I sent my friend to the greenhouse to get some strawberries, which immediately brought the llamas back.

Although Poldine took one bite of her strawberry and then refused to eat any more of it, because she’s still a baby who only likes familiar foods. (Her grandma volunteered to eat the rest of the half-bitten strawberry.)

One thing we discovered about Pampoldine as we started the hike is that she gets very worried about being a lone llama when we stand still, but she looks reassured as soon as we resume walking. I think us walking decidedly while holding her rope makes her feel like she has a confident leader, while seeing us stop for any reason makes her panic like oh my god, you have no idea what you’re doing and which way to go, do you?

She occasionally tried to rebel and go back in the direction of her pasture, and in these moments all we had to do was grab the nearest cat and toss it in front of her. She would immediately pounce, enchanted, to try and kiss it; the cat would dart away like no thanks!! and Poldine would follow, and off we went again.

Another thing we discovered about Poldine is that she is a compulsive cheek-kisser when stressed. As long as there is someone to nuzzle, the situation can’t be completely hopeless. So we had to accept a lot of kisses.

As you can see, we made it to the torrent! It took a bit of patient coaxing to get her to go in the water (I think she was wary of stepping on the round slippery pebbles) but once she went in she looked intrigued and delighted. She was stomping her little feet to make splashes, and wading about, we actually had trouble convincing her to leave!

For some reason she was more reluctant to follow us on the way back. Maybe once all the excitement of splashing in the stream died down, she suddenly remembered that she was alone far from her pasture and family and got stressed again. We once again tried the method that consists in throwing cats in front of us every now and then, like leaving a trail of bread crumbs behind you except the opposite and with cats. (Note that the cats had the option to flee from this disgraceful treatment any time.) Merricat and Mascarille were talented bait, often leading the way of their own initiative, but Morille complicated things by being a big baby who’d stop dead and start screaming whenever she came across any amount of water. Then we had to carry her across so she wouldn’t get her paws wet.

Pictured below: me, a llama, two cats, then a rivulet (where the mossy rocks are) and Morille lagging behind and screaming pitifully, waiting for a kind soul to carry her.

We made it to the pine area of the woods and Poldine started walking a lot more cheerfully, and sniffing the air with an eager little nose, which was strange because we were still quite far from her pasture so it wasn’t home or other llamas she could smell. We wondered if perhaps she enjoyed the smell of pine resin (it does smell wonderful on warm days!), but then we left the pine woods and entered the hazel woods and she was looking even happier and walking even faster, and then we realised. We were being followed and had been for a while.

Look at her smug little face. (It turns out she escaped because I forgot to tell my friend one of the pasture gates has a latch with an anti-Pampe dual safety system.) Ah, well, it wouldn’t be a proper llama post without Pampérigouste showing up somewhere she’s not supposed to be. She was being so discreet stalking us from afar behind a curtain of trees, we wondered if she’d been following us from the beginning. I hope not, because this small torrent ends up in the Atlantic Ocean and nothing good can come from Pampe discovering how to reach other continents.

Pampe stayed with Poldine long enough to make it look like she’d escaped out of concern for her daughter and not to find out where running water is so she can one day sail to freedom, then she left to have more adventures by herself, completely indifferent to Poldine’s little “mummy, stay :( ” baby goat cries.

Morille and Mascarille also deserted us (it looked like Pampe had promised them a more exciting hike) but thankfully we hadn’t run out of cats, and were able to go home at a decent pace thanks to Merricat, professional llama bait.

All things considered it was a very successful hike! I’m glad Poldine enjoyed the water—now I want to take her to the spots that have a series of little waterfalls, see what she’d make of them :) Or even to the deeper pool you can swim in, who knows, maybe she’ll dive in! Throwing a cat in the water to encourage her would help a lot but I probably won’t do that. They’re very helpful cats who didn’t complain about being tossed ahead like petanque balls to show Poldine the way, but I don’t want to push my luck.

(I regrettably don’t have a picture of this but sometimes when I stopped walking, Poldine would rest her head on my shoulder like “...well? are we lost?” with her little bunny ears tapping the side of my head inquisitively and it was really cute.)

#crawling along #sorry for how small some of the photos are but tumblr decided there were too many #tumblr's not wrong but what am i supposed to do. /delete/ a picture of poldine kissing someone??#and i can't start posting things in several instalments i need to limit myself #else i'd start making posts like Poldine's Hike: Volume VIII

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ihareyhis · 11 months

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Spideys as incorrect quotes pt2

Hobie: *Kicks the door down*

Pavitr: What did you do?

Hobie: Nobody died.

Pavitr: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

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Miguel: What do you call disobeying the law?

The Squad: A hobby.

Miguel: *crosses their arms*

The Squad: That we do not engage in

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Pavitr: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this?

Hobie: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

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Pavitr, pointing at Hobie: Are they a Freak (derogatory)?

Pavitr, pointing at Gwen: Or a Freak (affectionate)?

Miles: Why not both?

Pavitr, to Miles: You’re so right, Freak

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Pavitr: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective?

Hobie: *crouches down*

Gwen: *kneels down*

Miles: *sits on the floor*

Pavitr: I hate you all

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Miles: How do Hobie and Pavitr usually get out of these messes?

Gwen: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out.

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Gwen: Hey Pavitr.

Pavitr: *punches Gwen in the stomach*

Gwen: What the fuck?

Pavitr: You are one of my very best friends. And I cannot stand by and watch you throw away your life like this. You're too young....YOU'RE TOO BEAUTIFUL!

Gwen: What the fuck are you talking about?

Pavitr: I'm talking about the baby that's growing inside of your belly right now.

Gwen: I'm not pregnant!

Pavitr: Well, not after that punch you're not. I've been taking muay thai classes.

Gwen: I was never pregnant, Pavitr!

Pavitr: Are... you sure?

Gwen: Yes I'm fucking sure!

Hobie: I'm sorry, but why the fuck is everybody yelling over here?

Pavitr: Oh, I found this positive pregnancy test and—

Hobie: *punches Gwen in the stomach*

Gwen: AW, MOTHERFU–

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Gwen: Today at 7 am, Pavitr poured a Monster energy drink in his coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing.

Hobie: I watched him brew his coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think he ascended into the astral realm.

Miles: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me

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Miles: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no idea what to put in them. Any suggestions?

Pavitr: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you.

Hobie: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you two.

Gwen: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am no longer taking suggestions.

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Pavitr: What’s up with Gwen? she’s been laying on the floor for like….an hour now?

Hobie: She’s just a little overwhelmed.

Pavitr: Why?

Hobie: Miles smiled at her.

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Hobie, Gwen & Miles: *screaming*

Pavitr: *runs into the room* Miles whats wrong?!

Hobie: Wait, why are you asking Miles that when Gwen and I are also here?

Pavitr: Because Miles wouldn't scream unless it's an emergency. You two scream whenever you have the chance.

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Hobie: What’s your biggest fear?

Gwen: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Miles: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Pavitr: Zombies.

Gwen: ...

Miles: ...

Pavitr: BUT they can open doors.

#THEM #Miles Morales #Gwen Stacy #across the spiderverse #atsv gwen #hobie brown atsv #Hobie Brown #Pavitr Prabhakar #miles x gwen #spiderband #fruity four #spider bros #spider kids #hobie brown x pavitr prabhakar #hobie x pavitr #chaipunk #goldpunk #miguel spiderman

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malewgtfstories · 3 months

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Yes Coach!!!

A new sunny day reflected on the wet grass of Sunnydale High. The smell of the game that took Sunnydale to Nationals was looming. The pressure on Jimmy was immense. He was the QB after all. He didn't want to disappoint his parents, his classmates, but especially his coach. He praised the coach for his strong and manly demeanor. He knew the coach was a football star in his High School years some might say he was even a prodigy. Unfortunately, an accident caused him to never be able to play football again. In reality, the main reason why Jimmy didn't want to disappoint Coach White was because he secretly had a crush on the coach. He tried to deny his feelings toward Coach White, but he looked irresistible. Coach White was the definition of a proud American man. He had a protruding gut. His ginormous gut made a 4XL skintight. On top of that, he was hairy. Something that always infatuated Jimmy. He loved a man with a big belly and a big bread. Last but not least he loved his gigantic ass, which jiggled with every step he took. He loved the freedom the coach had with no care in the world. Getting to eat anything and everything whenever he wanted to. It seemed to be Jimmy's biggest wet dream. All of these contributing factors led to Jimmy always hiding his hard-on while near the coach.

On the other end, Jimy was a thin, lean, and hairless Mexican teen. He was the popular Jock attracting people from both genders. He was a people magnet. This made him frustrated as all he wanted was to have Coach White. He was confused about how everyone at school fawned over him and his looks. Everyone except for Coach White. He was sexually frustrated finding football the only way to relieve the pressure building inside of him.

As the school day was reaching its end, Jimmy knew this meant the game would soon begin. This was his one and only chance to impress his coach. All he strived for was for the validation of his crush. Little did he know this would warp his sense of reality as soon one looked down at him. The team was on the field waiting for their prized quarterback to come out of the locker room. Everyone was confused as to why he took his time. The game was about to begin. Jimmy stayed in the locker room contemplating whether he had made the right decision. Whether he was fit for playing at the National level. He is scared of losing. He was scared of disappointing. After a few minutes of complete silence, Coach White walked in. He was embarrassed to show this side to the coach. So, Jimmy braced himself for the confrontation he would have with the coach. "Why are you here sulking all alone? You're about to play for goddamn nationals grow a pair." "I'm sorry coach I'm not ready for this. I feel sick in my stomach." "Come on bud you're a senior. Why not leave this school with a bang? You've been preparing this all four years. Don't give up now." "I'm sorry coach, but I can't." "Well, then son I've done all I could do for you. If you quit our team, well be done. We surely won't make it without you." Coach White sighed in disappointment. He turned his back in frustration and began to exit the dimly lit room. Jimmy knew that this would be his only chance to say how he truly felt. Jimmy in a desperate attempt grabbed Coach White by his hand and turned him. "Listen coach I've been holding this in since freshman year, but I can't hold it in anymore. You are the sexiest person I know. When your big belly and ass jiggles give me boners. Your big beard makes us want to stuff you till you have crumbs intertwined between the jungle that covers your face. All I would want is to be in your shoes I know your dream is to be in my fit body, but I on the other hand would love to have the freedom your big belly gives you. I would love to have a big burly body that bumps into everything while you walk down a hallway. I just wish for the freedom you have." "I don't know where this is coming from. I know you are stressed about the game, but this is concerning." Little did they know that the god of fate had other ideas. He saw the desperation in Jimmy's eyes, so he decided to accomplish his wish. After all the god of fate is kind. Is he not? But all wishes have their downside. to balance the scales of fate something had to balance out the scales. The drawback was that their body switch would be permanent. Coach White felt weirded out by the love declaration of his star student, but deep down he did feel the same way. So did the god of fate. The switch began, and both Coach White and Jimmy felt a strange sensation in their stomachs. Jimmy felt piles of lard start to pile on him. He fell as his center of gravity was thrown off. Frist his

smooth six-pack was replaced by a small hairy beer belly. It grew to the point where it seemed he was fully free in a pregnancy. With that love, hands started to appear which gave him a wider look. His pecs soon followed as they lost all their muscle mass and were replaced with big utters. His arms lost their definition and were replaced with piles of lard that settled in where the muscle was. Hair started to grow all over his body except his head which seemed to diminish. His penis seemed to grow in thickness. Unfortunately, his fat seemed to cover this manhood. Just like his arms lost their previous fit look his legs were replaced with big trucks to hold up the gargantuan man he was now. Last but not least was his ass. Which seemed to be replaced with Jello. It was so big that the seams of his football unfirm were stretched to their full ability. Likewise, his shirt stretched in ways he never thought it would. His arms, gut, ass, and legs were clinging to dear life. Until "pop" his uniform tore and he was left there naked in the middle of the locker room. Likewise, Coach White went through his own transformation his body seemed to shrink and shrivel into a fit and young man. He gained definition in his body. His body burst with energy, and he felt a rush of excitement. He lost his body hair and looked like a hairless Greek god. And with the luxurious locks that replace his once bald hair surely completed the look. Coach White I mean Jimmy gave old clothes to Coach White. Coach White sat there in disbelief that his wish came true he felt uncomfortable. Unfortunately, they had no time to fret they had a game to win. People saw Jimmy play and they thought he had played like never before. It was as if he had gained years of experience. After the whole ordeal, Sunnydale came out as the victors and went to nationals. Everyone praised Jimmy for his hard work. Coach White felt jealous as he took his win, but there was nothing to do. He pulled him away and told him. "We need to find a way to get to our original bodies." "I'm sorry coach I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Jimmy and your Coach White." Coach White sat in silence as all of Coach White's memories came flooding in. Soon nothing remained that was part of Jimmy in Coach White. All he could think about how hungry he was. He was thinking about how many pizzas to stuff in his mouth. This was who they were now. No possible way to change back, and it is not like they would do anyway. The one who took the final laugh was the god of fate. Never mess with fate.

#thin to chunky #bearification #male weight gain stories #permanent tf #fat gain tf #male transformation #bhm weight gain #male body swap

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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Tips for Writing When Struggling With Executive Dysfunction

Executive dysfunction can make writing challenging. NaNo participant, August, has some tips on dealing with task initiation and how to keep writing so you can reach your writing goals. Embarking on a writing project is quite the undertaking. After years of sticking to short pieces, I decided to start working on my first novel last NaNoWriMo. However, it felt like I was fighting with my own mind to get things done.

Executive dysfunction is a term used to describe weaknesses in the cognitive process that organizes thoughts and activities, prioritizes tasks, manages time efficiently, and makes decisions. It’s common in certain disorders, such as Depression, ADHD, and autism. Executive function skills are used to establish structures and strategies and to determine the actions required to move a project forward. So for those of us who struggle with executive dysfunction, dedicating ourselves to a project could get quite overwhelming. Here are some little tips and tricks I’ve compiled throughout my experience.

How to start:

Task initiation is one of the biggest struggles when dealing with executive dysfunction. This is especially hard with writing, since you need time to muster the energy needed to jump into your story. Here are some tips:

1. Start a 1-3 minute timer and force yourself to write something, anything, before it ends. The words that come out don’t matter. You can just write, “I don’t know.” The point is to force yourself into the writing zone.

2. Leave bread crumbs for yourself at the end of each writing session to make picking up where you left off easier. For example, stop in the middle of a sentence or thought, so the next time you write you won’t have to tackle something completely new. You just have to finish that incomplete thought and continue from there. You could also leave some notes about what happens next, cutting down thinking time in your next session.

3. Try free writing. This is a great way to get those creative juices flowing with minimal effort. Free writing alleviates the pressure of writing something good. Spend a few minutes writing about anything, like your day or a frustrated ramble about your story. It’s like a warm up before your writing session.

How to keep going:

So you’ve started your writing session. How do you keep writing? Most importantly, how do you keep working on your project? When struggling with executive dysfunction, the regular “set a schedule” approach doesn’t tend to work.

1. Scale down your goal if your big, overarching goal for your project is overwhelming. Try changing your goal to something more manageable and short term. For example, try writing 500 words a day. This might make it less likely for you to lose steam half way through.

2. Try writing sprints if daily goals aren’t working. Instead of hitting a certain word count, you’re setting a timer and writing for its entire duration

3. Don’t feel bad for needing external motivation. Will promising yourself a pizza after you hit your goal motivate you to write? By all means, do so. Maybe you just need a friend to ask you if you’ve written at the end of the day. Find out what motivates you.

4. Find a writing buddy. This can be someone who can sit down and write at the same time to hold you accountable. Or it can be a critique partner that expects you to turn in something by a certain deadline.

5. Try something new. This is one of the best ways to combat how constraining and overwhelming your writing might feel. It’s okay to lose interest in your project for awhile and try something new. Unless you’re racing to meet a deadline, you have no obligation to keep working on a project that isn’t working for you. Setting a project aside doesn’t mean giving up on it. You might only need some time away from it before you are able to finish it.

Trying something new could also mean changing where or how you write. Usually write at home? Try a coffee shop. Do you usually type? Try hand writing. It might or might not work for you. But change could be quite refreshing for your mind.

6. Write whenever you can.

Sometimes the urge to write comes while you’re waiting for lunch to heat up, or right before you go to bed. Motivation can be hard to find with executive dysfunction, and designated writing times don’t always work. Have something on hand you can easily pull out to write with to take advantage of these moments. Jotting down a hundred words as you’re waiting for dinner to cool might not seem like much, but it’s still words contributed to your word count.

Some of these tips might work for you. Some might not. Writing successfully is mostly about finding what works and running with it. These are things I found helpful when I embarked on my first novel and I hope it would at least give you some ideas.

Happy writing!

August is a 19 year old self proclaimed nerd and aspiring writer. They are currently taking a gap year after high school and are planning to start their undergraduate psychology degree soon. They have been writing short poetry for two years and recently started work on their first fantasy novel. When not writing, they are busy reading or being a musical theatre enthusiast. Check out some of their writing on Instagram. Photo by Miriam Alonso from Pexels

#nanowrimo #executive dysfunction #neurodivergent writers #disabled writers #writing #by nano guest #august #writing advice

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apollodarling-writes · 5 months

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yan! reiner braun hcs

i can’t get enough of this man.

cws: yandere themes, slight worshipper themes, the two of you initially met as scouts, aot season 4 spoilers, spoilers in general, kidnapping, kinda all or nothing thinking, some pathetic reiner crumbs bc i love seeing him pathetic, can kinda be perceived as having some form of a personality disorder, forced starvation and dehydration, kinda dehumanization, slight housewife (gn though) vibes but he just wants you to be productive.

— yan! reiner braun who initially fell in love with you during your time in the scouts. he was absolutely enamored with you. you, with all your flaws and rough edges, have single-handedly made it infinitely harder for him to complete his mission.

— yan! reiner who loves when you tend to his wounds. it makes him feel more human, settling further into the delusion that he had always been a paradisian.

— yan! reiner who is constantly hovering around you after he’s come to terms with his feelings. he has to protect you… no, he needs to. no one can protect you but him.

— yan! reiner who ensures that you’re left with someone he knows will protect you when he has to carry out the phases of his mission before leaving to do so. reiner will also immediately look for you when he’s finished, checking you for injuries— big or small, he’ll patch them up with furrowed brows and a firm expression.

— yan! reiner who is a little creepy… and overbearing. when you’re training, he’s training you to protect yourself in a more efficient way. when you’re eating, he’s making sure you eat good, going as far as to give you a portion of his rations. when you have free time, he’s always itching to spend time with you. you almost never have a moment to yourself unless levi has you stationed elsewhere.

— yan! reiner who feels the need to protect you because he’s witness just how bad this world really is. he is the bad… but he can be everything you need if you’ll let him. he needs to be your everything.

— yan! reiner who values your opinion more than his own. he needs your validation and approval and kindness. he feels like a piece of shit already and he knows that you’ll hate him when he completes the final stage of his plan, but god does he need you. he needs you more than he needs air.

— yan! reiner who takes you back to his homeland. whether you’re screaming profanities at him, kicking or screaming, crying or begging for him to let you go… it’s futile in the end. he needs you. he can’t guarantee your protection if he’s away from you. he can’t live without you; you’re his rock.

— yan! reiner who pulls some strings to get you citizenship in marley. shortly after, the two of you are wed. naturally, his family and friends don’t attend since you’re a filthy island devil, but it’s enough for him to finally be marrying you.

— yan! reiner who will never touch you in any way you don’t want him to. he will always respect your bodily autonomy seeing as he already hates himself and views himself as a monster. he wouldn’t want to be even worse of a person to you. as for punishments… well, that’s a different ballgame.

— yan! reiner who, in a fit of anger, would scream at you. he’s done everything for you! he provides for you, he keeps you safe and well-fed, he has never touched you in any sexual manner (unless you’ve given him explicit consent)— he keeps you healthy and safe and you’ll never have to work again! but if you’ve been ungrateful and have been refusing his efforts, unfortunately he wont be able to be the man you want him to be.

— yan! reiner who corners you, roughly jerking you up by your hair and locking you in the basement. he’ll tell you that you can come out once you’ve learned your lesson. he’ll deliver the absolute bare minimum. a bucket to use the bathroom in, stale bread, and a glass of water every three days. how long you stay down there is up to you.

— yan! reiner who will slump against the basement door and sob. he feels awful, but he knows he can’t let you out. he can’t let you walk all over him. it’s even worse that he’s confirming your already terrible view on him.

— yan! reiner who grovels at your feet for forgiveness when you’re finally out of the basement. he’ll bathe you and murmur constant apologies, all while crying about how awful he feels about it. he’ll brush your hair out, wincing as you flinch, and turn around while you dress yourself.

— yan! reiner who will whip up a tasty meal for you, and if you’re unresponsive, feed you himself. he needs to make sure you’re getting the nutrients you need.

— yan! reiner who, if you lost a noticeable amount of weight while in the basement, gazes at you sadly. he’ll go out and purchase supplements for you to take while you recover and insist you stay in bed while he takes care of all the housework.

— yan! reiner who requires you to do things while he’s gone. he at least wants a warm meal when he comes home, and if the house isn’t in disarray it’s acceptable for him. he’ll help you with chores when he gets home— even if he’s exhausted and ready to collapse. he doesn’t want to place too much pressure on you, but he doesn’t want you succumbing to depression.

— yan! reiner who will press a kiss to your temple, forehead, or cheeks. if he’s feeling bold enough, he’ll press a chaste kiss to your lips.

— yan! reiner who will hold you sooo close to him when it’s time for bed. he needs to feel you against him because it helps him sleep. you bring him peace.

— yan! reiner who absolutely has to have physical contact with you when you accompany him to meet with the other warriors. he has to stake his claim. he has to make it known that you’re his, even if the silver band on your left hand speaks volumes.

— yan! reiner who absolutely adores you. he praises you every moment he can. he needs you to understand why he fell in love with you, how lovely you are, and how much he loves you.

— yan! reiner who just wants to love you and be loved in return. he feels like an asshole for ripping you away from everything you’ve ever known but he needs you.

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invinciblerodent · 5 months

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Breakfast in Bed Headcanons

(because why not)

Karlach-

Everything is burnt. To absolute cinders. You cannot reliably tell the difference between the toast and the eggs- not by appearance, taste, or level of crunch. (Well. From the shape, you're fairly sure the leftmost lump of charcoal was once a piece of bread. But you can't really be certain.) But, seeing how she's squirming- or better said, all but bouncing in her seat beside you in nervous excitement, her face split in two by the broadest grin and lit up with love and the sheer joy of finally being able to perform this little act of simple domesticity with you, it's still the best damn meal you've had in your entire life, and you dutifully eat every last crumb.

You don't know how she even achieved this smokey taste in your coffee. But it does taste like her kiss, and you're very happy and eager to compare the two. At length.

Gale-

For him, it's as much an act of love as it is a presentation, a showcase of not only his boundless affection, but also just one of his many skills, and it is -fittingly- flawless. Presented to you on a gorgeous platter is an aesthetically stunning, and downright sinfully indulgent comfort meal, incorporating every single one of your favorite things.

There is also not one vegetable in sight. You can't not eat every last crumb, all but moaning in pleasure at every bite, but it's so heavy and so much that you legitimately want to go straight back to bed afterwards. Good thing that he's beyond happy to join you- both in feeding each other little morsels between kisses, and in spending the next few hours entangled as much in each other as in the blissful languor.

Astarion-

The very thought that it even occurred to him to do this for you is enough to have you all but overcome with emotion. His results are middling at best (oversalted yet underseasoned, somehow slightly burnt and undercooked at the same time- of course, he can't bloody well taste what he's doing), but... not only has he not done this before, but hadn't needed to even think about feeding someone, or actual food in general in over two centuries. The mere fact that everything is at least edible shows that cooking for you is something for which he prepared, something he put infinite care into, and you find yourself having to stop every couple of bites to cradle his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, just so you don't start crying straight into your eggs.

He's not pleased with himself (it's a skill at which he's not only not immediately excellent, but also not naturally talented, of course he's unsatisfied) and grumbles a bit about how your reaction is exaggerated, but his big, fanged grin (and playful, teeth-clicking request for his own breakfast) is sweet enough to make up even for the salty dessert.

Lae'zel-

She's... a bit confused on the spirit of a Faerunian breakfast. Which is understandable, Githyanki cuisine is remarkably different from almost everything you can get here- but like in everything she does, she has got the capital letter Spirit and does her absolute best, so she sternly presents you with.... quite a spread. Her skill with the blade -the skill in which she's most confident- is taking center stage in a beautiful display of fruit and veggies with the (nosehair-singingly spicy) Githyanki spread she made, and it's delicious, refreshing, and yeah, she's right, sure to wake you up faster than even caffeine spurted straight into your veins would. But the best part is that from her tired eyes and barely perceptible fidgeting, you can tell she's been up at least an hour, fretting and preparing for this moment.

The pride blooming in her chest at your grateful praise also colors her cheeks a pretty coral pink. That too is the best part. As is waking up to her touch. Really, all parts of the this slow, soft, sweet day with her are the best part.

Wyll-

Wyll is prone to downplaying his skill in the kitchen, but despite what he'd tell anyone who asked, he is fairly competent at a very specific style of cooking. His absolute wheelhouse is comforting, homely meals, prepared from cheap and widely available ingredients that hark back both to his childhood in the lower echelons of Bladur's Gate, and feeding himself however he could in his years in exile. So naturally, the honey-sweet porrige and fresh fruit that he sets down in front of you may be simple, but it is dripping with his love, and presented with a bashfully charming smile, a theatrical bow, and artful poesy comparing you in sweetness to both the honey and the ripe berries.

He also makes a cheeky note (that nets him a playful swat on the arm) about the old adage of the path to the heart leading through one's stomach, and how he'll have to do this much more often as you take his hand, and gently lead him back to bed afterwards. It's much, much too early, and you're much too cozy to think about anything but him.

Shadowheart-

She's fairly competent at cooking, but it's undeniable that her skills are more based on trial and error and built around just getting something warm into your belly than anything more lavish than that. But what she does know how to do, and what she does take some amount of pride in, is how she makes a mean plate of scrambled eggs. After calling her on that particular bluff the previous evening, thinking nothing of it (and with your tongue lodged firmly in your cheek), you didn't expect her to sneak out of bed, and surprise you with a plate while still in her soft nightclothes the next morning. But frankly, even though you don't quite know how these eggs are supposed to be the best ones ever (is it the butter? it's probably the butter), what you are sure of is that she's never looked more beautiful than she does with yesterday's makeup flaked onto her face, a playfully embarrassed, yet devilish half-grin, and the sweet blush across her cheeks as she instructs you to quite literally eat your words.

Her smug preening in your dramatic praise of her unrivalled skill as a domestic goddess is well worth the tiny piece of shell that had escaped her notice and stabs you in the gums. (You choose not to mention it, even teasingly. You're fairly sure you'll take that secret to your grave.)

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emsgoodthinkin · 1 year

Text

MDNI | dark!Eddie Munson content

After being together for 7 months, Eddie finally decided that he wanted to keep you forever to himself; so he made sure he did a good job kidnapping you at 3 o’clock in the morning, to take you to an abandoned house.

He didn’t even have to drug you, you actually sleep like a fucking boulder. If anything, small sounds wake you more than loud ones.

That was one of the things he loved most about you. Never a fight to put up with.

——

You’ve been trapped in this old, broken dusty room for 2 months now. You’re hungry. You’ve been hungry for hours, days, weeks..

Not to fear though, Eddie’s been right beside you the entire time. Never leaving your side… he won’t leave you alone for a second. It’s honestly bothersome.

——

When you awoke in this house months ago, you were confused. You knew he loved you.. alot but you didn’t think he would keep you away from the world.. forever.

His ears always perk up to the sound of your rumbling tummy, it’s loud enough to echo..

..because it’s been empty for weeks. other than the plate of crackers he brings you occasionally.

“Mm, someone’s hungry huh?” he asks with sarcasm and surprise

“I just filled you up last night baby, you need more?”

“Please.. Eddie I- I need real food my stomach hurts”—

“Shh, shh it’s okay I gotcha”, he says climbing on top of your bedded body, you’re too weak to protest. You did say you’d do anything for him when you guys met didn’t you?

“I know exactly what you need sweetheart, I’ll make that belly of yours full in no time”- he says pulling off your musky underwear, his cock already sprung out

“I’ll get ya so s-stuffed”—, he strains to say as he pushes his cock into you

“Ed please, not like this I’m starvin”—

Smack.

“I know you’re hungry, cock hungry, I’m giving you what you need aren’t I?” You nod sadly, as he pants, pounding into your sore, wet hole

“You should get real full after this, I might even give you seconds so you won’t go hungry again”

He knows you meant hungry for food, but his cock can fill you up just as satisfying as food can. His logic.

*stomach gurgling louder*

“Goddamn, you are hungry huh? Here ya go fuck— fuck I’m cummimg!!”, he shouts filling you to brim—

—

“There you go sweetie, bon appetite” he smirks, pulling out and cuddling you into his side

Silent tears roll down your face, all you wanted was a piece of bread. A crumb.. anything more..

*stomach growls*

His eyes widen, chuckling looking down at you

“Still gotta big appetite dontcha?” he flips you back on to your back

“I think you could go for more, I know you can, you’re just a selfish, needy little bunny” he says patting your belly as if he’s talking about real food this time.

You start to want to say no, but he interjects that you forgot your dessert. Tonight’s special. Cream pie.

But not the kind you wanted.

You’re so hungry.

Reblogs appreciated:>

#dark!eddie munson #stockholm syndrome #yandere!eddie munson #tw kidnapping #eddie munson x gn!reader #obsessed!eddie #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x male reader

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blueraineshadows · 1 month

Text

Breathless

Farmer!Garreth x F!MC

8.6k words. Tags: NSFW / smut / loads of fluff / breeding kink unlocked / flirting / sexual tension

The sun was warm on his back as Garreth sat down on a log, pulled a small tin from his cloth bag, and opened it. He lifted out his sandwich and took a large bite, crumbs sprinkling over his lap that he brushed away with a grubby hand. A curious nose snuffled at his thigh, investigating the crumbs in case a piece of ham had fallen out too. Garreth smirked and scratched his beloved dog behind the ear and spoke around a mouthful of bread and ham.

“None for you, mate,” he said affectionately. “I'm starving after hauling all those hay bales this morning. This is all mine.”

Big, brown eyes looked up at him hopefully, and Garreth patted the spaniel on the head, his fingers soothing the silken fur as he took another bite of his sandwich. But Rusty had other ideas. His ears perked up, and he stood, tail wagging happily before he took off down the trail, barking excitedly.

“Rusty!”

Garreth saw who Rusty was running for, and his heart began to beat a bit faster behind his ribs. He chewed faster, swallowing a huge chunk of sandwich as he brushed the crumbs from his mouth and legs.

It was her.

Childhood friend, expert tormentor, and utterly beautiful. MC was a girl who lived in the village, about a mile from the Weasley farm, and Garreth couldn't imagine life without her. She came nearly every day to help out with the animals and chat with Ma. Her own mother passed away when she was a child, and she had become an honorary Weasley, always around the farm or in the house with the boys as they grew up.

She was a Muggle, through and through, but she knew about their magic. She kept their secret, delighted with their magical abilities but loyal to the bone when it came to their talents. Her only regret had been when he and his siblings had all gone off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. MC had missed them terribly, but being here at the farm had kept her busy.

It was no trouble for Garreth to admit that coming home for school holidays had meant coming home to her. He didn't care that his brothers teased him about it, poking fun about his little crush on her. Garreth didn't care. He'd tell anyone. MC had always been the prettiest girl he knew, and he'd hex anyone who dared say otherwise. As adults, his feelings hadn’t changed. In fact, they had merely grown stronger.

“You're a bit late today, aren't you?” He called out to her, grinning as Rusty bounced around her legs, tail wagging.

MC was making a fuss of the dog, laughing at his little leaps as she headed closer towards Garreth, her braided hair over one shoulder with loose strands teasing on the breeze around her face.

“Keeping an eye on my timing now, Garreth?” She asked, eyes glinting with mischief as she eyed him sitting on the log. “You weren't waiting for me, were you?”

“Of course,” he smiled charmingly. “You know I'll always wait for you.”

A pretty blush stained her cheeks, and she bent to make a fuss of Rusty. “Maybe next time I should make you wait a little longer, keep you in suspense.”

Garreth slapped a hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. “Don't be cruel, MC. It's the highlight of Rusty's day greeting you with a happy, wagging tail. How could you do it to him? Look how pleased he is now that you're here! You should come earlier so he gets to have longer with you before you have to return.”

She lifted her gaze to his, her blush deepening into a glorious red as her gorgeous eyes narrowed. “Don't use Rusty as a tool to flirt with me, Garreth Weasley. Rusty is innocent and such a good boy.”

“Hey, I'm a good boy, too,” Garreth said. He held out his tin. “I'll even share my sandwich with you to prove it.”

Ignoring the hopeful gaze of his beloved dog, who he'd just told that his lunch was off limits, Garreth held the tin up as MC took a peek at his sandwich.

“Maybe just a little bite,” she said, lifting the sandwich from the tin.

As she sat on the log beside him, Rusty still trying to get her attention at their feet, Garreth gave her a warm smile. She smiled back around the sandwich, nudging her shoulder against his as she took a delicate bite.

“Don't look at me like that,” she said, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed.

“Like what?” He lifted an eyebrow playfully.

“You know very well what I mean.” She was blushing again. He did love it when he made her blush.

“I've told you before,” he said, reaching to take hold of the end of her braid, the silken strands of her hair curling perfectly around his fingertips. “I will never stop looking at you like that, not even after you turn old and grey. My eyes were made to look at you that way, MC.”

She shook her head, and his smile only widened as he tugged teasingly at her braid until she was leaning towards him. He met her gaze and brushed his fingers lightly under her chin.

“I am going to marry you one day, MC,” he said confidently. “And then you won't need to hike the mile long trail here to see Rusty everyday, you can live here at the farm. With me.”

“You've been saying you're going to marry me since we were ten, Garreth,” she said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Over ten years of just assuming I'll be your wife. That's not a proposal.”

He smiled and let her go, picking up his share of his half eaten sandwich. “You will, MC. I'm going to marry you, and we'll have loads of ginger babies together. You'll see.”

She laughed and gave him a shove. “What if someone else asks me first? I'm an eligible catch, I'll have you know. My father is a respectable shopkeeper, and I can cook and sew, too.”

“Like who?” He asked, sitting up straighter.

“Mr Turner from the post office hinted about escorting me to the summer barn dance. Maybe he will get down on one knee and ask me to be his bride.”

Garreth screwed his nose up. “Seriously? Tight arsed Turner? You've got to be joking. The bloke is so stiff he squeaks when he walks! What kind of lover would he be between the sheets?”

“Garreth!” She gasped, her hands flying to her face as even her neck flushed scarlet. “That's hardly appropriate conversation material.”

Garreth’s green eyes flashed mischievously as he looked at her, imagining how soft her skin would feel under his palms, how delicious those lips would feel against his own.

“Don't tell me you haven't thought about it,” he said softly, his voice low and raw in his throat.

Their gazes locked, and he could see the way her breaths had quickened, her chest rising and falling quickly under her blouse. “You are a free spirited young woman with fire in her soul. You're going to want a man who can leave you utterly breathless, a man who knows what he has in his arms when he holds you.”

Her eyes widened, her pupils dark and flickering with something that lifted the hope in his heart. “And you think you are the man fit for that challenge, do you?”

He smiled, confident and cheeky. “Come to the summer dance with me and find out.”

“Are you asking me to be your date, Garreth Weasley?”

“I am, and you can't say no either,” he said.

It was her turn to lift an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Rusty would be completely heartbroken if you turned me down, and you wouldn't want that now, would you?”

As if on cue, and totally planned, Rusty leant his head against her thigh, looking up at her with those beautiful, brown eyes.

“See?” Garreth scratched behind Rusty's ear again, his arm brushing against the warmth of her thigh.

He had made no secret of it. He wanted her. But, his silly teasing and playful flirting always seemed to be nothing more than banter between them. He wanted the real thing. He'd marry her tomorrow if she would have him.

MC glanced down at Rusty, stroking his soft fur before looking at Garreth. “Alright, you've got yourself a date to the summer dance,” she said, then held up a finger as his mouth split into a wide grin. “But, it needs to be a proper date. No silly jokes, and you definitely need to wear something smart. You can pick me up and escort me like a proper suitor.”

“I wouldn't dare expect anything less,” he said, his heart soaring.

….*....

Her arm was linked through his as they walked through the village, the sunset a glorious blend of pinks and gold across the sky, the hues reflected in the sparkle of her eyes. MC looked like an absolute dream in her pale blue dress, her hair pinned back from her face, with a waterfall of curling locks tumbling down her back. His chest swelled with pride that she was on his arm, and he couldn't wait to escort her to the dance.

They paused near the gated entrance of the old manor house, the sounds of music drifting across from the barn. Garreth patted a hand to his chest nervously. “So, will I do?”

He'd taken great care in bathing and attempting to tame his fiery locks, dressed in his best trousers and boots, his white shirt impeccably clean against the moss green of his waistcoat. He had even adorned his outfit with a plaid dickie bow, and he was sure he looked the part, but he wanted to hear her say it.

Her eyes took in his clothes, a smile teasing her lips. When she met his gaze, he felt the familiar warmth in his chest that came from just being in her presence.

“You look very smart,” she said, her fingers smoothing down the front of his waistcoat, making his cheeks warm. “Consider me impressed.”

“I should hope so,” he grinned. “I've got to look the part, escorting the prettiest girl in the village. That Mr Turner best be keeping his distance, that's all I will say.”

Enjoying the sound of her chuckle, they entered the barn to be greeted by the lively music coming from the band at the far end. Bales of straw had been set out for seating, along with wooden plank tables, ribbons, and colourful bunting, adding cheer to the space. Dancers were already twirling on the dance floor, but Garreth led MC towards a makeshift bar area and got them two mugs of ale. Taking a sip, he licked his lips, and a crease appeared on his brow.

“It’s no Butterbeer, but it will do,” he smirked. “I shall have to take you on a date to Hogsmeade, or even Diagon Alley in London, and show you some wizarding hospitality.”

MC lifted an eyebrow as she sipped at her beer. “You are fairly confident of a second date, then?”

Drawing on all his Gryffindor bravery, he lifted a hand up to her face, his thumb grazing gently along her cheekbone. “My plan is to sweep you off your feet, and take you on many, many more dates after this.”

Her blush was instant, and she couldn’t look any more beautiful. He could kiss her right now, but he held back, assuming the role of gentleman as they finished up their drinks and he led her out to the dancefloor.

Not one for fancy airs and graces, he felt a flutter of insecurity at first as they joined the other couples moving about the floor. He was a more practical man, used to using his hands for more physical tasks, his feet more inclined to be in work boots planted firmly in mud. Once he had his hand on her waist, though, the rest just seemed to flow instantly, his gaze transfixed on only her as they began to sway along to the beat. Her smile was for him, and it felt all together too marvellous to be holding her close like this.

After a few more dances, his pulse racing and his face hot, Garreth was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. The lively steps were making them work up a sweat, but it was great fun, and he was sure to keep a firm hold on her as the songs ended and another began lest anyone had ideas about cutting in and stealing her away. As they skipped and twirled, her hair fanned out around her, the skirt of her dress billowing against his legs. Holding her gaze as he pulled her in close again, he splayed his hand at the small of her back, the ridges of her corset under her dress pressed against his palm. He felt the fire in his blood and didn’t even try to hold it back from his eyes.

Her mouth was parted as she breathed hard through the dance. The pink of her cheeks and the spark in her eyes felt heightened as they held the look between them. This was a different kind of magic, as old as time itself, and she was the only one who made him feel it. He cared little for the snobbish views regarding blood purity. She may be a Muggle born, but she had the power to charm him. The words in his heart danced and swirled along with him, threatening to escape and spill from his lips. Every thud of life in his body was all for her.

If he pressed his fingertips to the pulse at her throat, would it throb and flutter as hard and fast as his did right now. Could she feel the maddening rush of desire that warmed his blood as a match in her own veins?

For years, he had loved her with his eyes, in the gentle teasing and bold suggestions. His playful demands that he would marry her one day were honest truths, a reality he yearned for, and maybe, just maybe, he would be bold enough to make it a serious declaration. How do you make it special, though? She had hinted at wanting a proper proposal, and he knew it was tradition to place oneself on one knee and present a ring. Not normally one for stiff formality, he wondered if perhaps something a little different might be in order, but nothing too over the top lest it make her decline.

“Shall we get some more drinks?” She asked breathlessly, her fingers holding on tightly to his shoulder. Her flush had darkened, her eyes dipping to his mouth and then back to his eyes as though her heated blood really did answer in kind. “I’m feeling rather parched.”

Blinking away his grand ideas of making her his wife, Garreth nodded, his mouth slipping easily into a warm smile as he slowed their steps. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said with a bow over her hand.

“Such courtly behaviour, Garreth,” she chuckled, her eyes dancing as he straightened. “Who are you, really, and what have you done with the real Garreth?”

“I’m offended!” He said with a little cry of mocking disbelief. “I am the epitome of gentlemanly behaviour at all times.”

She leant in closer, her arm linked through his, the softness of her against him making his blood heat to new levels. As she tilted her head to speak nearer to his ear, he felt his throat close against the mad flutter in his chest. “Does a gentleman hint at what he can do to a free spirited woman once he has her in his arms? I believe you mentioned such things as leaving her breathless?”

Eyes widening in surprise, he turned his head to meet her gaze, their faces achingly close, tempting him even further to dare risking a taste. “You remembered what I said,” he murmured.

“Every word,” she breathed, her eyes darkening. He could have sworn she moved closer, his tongue sliding to wet his lower lip at the promise of claiming the softness of her plush mouth.

“I meant it, you know,” he said softly, his gaze devouring her face with utter devotion. “I know exactly what I would be holding in my arms, and I would endeavour to show you just how much that would mean, leaving you completely breathless in the process.”

Her smirk was devilishly naughty, the spark in her eyes spellbinding. “Would you like to deflower me, Garreth Weasley?”

His teeth caught at his lower lip, sinking down into the soft flesh at the images those words presented to him, barely swallowing back the desperate whimper that threatened to escape his throat. Barely even registering that they were standing in a barn full of their fellow villagers making merry, his hand tightened at her waist as his eyes burned into hers.

“In the most gentlemanly way possible, I would very much like to ravish you,” he said, his voice thick with loaded desire.

Their gazes locked in a blistering promise of a passion unmet, Garreth heard his heart thundering in his ears. This was more than bodily urges. This was soul defining, surely. Poets wrote about this kind of feeling, and whilst he was certain he could never put it all into words, with his very hands, he would make every endeavour to show her.

“Garreth!” A sharp tug on his sleeve joined the urgent bark of his name, jarring Garreth from the moment, his eyes blinking in dazed surprise as he turned to see his youngest brother beside him. “Bloody hell, Garreth. I've been calling your name across the room. Are you deaf?”

“What?” Garreth frowned, trying to comprehend why his brother was here, his shirt almost as filthy as his face, his ginger mop of hair wild with a leaf caught in the curls. “What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Hector?”

Hector turned his gaze towards MC, his lips twitching into a cheeky smirk. “Alright, MC? You're looking delectably pretty this evening.”

“Leave it out, you little rascal,” Garreth said, rolling his eyes and giving Hector his full attention. “What are you doing here? You look like you've crawled through a hedge backwards.”

“That's because I have,” Hector said, his cheeky smirk still in place. “That's why I'm here. Ma has got her wand in a right ole knot. The baby goats escaped, and they ransacked her vegetable patch. She cast out a hex or two, and now one of them has got pink fur.”

Garreth’s eyes widened. “She did what? Godric’s balls.”

He groaned and put a hand to his head. Those mischievous little goats had been the bane of his existence since their birth, escaping and chewing their way through all sorts. If he didn't have such a massive soft spot for them, he would have jinxed them all himself by now.

“Did you manage to catch them all?” MC asked, a worried crease appearing in her brow. She, too, had been on the receiving end of the little scamps during her times helping out at the farm.

Hector shook his head. “Nope, there's still three on the loose, so I thought I'd better fetch you, Garreth. They like you. One of those little bastards bit me on the finger, so it did.”

“Oi, language,” Garreth scolded, holding a stern finger up. “There are ladies present.”

At Hector's rueful smirk, he got hold of his arm with the intent of marching his rapscallion of a brother out of the barn. Glancing at MC, he caught her amused look and shook his head, fighting back his own grin.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, his hand catching hold of hers. “This is going to spoil the evening. I need to go back and help round up these baby goats.”

“And I am coming with you,” she said firmly, grasping his hand and delicately lifting the hem of her skirts. “It sounds like you're going to need my help.”

In the seconds he had spare to stare at her before they all began to head for the door, he was reminded yet again at how fiercely his heart beat for her.

….*....

With his wand between his teeth, the glow of his Lumos spell illuminating his face and the ground before him, Garreth launched forwards and wrapped his hands around the middle of the baby goat munching on one of his mother's rose bushes. The goat bleated in protest, and Rusty the dog came scampering over, tail wagging excitedly.

“Gotcha, you little rascal,” Garreth mumbled around the wood of his wand, tucking the little goat under his arm as he turned towards the barn.

The goat was trying to nibble his now wonky bow tie, his curls a ruffled mess from the searching in bushes. The evening had not turned out how he had been expecting. Visions of romantic dancing and maybe even a cheeky kiss were fading from his thoughts as he entered the lamp lit barn.

MC was at the goat pen in the far corner, bending over the now mended fencing as she made a fuss of the mother goat. He could hear the soft murmur of her voice as she scratched under the chin of the beast, seemingly uncaring about the smears of dirt on the skirts of her pretty dress and the mud on her shoes. She had not been afraid to chase after the escaped kids in her fine clothing, traipsing through mud and greenery in her attempts to retrieve them.

“I've got another one,” Garreth said, returning his wand to his pocket as he lifted a very wriggly kid over the fence.

“One more to go, then,” MC said with a sigh. She moved closer and reached out for his hand. “Come on, let's go catch her together.”

“Her?” Garreth asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes, it's Blossom that's missing. The one with the patch on her tummy that looks like a heart,” MC said, holding tight to his hand as they walked back out into the dark of the yard.

“You've named them?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You do know they are to be sold soon, don't you?”

“They still need names, Garreth,” she insisted with a smile. “How can they not have names when they have such funny, little personalities.”

He paused in his step to look at her, a soft look on his face. “Considering how these little personalities have wrecked our plans for the evening, you are being rather affectionate towards them.”

Her smile shifted into something rather playful as she stepped even closer, her free hand lifting to adjust his bow tie. “We only have one more naughty kid to catch, Garreth,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet with his. “And the night isn't over yet.”

A little flutter erupted in his tummy, warm and pleasing as his mouth tilted upwards into a grin. “That sounds promising.”

The bleating of the remaining escaped goat sounded across the yard, coming from where the old stables stood against a backdrop of trees. Once again, a mischievous goat was determined to interrupt any moment that had the potential to turn interesting with MC.

Turning to try and catch a glimpse of Blossom was rather pointless in the dark, and Garreth slipped his wand from his pocket again. This was the last goat to catch, and then he could have MC all to himself.

“Hold that promising thought of yours,” he smirked and held up his wand. “Lumos!”

Still holding hands, they crept swiftly across the yard, the light from his wand illuminating the darkness and pressing back the shadows as they approached the stables, their feet squelching in the mud. Rusty was already snuffling ahead of them, nose down and tail up until he caught a scent. With an excited bark, he was off, scampering around the corner of the old, brick building, and the little goat came bounding out of the darkness.

“There you are, Blossom!” MC said, holding out a hand. Blossom had other ideas, though, and skipped sideways in a move that was almost like a dance. “Oh, you little rascal!”

MC lunged to catch her, missed, and slid on the mud. Her startled cry pierced the night as she grabbed at Garreth, catching his arm so forcefully that he was yanked forward in a sudden lurch. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, the arc of light as his wand arm swung, his booted feet sliding out from under him. In his efforts to be a gentleman and keep MC upright, he took the fall, hitting the sticky mud with a splat.

“Oof!”

“My goodness, are you alright?” MC said, holding her hands to her mouth as she looked down at him, Rusty bouncing eagerly forward and shoving his wet nose right into Garreth’s face.

Somehow, Garreth had managed to keep his wand arm up in the air, his spell still lit at the tip. His other hand was buried in the mud, his face a grimace of disgust as he shifted into a sitting position.

“I'm alright. Easy, boy, easy,” he said, attempting to calm Rusty, who thought this was an impromptu play session.

It was at this point that Blossom the baby goat decided to take a flying leap into the air in all the excitement, and she jumped right onto Garreth’s broad shoulders, head butting him in the process. His grunt of pain at the smack of her hooves and head was lost in the bellow of laughter that erupted from MC's mouth. She was bent over with it, her eyes sparkling in the light from his wand as he struggled to get Blossom down into his lap with one arm.

“Oi, don't laugh! A little help here?” He muttered through a smirk, slipping in the mud as he tried to keep hold of Blossom and keep his wand aloft.

“Of course…I'm s-sorry,” MC gasped around her chuckles, holding out her arms to take little Blossom. “Here, let me…”

Scooping an excitable Blossom into her arms, coating her dress in fresh smears of mud, MC quietened her chuckles as Garreth got to his feet. He tried to shake the mud from his hand, his eyes roaming over his ruined shirt and trousers.

“Well, there goes my nice, smart shirt. Bloody hell, I can't go back to the dance looking like this,” he grumbled, his gaze moving to MC. “And look at your lovely dress.”

“Could you use one of your fancy spells to make it all better?” She asked.

He could. In fact, he knew just the spell, and she had always been so delighted with the magic that he could do. It had always been his pleasure and a wonderful excuse to keep her near him, to show her the spells he could do. Transfiguration objects would make her clap her hands excitedly, bringing him objects to switch up into something new. The best one was charming magical delights to impress her like little birds or butterflies. It was worth it just to see that glow of wonder in her eyes, her awe, and praise for him, making his chest swell and his dreams would fill with hope.

Standing there in the mud with her, watching her make a fuss over the naughty goat, he realised that he didn't need to make all the mud disappear. None of this bothered her. Not the escaped goats putting a stop to their dance, not the running around in the dark trying to catch them, and definitely not the mud marking her skirts. She loved this place almost as much as he did. It was home, and this was where they belonged. She had to feel it, too.

“You look beautiful even when you're covered in mud, MC,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “I'd even go so far as to say you are especially beautiful when you're all grubby and getting stuck in with the work around here. We are lucky to have you.”

Her smile was particularly lovely as she petted Blossom on the head, the goat trying to nibble on the lace at the front of her dress, and he was certain that she was blushing. Instead of a cheeky come back as she was wont to do, her words were soft, her eyes full of a deeper meaning. “I love it here, Garreth. I always have. I'm happy to be able to help out.”

She loved it here. Surely, it was meant to be.

“Let's get Blossom back to her family,” he said with a chuffed smile, nodding towards the barn, that warm feeling spreading behind his chest at her words. “And like you said, the night isn't over yet.”

….*....

With the goats all now safely in their pen, Garreth stood with his hands in his pockets and a rueful smile on his face as MC approached him under the flickering lamp of the barn. She smirked as she attempted to straighten his dickie bow again, her gaze taking in the mud staining his shirt and waistcoat.

“Oh, Garreth, you even have little hoofprints on your shoulder,” she chuckled, brushing against it with her fingertips.

“All part of the farm life,” he said, tilting his head as he gazed upon her. “I'm just sorry it ruined the summer dance for you. I'm sure if Mr Turner had escorted you, there would have been no goat drama, and you would likely still be dancing right now.”

A flutter of insecurity began to tap dance behind his ribs. MC was a rare one, and he did not blame other gentlemen for their interest in her hand. Despite knowing her since they were young children, this did not place any right or claim on her, no matter how he longed for it. He was cheeky and flirty. He made bold statements about her being his wife one day, but her heart was her own to give.

He was just a farm boy with a gift for magical spells and the odd calamity. Was he enough for her?

As she stared up at him, the glow of the lamp reflecting in her pretty eyes, he searched for the disappointment in her gaze but found only warmth.

“I'd rather be here with you in the mud and chaos, than dancing with a man who doesn't understand me,” she said softly. Her face moved subtly closer, her hand still resting on his shoulder. “What you said to me the other day about needing someone who knew what they had when they held you. You were right. Mr Turner may be polite, and he is most gracious when he speaks to me, but his eyes do not hold the power that makes me forget how to breathe.”

The pace of Garreth’s heartbeat began to pick up, a hand leaving his pocket to reach for her waist. Her warmth came even closer at the urging of his touch. “Tell me more about such eyes,” he murmured, swallowing thickly against the desire building within.

“Eyes like a forest in spring,” she said, her fingers moving to touch against his throat, her caress like fire as she slid them tentatively up towards his jaw, unravelling the edges of his control. “Eyes that make my skin come alive when they look at me, eyes filled with a fire that I am certain nobody else sees but me. I could get lost in those eyes if I wanted to, I'm sure of it.”

She was so close now, he could see the myriad of flecks in the pools of her eyes, and he figured he knew what she meant. “Do you want to get lost in them?” He asked, the underlying tension in his words as dark and smooth as honey.

The air felt molten and ablaze between them, all his nerve endings stretched taut with the need to feel every inch of her pressed against him.

“I think I already am,” she whispered.

Endless day dreams and hours spent picturing how it would be to kiss MC, and now that his lips were finally pressed against hers, the real thing surpassed anything his mind could have painted. Softer than he had dared believed, her mouth sealed against his in a first kiss that had his toes curling inside his muddied boots.

It wasn't too heated, and yet his blood was ablaze, the gentle pressure just enough to show the desire behind it. The shuddering breath he managed to pull into his lungs took some of the tension from his frame as he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes seeking the comfort of her gaze.

“Dance with me once more,” he said, his voice laden with the need of her.

“I offer you kisses, and you want to dance?”

Her eyes sparkled with a mischief he recognised, but Garreth merely smirked and took out his wand. In the corner near where they stood was a collection of farm tools, brooms and a rake, a shovel, that kind of thing. With a few careful wrist movements, his lips murmuring a charm learnt in a lesson taught by his Aunt Matilda, those practical and useful implements lifted up from the ground. In graceful twists and turns, imbued with the power of the magic that ran through his veins, Garreth performed the transfiguration spell to make a quartet of string instruments.

“Garreth!” MC exclaimed, her hands coming up to her mouth as the instruments began to play a rather charming piece of music.

Eyeing the look of wonder on her face, his smile was rather pleased as he slid a hand across her lower back and urged her closer towards him. “Not bad, hmm? If we can’t be at the dance, then we shall bring the dance to us.”

Taking a hand and holding her more firmly, his fingers splayed at her back in a manner that suggested she was his alone. He spun them about in a smooth turn of dance.

“Show off,” she admonished playfully, letting him lead her across the floor of the barn.

It didn't matter that they were plastered in mud or that they were dancing in the barn with a family of goats for company beside hundreds of hay bales stacked ready for winter. He was here with her, and she was in his arms, her smiling face turned up to him with a warm glow in her eyes.

“I may be a show off, but only for you,” he said with a wink. Swallowing down his nerves, he adjusted his grip at her waist. It was time to summon the bravery his school house was known for. “Anything for the girl I love.”

He heard the swift intake of her breath, her feet stilling amongst the loose straw strands scattered across the floor. The music played on as they stood and stared at each other, a hot blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Do you mean that, Garreth?” Her voice was breathless, her eyes wide. “You love me?”

“I do,” he nodded, his throat closing up with emotion. “I love you.”

Her gaze dipped to his chest, her eyes shifting from side to side, a kaleidoscope of emotions dancing across her features. Panic took wing within him, his fingers gripping tightly at the back of her dress. Had he spoken out of turn? Was it too much? Perhaps he had read the look in her eyes all wrong.

When she finally lifted her gaze back to him, the tell tale shine of unshed tears glittered in her eyes. “But…I'm just a normal girl, Garreth,” she said, shaking her head as though she didn't understand. “I don't have magic. I am one of those Muggle people in your world. Why would you want me when you could have someone who can conjure fire, or…or wonderful instruments to make music. I'm nothing special…”

“You are everything!” He declared, shifting his hands to cup her beautiful face, his heart squeezing at her fears. “You are all that I want. Nobody else could ever come close. Another girl could have all the magic in the world, and I would still choose you. Please, don't ever think that you are not good enough, MC. I love you all the way from your bonnie hair to your muddy shoes.”

Her lips trembled, and a tear escaped, streaking down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb, caressing the softness of her skin as he felt the burn behind his own eyes.

“I'm probably being a sentimental fool here, but it's the truth,” he said, resting his forehead against hers and taking a shaky breath. “Please, say something.”

A broken whimper left her mouth as she wrapped her arms about him, her fingers clutching at the back of his waistcoat as she pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I love you, too,” she said, the words like a balm against his lips.

Like a dam released, he pressed kisses to her mouth, her nose, his lips raining his affections across her cheeks until she was giggling in his arms. Hearing her speak those words made his heart skip a beat, his emotions threatening to spill over, and so he used his lips to express himself rather than make a fool of himself and speak. He feared his voice would crack, and the burn in his eyes would turn into real tears.

“Are you trying to kiss me everywhere?” She laughed, breaking through the ecstatic tension in his chest.

His eyebrows lifted with cheeky intrigue, his fingers ghosting along the lacy neckline of her dress near her collarbone. Humour and flirting were definitely more in his comfort zone. “Hmm, that depends on how literally you mean everywhere.”

Her cheeks reddened, and she gasped, but her smile turned almost as mischievous as his own. “This sounds most improper, Garreth,” she teased. “Perhaps a hint at how a gentleman may leave a girl breathless.”

“Oh, it's wonderfully improper. Would you like a demonstration, my lady?”

“Garreth! Not in front of the kids.” She nodded her head towards the goat pen across the barn, her mouth tilting into a teasing smile.

Glancing from the mischievous goats to the girl of his heart, Garreth gave her his most wicked smile. “But of course, my love,” he said, taking her hand. “Right this way.”

Heart hammering with excited anticipation, Garreth tugged MC away from the goats as he ended the music with a flick of his wrist, leading her around the huge stacks of hay bales to a darker, more secluded part of the barn. He let her go to shift a few of the heavy bales, uncaring about dirtying clothes already ruined, until he had a suitable spot in which to render his girl breathless. Circling her within his arms again, he kissed her gently, searching her eyes for answers. “Only on your word, MC.”

“You have it,” she nodded.

As their kisses became longer and more heated, his blood fired to a burn that made him giddy. He lifted her off her feet and placed her down on the sweet-smelling bales. Deepening the kiss, he braced himself on his elbows, trying not to crush her with his weight. Her body arched towards him, the press of her curves making him ache with such fierceness.

“Tell me you feel this, too,” he said, his mouth devouring the tender flesh of her throat.

“Like fire,” she gasped.

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair pooled around her head in a tumble of glossy curls, and her skin was addictive against his tongue. His fingers worked at the fastening of her dress, pulling the sleeves from her shoulders to expose more soft flesh to explore. Her gasping, tortured breaths filled his ears as he mouthed along her collar bone, dragging the dress downwards before reaching to pull at the laces of her corset. Crossing the line from friends to lovers had been his dream, his hope, and now it was his reality.

As her nimble fingers worked on the buttons of his waistcoat, his gaze blazed a trail over her chest, confined within the corset that he was eager to be rid of. Bending down, his tongue slid delicately along the plump flesh, pushed upwards over the top of the constrictive bindings, groaning at the promise of what his hands longed to hold. But, the laces were being stubborn, his fingers tugging with an urgency that made her chuckle.

“Rather impatient, aren’t you?” She teased, cupping his face.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” he groaned, grabbing her waist with the intention of spinning her around. “Roll over, darling. I refuse to be outwitted by a corset. I have my heart set on burying myself in the delights hidden underneath, so this naughty piece of lace and bone is about to meet my barn floor.”

Her laughter brought a smirk to his face as he rolled her atop the bales, pulling the laces free until the corset loosened. He immediately slipped it from her body, discarding it so he could smooth his hands over the red indents the restrictive garment had made on her skin. She was like satin and silk, so sensual under the touch of his work-roughened hands.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, bending to press soft kisses along the length of her spine. Urging her upright, she sighed as she pressed up against his bare chest, her head falling back as he slid her hair aside to suck gently at the base of her neck. “Let me feel you,” he whispered.

Fingers teasing around her ribs, he peered over her shoulder as his hands sought out the full weight of her breasts. Divinely soft, he cupped them both, closing his eyes for a few seconds to savour the feel of her against his palms. She turned her head, her fingers delving into the thick curls of his hair. As he met her heated stare, the glaze of desire he could see there had him claiming her mouth in another hungry kiss.

Emboldened by her low moan, he let one hand drift over the softness of her stomach, caressing with a trembling touch before he dared to delve lower. Her dress was bunched about her thighs, his fingers sliding easily under the waistband of her underwear. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingertips brushed through the thatch of her hair, but she shuffled her knees further apart to allow him access.

“Are you sure?” He asked, needing to know that she wanted this as much as he did.

“Please…”

His fingers caressed through the heated slick of her most intimate flesh, and Garreth felt his cheeks burn at her willingness, her soft moans driving him to explore her further, teasing at her entrance before sliding a finger into the silken heat that awaited.

“Gods…” The word left his mouth in a breath of awe. She felt exquisite, and his arousal strained against the confines of his undershorts, molten fire gathering deep in his loins.

As her hips rolled seductively against his hand, he worked to a rhythm, slowly stretching her until he could add a second finger. The tightness of her inner walls posed the idea that he might need to take care when entering himself into her. He ached for it, longed to make her his knowing he would be the first to do so, but he did not want to hurt her. For now, he concentrated his efforts on pleasing her, seeking out the tiny pearl of her pleasure.

Savouring every sound that slipped from her mouth, he whispered in her ear, pressing kisses along her jaw, and he kept a warm hand around her breast. Watching her writhe with pleasure, the skin of her throat darkening with a rosy blush as her whimpers intensified, he coaxed her ever closer to the peak.

“Garreth…I’m close,” she panted, her fingers gripping into his hair with an eye watering grasp.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmured into her ear. “Relax, give in to it. I won’t let you go.”

Groaning at the delicious pressure of her peachy backside against his arousal, he felt the quiver of her muscles, her hips bearing down as her body surrendered to the fire. He slowed his fingers, coaxing her along the crest of the wave, watching her through his lidded gaze as she climaxed in his arms. Her moans were beautiful, but nothing could be more satisfying than hearing his name whispered through her lips like some kind of prayer. Bringing her to this point gave him a sense of pride, the love he felt for her swelling behind his ribs as he shifted her around so he could hold her against him.

Burying her face into his neck, she clung to him, the heat of her laboured breaths against his skin urging him to stroke his hands up and down her back as she came back to herself. They whispered their words of love to each other, taking a moment to pause and reflect before she cupped his face in her hands. Her gaze was one of hazy bliss, cheeks flushed, and a gorgeous smile on her lips.

“You were good on your word, Garreth Weasley,” she said, her thumb sliding temptingly close to his mouth. “Consider me thoroughly breathless.”

“Oh, but I am not done yet,” he said, capturing her thumb with his lips and sucking gently. She watched him do it, her eyes darkening again, lips parted.

“Of course,” she murmured softly, her eyes lifting to stare into his. “I had always secretly hoped that you would be the one to take me for the first time. I dared to dream of it. All those times you would smile and say that I would be your wife one day, I stored those moments in my secret heart and feared that another, a beautiful and talented witch, would come and steal you away.”

“Never,” he insisted, holding her closer, pressing the warmth of her flesh even closer against his. He kissed her on the mouth, his lips lingering before speaking again. “I meant every word, you know. I may smile and tease you, but there was always truth behind those words.”

Taking her hand, he pressed it against where his heart thudded against his chest, more serious than he had ever been in his life. “Feel that? Every beat is for you. I want you to be my girl, my wife. I want you to be there when I wake up every day. Marry me, MC.”

“A thousand times, yes!” Her smile was dazzling, and she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. She didn’t even hesitate with her answer, and he squeezed her back, hardly daring to believe it.

All the grand gestures and speeches he had mulled over didn’t seem to matter, the charade of going down on one knee, the stiff formalities all forsaken. They were half naked in his barn, bits of hay stuck to them, their clothes filthy. But, it didn’t matter. This was their truth, and he had spoken with his heart, and by some miracle, she had said yes.

Capturing her mouth in a long, fierce kiss, he cupped her face, a grin appearing as his verdant eyes twinkled. “You will be my Mrs Weasley. I can’t wait to see ole ‘stiff upper lip’ Turner’s face when I call you that.”

“It’s not a competition, Garreth,” she chided gently, playing with a lock of his hair.

“Oh, but it is, my love. You are the prettiest girl in the village, and you are all mine. That makes me a winner. Just wait until I tell Rusty he is going to be so happy about this!”

MC chuckled and leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his as she bit down on her lower lip. “As much as I adore that pup of yours, he is going to have to wait. We have unfinished business to attend to.”

“We do?” Feigning innocence, he waited, watching and loving the fire igniting in her gaze.

A breathless moan escaped his throat as her hand slid down to palm against the front of his trousers, his arousal waking from its semi-slumber at her touch. Her lips grazed against his in a teasing kiss, her eyes locked with his. Gods, she made his blood burn.

“Make me yours,” she whispered against his mouth.

Laying naked on the hay bales beneath him, her legs parted to welcome him, MC looked like perfection. His eyes blazed with his desire as he admired the soft curves, his fingers stroking against her glistening and inviting entrance as he prepared her for him. Taking his time to savour the intimacy and to ensure her comfort, Garreth pressed himself into her slick heat, biting his lip against his urgent need. So tight and hot, she squeezed around him, his cock throbbing as he slid deeper.

At her wince, he paused, but her fingers bit into his hips, urging him to push. “Don’t stop,” she gasped, glancing down to where they were joined.

Moving slowly at first, the pleasure began to build until his eyes became glazed, liquid fire pooling with blissful ecstasy at the base of his spine. Her little hands clung to him, her grip fierce and hungry, her head thrown back, and lips parted as she moaned beneath him. He couldn’t get enough. It was erotic and sensual. It was blowing his mind. The feel of her was driving him insane and his climax was imminent.

Looking down at where he thrust into her, watching as he filled her over and over, his hips snapped harder. The slap of their flesh punctuated his rhythm, the harshness of his breaths becoming cries of ecstasy as the heat exploded in his lower back, his hips slamming forward until he was fully sheathed within her tight heat. Eyes closed as the pulsing wave of his orgasm overcame him, he shuddered as thick spurts of release spilt deep inside of her. Behind his eyelids, the erotic image of MC’s flushed and naked body seared through his thoughts.

As the wave of his orgasm began to ebb, he gently rolled his hips, grinding against her as though pressing his seed even deeper inside. They were not married yet, but he did not regret filling her up. In fact, it was incredibly arousing to think of it. Gasping air into his lungs, he opened his eyes as he felt her hands urging him closer. Her smile was soft, her fingers gentle as she smoothed his hair back from his sweat slicked forehead.

“I love you,” she whispered, her mouth pressing delicate kisses on his flushed face.

A subtle movement of her hips made him moan softly, the sensitivity of her walls flexing around his very happy cock sending shivers up his spine. Seeking out her mouth for a kiss filled with longing, he realised that it was possible to fall in love even deeper than before. Staring into those eyes, he had certainly got lost in them, lost in her, and now she would be his forever.

Their future lay ahead, living here on the family farm where they could raise their children. Perhaps they would be magical, like him, and they would go to Hogwarts. Even if they weren’t, and they were like their mother, he wouldn’t mind. They would be Weasleys, they would be loved, and that was a wonderful and beautiful thought.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #garreth weasley #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley x mc #weasley wednesday #blueraineshadows

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neonghostlights · 4 months

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Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Actress!Reader (best friends to lovers-slow burn)

★ Series Summary: It’s the ‘90s in LA and you and your best friend Eddie have both made it big. The following is a series of Interviews, News Reports and One Shots showing you and Eddie’s story throughout the years.

★Chapter Summary: Eddie takes reader to a special place.

★Warnings: Mention of readers injuries, mention of alcohol, mention of abuse, hospitals, 18+ only, minors DNI

series masterlist

Chapter Twelve: Just Me And You

November 1992

There should be laws against the paparazzi and journalists swarming the hospital like this. They were like little ants all fighting over the last crumb of bread.

You tucked your extra large and dark sunglasses against your face tightly to try to prevent them from running down your nose.

Eddie had worked this all out, planned it so precisely so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything else besides healing.

The doctors used the word lucky more times than you could count. You were sick and tired of the word. If you heard the word uttered between asking you to take a deep breath while a cold stethoscope pressed to your back you thought you might go insane.

You didn’t feel lucky. Margie had stopped by long enough to let you know that the tabloids were going insane, just like you had thought. Eddie walked back in the room from the bathroom to immediately kick her out.

He wasn’t very happy with her right now either.

Eddie stayed for the whole week you were in the hospital, only going far enough to shower in the bathroom adjoining your room when you convinced him that he stunk enough to make you pass out again.

Surprisingly, you didn’t speak much about your time apart before you were discharged from the hospital. You didn’t have much time to talk when you were constantly napping, talking to doctors, or being whisked away for test after test and scan after scan.

You were a little thankful for the lack of sharing. You weren’t ready to hear how Eddie’s life had been all sunshine and rainbows since you had last spoken. You weren’t ready to hear how his life had been amazing without you, yet your life fell apart the second he left it.

You needed Eddie more than he needed you.

You had a broken rib that ached with every breath now that you were off the pain medications, lacerations on your face and your arms from broken glass, and bruises scattered across your body both from before and during the accident.

It has been a week and you could still make out the handprints in your skin, feel them there with every movement.

You leaned against the hospital window, peeking through the blinds as you stared down at the shit show below you. Paparazzi and fans swarmed the street, hoping to catch a glimpse at either you or Eddie.

It had somehow leaked which hospital you were at and when you were being discharged. Eddie had some guys looking into it but you highly doubted you would find the source of the leak. There were too many people, too many hands involved in your situation to ever pin it on just one person.

There was a pink duffle bag packed on the bed full of some of the necessities needed during a week long hospital stay. Miles had dropped it by before he was ushered out of the room by Eddie and his security guards.

All of your belongings had been packed and shipped out of Collins house, awaiting a new home for them in storage.

Your clothes, and other things needed for wherever you and Eddie were going had already been shipped out and apparently waiting for you at your future destination.

You still didn’t know where you two were going. A private jet was waiting for you. Some place sacred that Eddie promised would hide you from the world waited for you.

You just needed to get out of this damn hospital in one piece.

“You ready to go?” Eddie asked as he hovered near the hospital room door. He had been busy all morning, planning your escape like you were breaking out of a high security prison.

You nodded once and he called for the security guards who were going to escort you both out of the hospital. You had been technically discharged for hours, having signed paperwork earlier that morning.

Eddie insisted that you ride in a wheelchair down to the car that was waiting for you. You argued, of course, insisting on walking but you both knew it would hurt and take too long so you had to give in and accept the ride from the intense looking security guard that pushed the wheelchair expertly down the hallways. The man was moving so fast that you were starting to get motion sickness as he whipped around the corners quickly.

They must have pulled some strings because the halls were empty except for the curious staff member who would peek their heads out of rooms and through curtains just to catch a glimpse of you going by.

You made it to the exit thankfully without incident.

“I’m going out first, then you two,” one of the security guards said. “We’re gonna move quickly.”

You had to keep yourself from laughing. You felt like you were being guarded like a precious diamond instead of a person who just happened to get herself into trouble.

But you had seen first hand what paparazzi and mobs were capable of.

The security guard opened the door, looking left then right before ushering you both through the opening.

Even with dark sunglasses on you still squinted. It had been days since you’d felt the sun on your skin and unfortunately it wasn’t something you were ready for.

Eddie waited for you to get into the car first and you hated to admit it took you longer to stand than you wanted to.

He hovered, a hand barely touching your back in case you needed him.

You were half way into the car, working to pull your self into the seat when you heard the camera shutter.

You froze, looking to the left to spot a woman with a camera peeking around the brick wall of the hospital building, camera posed on you.

“Fuck!” Eddie cursed and you scrambled despite your protesting body to throw yourself onto the seat and scoot over as much as possible for Eddie to jump in beside you.

Once the door shut the driver wasted no time peeling away with squealing tires like you and Eddie had just committed a crime, like there were millions of stolen dollars lined up in the pink duffle bag in the back.

The speed of the car reminded you too much of that night and you couldn’t help but shut your eyes, fingers digging into the leather seats tightly.

“You okay?” Eddie asked when he noticed how tense you were.

All you could do was shake your head and hold on for your life.

—

The plane ride was mostly silent.

Eddie had decided to leave you alone after asking if you were okay for the millionth time. He finally got the hint when you closed your eyes and pretended to sleep on the private jet.

You felt guilty for using this luxury when other people who had been involved in the accident hadn’t been so lucky.

You couldn’t let yourself think about it again or you were going to drive yourself insane.

You didn’t ask Eddie where you were going and he didn’t tell you. You let yourself enjoy the surprise, mind reeling with the possibilities.

The plane held just the two of you, the pilots and a flight attendant that really liked Eddie.

A lot.

She was practically in his lap as she waited on him.

“We have whiskey, wine, or even beer if that’s your taste,” she cooed, as she took it upon herself to lean over to adjust the seatbelt he had just unlatched.

“Water only. Please do not give me any alcohol at all.” He said in a low voice that you could barely hear.

She nodded, scurrying away as she went to get him what he wanted, probably expecting him to say something else.

You sighed and rested your head against the seat as you took a nap.

The plane touched down in the last place that you expected.

A sleepy little town in Rhode Island.

You sat up in your seat, seatbelt pulling as you felt your stomach drop during the landing.

“Rhode Island?” You asked Eddie making sure you heard the announcement correctly.

“Just trust me.”

Just trust me.

His words echoed in your ears as the car pulled up to the simple, one story beach house.

It was painted a light blue, lighter than the ocean before it. Large rocks rested around the porch. You could see yourself sitting out here, enjoying the waves as you read your book.

It was November and cold, not the perfect time to be at the beach but it was empty. The house we’d secluded, no neighbors around to see you.

The chauffeur helped Eddie carry your bags into the house. You swatted his hands away as he tried to help you up the steps.

The inside was even more beautiful than the outside. It was open with light colored floors that reminded you of the sand outside, large windows let in the light and you could feel the cold breeze blow through an open window in the kitchen. You went to shut it.

Eddie went through the house first, flipping on lights and setting your bags down.

“Shit,” you heard Eddie curse from the back of the house as you stood frozen in the living room.

You followed his voice, entering the room at the end of the hallway.

He stood in front of a king sized bed that was draped in a white comforter.

“What’s wrong?” You asked as he held his chin in his hand.

“There’s only one bed.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #rockstar!eddiemunson x actress!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie munson

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rouiyan · 10 months

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𝘞𝘌’𝘙𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘌𝘙𝘚 [ 𝘭.𝘮𝘬 ]

⧏ back to teaser || redirect to playlist ⧐

marks manages to land himself in a forty-two hour drive across the country with his archaeology major ex-girlfriend in the passenger seat. but for the duration of the whole ride, the only thing he can think about is that one twitter meme that states that “a majority of archeologists are women due to their natural ability to dig up the past.”

✧ photographer!mark lee x (fem.) archaeology major!reader ✧ exes to lovers, road trip au, referenced college au ✧ genres — fluff/angst, hurt/comfort ✧ word count — 25.2k

✧ disclaimers — profanity, mentions of food, legal (u.s.) alcohol consumption, they make out like once, emotional insecurity and vulnerability (i.e. several panic attacks, social anxiety), possible terminal illness (not of mcs), generational conflict, y/n cries a lot, mark sucks at parking

✧ caveat — this fictional plot is set in present-day america and does not accurately reflect the locations referenced. furthermore, this publication is not an endorsement of the brand or the product featured. all credit is given where it is due. (sources linked upon conclusion)

✧ author’s note — happy 24th birthday to my dear mark! note that the first scene is the exact same as the teaser, so if you've read that already, feel free to skip over! also note i half-assed the proofread so please let me know of any typos, plotholes, and other stupid stuff that i forgot to adjust. as for myself, you can catch a little update on the past two years of my life at the end of this fic so for now, enjoy!

「 DAY 00, 01:42 PM 」 — CUPID DABBLES IN BURNT TOAST

"oh, come on. i thought you were nicer than that!"

it's at times like these where mark is led to think that haechan only considers him as his very best friend for three things. his toaster, his car, and then of course, how easy it is to torment him.

he’s experienced enough to know that the guilt he feels is really only a direct result of haechan's guilt-tripping antics. and so he responds sarcastically, "yeah, nice enough to save a girl from a week of being in close proximity to the person she hates most in the world."

the toaster dings and haechan catches the two pieces of toast in their flight. he sticks one in his mouth, breaking off a bite, whilst turning to toss the other onto his friend's plate. chewing roughly, he leans back onto the counter opposite of mark, watching in contempt as the latter spreads jam across the burnt slice of bread.

haechan points a finger and juts it in his direction, offhandedly commenting, "i'm starting to think that it's you who hates her," a fact that both friends know isn't true. and because of that, mark doesn't make a big deal of denying it. "i don't hate her. i'm just..." he trails off and haechan takes the opportunity to craftily stage his intervention.

"not trying to make her uncomfortable?"

"yeah, i guess."

"not wanting her to hate you more?"

"there's that too."

"not over her?"

"hey, not cool."

a passage of silence elapses as mark sets the butter knife aside in exchange for his orange juice. gulping it down, he gets through two thirds of the glass before haechan perks up again. "actually, i think she still has a thing for you."

mark sputters, barely swallowing his drink before it could hurl out his disbelieving mouth. trying to smooth over his show of defiance, mark recovers a nonchalant expression as he deadpans, "there's no way. you know better than i do that she fucking hates me."

haechan takes another bite, aware but indifferent at how the crumbs have been gathering at his feet. his eyes trail absentmindedly to the clock on the wall behind mark, but only briefly for the hands are far past where he'd expected them to be. shoving the last of the toast into his mouth, he rushes to gather his belongings whilst uttering to his bewildered company, "shit, i'm gonna be late. pack it up."

obediently downing the rest of his orange juice, mark grabs his half-eaten, jam-slathered, burnt-to-a-crisp toast in one hand as the other reaches for his car keys on the way out. the unbearably hot sun of an early summer afternoon only hurries mark further along to his car, his wishes that he had worn shorts instead of jeans already too late to come true. but once both car doors have been shut and seat belts have been strapped, haechan carries on with his agenda without missing a beat.

"just give her the ride, mark. she'll keep you company and, i don't know, make sure you're not falling asleep at the wheel. and plus, she said she'll split the toll and gas fees."

mark shoves the last bite of toast into his mouth, the charred-ness of it procuring a nice crunch. even after he swallows, it takes him a second to respond. and though his answer is still far from budging, it sounds more like a justification, as if he needs convincing of his own opinion. "tell her it's cheaper to just catch a flight. and faster too."

exasperated, haechan retorts under his breath, "that's the same thing i told you," to which mark gives a raised brow, not catching what he said. instead of repeating, haechan only says, "just take her. you guys need to make up anyways."

that renders mark quiet for the rest of the ride as he tosses the thought over in his head. it's a thought that he knows he's been pushing away for far too long, hoping one day it'll become redundant enough to simply forget about. unknowingly, mark begins to speed a little, his turns become a little tighter, and when the traffic light signals red, the nose of his car is pulled daringly close to the car in front.

mark parallel parks shoddily in front of the archeology department building four minutes earlier than google maps had estimated. his best friend looks over at him expectantly and that in itself is enough to squeeze the reluctant words right out of him. "fine, i'll think about it."

haechan's face lights with a satisfied glow as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, making his way out of the car as quickly as he can. and just before mark can think to wish him good luck on his last exam of the spring semester, haechan blurts out the one crucial detail he had neglected to bring up until now.

"thank god, because i already told her you said yes."

「 DAY 01, 07:48 AM 」 — ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

the trunk of his beloved subaru crosstrek slams shut from behind. mark winces. the car door of the passenger seat slams shut shortly after. mark winces once again, but doesn't venture to comment on it. instead, he comments on something else entirely. "so why am i picking you up from the hospital?"

you roll your eyes, traces of hostility already to be found in your expression. "as if that's any of your business." you position the tote bag you brought up front by your feet and the contents inside clank against one another. mark gives you a questioning look, thus questioning, "what’s in there? rocks?"

instead of answering with what he would assume to be the same thing you said prior, you simply huff and lean back into the seat to fasten your seat belt. mark does the same, then hastens to shift the gears from park to drive. "you ready?"

lips set into a firm line, you're staring straight ahead when you say, "ready to get this over with." mark takes that as his cue to start the forty-two hour drive across the country, past barren lands and hilly roads, trading the smog of new york for the smog of los angeles.

the drive begins with a screeching hour of silence, all of which you’ve spent scrolling on your phone. and when you finally look up from your screen, the city view outside has already mellowed into sprawling countryside. mark takes this new development as a window of opportunity to spark up conversation, although you beat him to it nonetheless. “how many stops are we taking?”

he clears his throat for fear of a cracking voice and gathers his scattered thoughts to form a response. “about two or three times a day.”

“and how many days are we gonna be on the road?”

“three to four. i’m thinking we should take a few overnight stops as well. and also,” there’s a break in his sentence where he stops to scrunch his nose, “i might want to stop at random points to shoot some pictures. is that fine with you?”

you take your eyes off the road momentarily to get a good look at mark. he has a hand on the wheel and the other propped up by the window adjacent, eyes held forward all the while. looking back ahead yourself, you give in with a slight hitch of indignation in your otherwise colorless voice. “sure, why not.”

mark refers back to a time where the silent air between the two of you would sit comfortably and thinks of how he might have brought about conversation back then. he tries, as he might, to do the same with this scenario, catching the moment before the prolonged silence warrants it too late. “so what’s your business in LA?”

surprisingly, he spots less bite in your tone the more you speak. “my sister asked me to be maid of honor at her wedding next week.” mark’s automatic response comes out first as a laconic, “oh nice” but he follows up quickly after with an inquiring, “is it...is it still jaehyun? or is that a thing of the past?”

“it’s still him. they’ve been engaged for a while, remember?”

mark nods in agreement. he even remembers that exact phone call you received from your sister on the day your freshman year finals ended. sat across the couch, he can even recall the way you tried to motion the whole conversation with your hands to him while on the phone with her, your excitement on full display when you later hugged him tight since he was the only other person in the room.

he bites down on his bottom lip at the thought of the memory that’s still fresh in his mind. time seemed to pass more quickly for him now that it wasn’t divided into semesters and school years. taking a glance over at you, mark can’t help but think that while college life turned out to be unsuitable for him, it had done wonders for you in just the past year.

with little to no trace of the temper you initially harbored, your voice is about as neutral as it gets when you take your turn in questioning him. “what about you? what are you doing in LA?”

his answer is simple, really. his plan originally focused more on capturing the sights along the way to LA rather than the city itself. but seeing as how you’d expressed wanting to make the trip as curt and necessary as possible, he acquiesced for the lesser truth. “i’m just planning on taking some pictures and meeting some friends there. it’s a change of scenery too, i guess.”

the prospect of conversation eased in difficulty the more it steered in the direction of friendly small talk and catching up with one another. his career and his career-related decisions were always somewhat of a prickly topic, after all. his parents scorned him for it, calling it “easy money” that would just as easily come and go. his friends always said he just got lucky in the industry. and his old professors had shook their heads when he told them about his plans to drop out.

to mark, you were the only one who had ever cared to really understand his relationship with the passion that was now his life’s work. and because of that, his answer comes most naturally when you ask him, “what’s still keeping you in new york, though? i mean, you’re not there for school anymore and you’re not exactly a street photographer either.”

and without a thought to spare, mark blurts out, “you.”

what a perfect way to kill a perfectly fine conversation, he thinks in the midst of the grand silence that follows. red creeps its way up from his next to his ears until he’s flushed clean with embarrassment and terrible terrible regret, the only consolation being that your eyes seemed to be glued up ahead and not at him.

although it seems you’ve since dropped the conversation — seeing as how you’ve checked your phone five times in the last five minutes — you still make it your job to clear the air for any future attempts at conversing. after all, you’re going to be stuck with him for the entirety of the next three days. and that’s at the very least.

“mark, i don’t even want to know what you meant by that, but can we just keep our distance as…” you pause when you realize there really isn’t an appropriate label to describe your relationship with him. what do you call someone that you know really well, but aren’t on talking terms with, and have a long history of romantic instances with?

at the three-second mark in your hesitation, he lends a hopeful suggestion, “as friends?” and it’s another three unsure seconds spent on your end — unease on his — until you finally give in with a sigh and a small, albeit resolute nod. “as friends.”

he’s going at almost a hundred miles per hour on the empty road when you noticeably look over at him in time to catch the quirk of his lips, before he reassesses with a nod of his own in confirmation. with the first of (what you’re sure will be) many awkward exchanges passed, you reach a hand into the backseat to draw forth a thin blanket. “alright, i’m going to continue sleeping then.”

“mhmm,” he hums, watching in the corner of his eye as you lower the seat back. the position you assume, curling into the blanket, is as familiar as it gets and mark is reminded of countless road trip memories that he has never bothered to unearth. he sighs. “go ahead, we got all the time in the world.”

and after making sure you’ve fallen fast asleep with your slowed breathing and occasional snores, mark slows the car to a cruising 70 miles per hour.

「 DAY 01, 10:33 AM 」 — MORE THAN I THOUGHT

“keep right to stay on the i-81 south.” you slit an eye open, wide enough to see that the road ahead is blanketed in a gleaming white. the sun must’ve parted from the clouds. you close your eye in an attempt to fall back asleep. but just before you do, the automated voice from mark’s phone perks up again. “keep right to stay on the i-81 south.”

annoyed and disgruntled, you shrug the blanket off of you and, this time, crack both eyes open. sitting up in your reclined seat, you rub at your eyes and realize two things. one, the car is no longer moving. and two, you’re in the car alone. suddenly alert, you jab your finger into the ‘cancel’ button on his phone just as it continues its mantra of “keep right to sta—” and grab your own phone as you make your way out of the car.

the car itself is parked haphazardly in front of what is labelled to be a colon and rectal surgery building, with half the whole vehicle outside of the designated lines. but just as you begin to question mark’s motives, you turn to see a vast expanse of water on the opposite side. there’s small islands and clumps of trees jutting out and just across you can see a rise of buildings in the distance.

approaching the road that separates you and the riverbank, you bring a hand to shield your eyes from the light of the sun which you have yet to adjust to. and sure enough, through the blinding haze you make out a figure on the other side of the road, unruly black hair scuffed by the wind with a giant camera held at his hip. his other hand is held in the same shielding stance as you, and even his posture alone is enough to tell you that it’s mark.

both hands now cupping your mouth, you yell out a resounding, “mark!” just as a truck whizzes by but when the body of it passes, the man is revealed to be looking back at you with a silly smile plastered across his face. he holds the heavy film camera with both hands now, as he rushes up the slight grassy incline and jaywalks casually across the street.

you’re about to scold him for not even looking out for any incoming cars but up close, he only grins harder. mark is less than five feet away when he thinks to enlighten you, his beaming smile quickly growing sheepish, “google maps told me to keep right but i stayed on the right for so long, i ended up exiting the highway altogether.” his free arm gestures outwards in exclamation while he beams, “but look where we ended up!”

the sincerity of his bright eyes and bright smile puts a dampener on the tension, so much so that you even venture to joke, “the upmc pinnacle colon and rectal surgery center?” whilst pointing back to the sign. “you’ve no idea how confused i was when i woke up.”

“sorry about that. we’re in harrisburg now. so i’m guessing this is the susquehanna river.”

you shoot him a surprised look, “nice. almost halfway through pennsylvania.”

he ducks his head, a small smile adorning his nod in agreement, “yeah almost.” mark likes this new development of mood you seem to be in. chipper? not exactly. but much more pleasant than before? absolutely. he knows from personal experience that it’s the sleep. good sleep and good food do that to you. and thus he suggests, “should we get a quick brunch before getting back on the road?”

your eyes ignite a glow — rival to his — at the sound of brunch, though you have enough patience to consider, “did you get all the pictures you wanted already?”

mark nods once again, even though he isn’t even through a fourth of his first roll of film. he figures he’ll have plenty more opportunities to use it up down the line. plus, he likes the little smile on your face way too much to be the one to deny you what you want. and so he rushes to get his equipment back in their travel straps and he clambers back into the driver’s seat, all to careen his way about four blocks down to the mcdonald’s (but only after you’d shaken your head whilst he was pulling up at the wendy’s).

he orders drive through and you’re pleasantly surprised when he turns to ask, “same as usual?” and though you’re sure your usual order has changed at least once or twice in just the last year, you nod anyways. mark pays at the till and you’re handed a sausage burrito with large fries. as you’d supposed, it’s not your most up-to-date order but at this point, almost anything will get your mouth watering.

at your first bite, you sneak a glance over at mark. his head is bowed over the egg mcmuffin in his lap, hands clasped lightly together as he says grace. looking away, you give an unprompted chuckle under your breath in remembrance of his faith, new memories ringing up old habits in the back of your mind.

the next time you place a glance towards him, there’s crumbs littering the lap of his jeans and sauce smothered around the curves of his mouth. and when he looks over at you, an eyebrow raised in question at the sudden onset of attention you’re giving, you pay little mind to the fact that you have to stifle yet another chuckle in exchange for simply tossing a napkin his way.

sitting here in the passenger seat of his car, you can’t help but think that there must be something inherently wrong about spending time with an ex. especially when the two of you parted on terms that seemed somewhat insignificant, though only at the surface of things.

for the most part, mark was a good boyfriend. and the mark that sat to your left doesn’t seem any different than the mark you knew back then. maybe he got around to shaving his stubble a little closer and cleaning up his car a bit more often, but he wears the same carhartt jeans, eats as clumsily as he always had, and still drives his car as if he had extra lives to spare.

from his nose scrunches to his dutiful faith, the mark you’re sat next to now is undeniably the same mark you fell in love with what seems like ages ago.

and as he backs out of the parking space, almost reversing straight into the car opposite, you catch the uttered “shit” that falls so casually from his lips. the same lips that you could never get enough of against yours. the song that’s blaring from the speakers is a favorite of his, you know that best, and it has him humming lightly with the same voice that once serenaded you to sleep. his fingers drum incessantly on the steering wheel as he waits for a red light to turn green, the same fingers that once struggled, but succeeded against all odds, in learning how to braid your hair.

you swallow thickly and think of how unfair this has come to be. it feels impossible to have to sit with the fact that you revoked his license as your boyfriend, but now have to regard him as just a friend. it’s the same as holding someone you once held close at arm’s distance. and it’s like trying to purposefully forget the name of your favorite show, or your beloved dog, or even your own name.

all of a sudden, you feel like you’ve been caught in a fervid windstorm so strong that it threatens to uproot whatever reasonings had kept you grounded, amplifying whatever feelings lingered in his wake. except, the only thing you have left to hold onto is the realization that although the mark in the driver’s seat is the same mark you fell in love with way back when, he’s also the same mark that broke your heart without even a single word said.

「 DAY 02, 01:17 AM 」 — MARK LEE SMOKING?? (100% CLICKBAIT)

a bout of carsickness hits you at seven in the evening, right after sitting in at a roadside diner that served mashed potatoes that were suspiciously tinted green. but even after he pulled over so you could throw up on the side of the road, you’d implored mark to keep on driving until the two of you were at least at the outskirts of illinois. and that had happened on three separate occasions.

reluctantly, he’d kept his promise and poorly parked his car in front of relax inn, the closest and cheapest place that google maps could turn up. located in marshall, illinois with a striking two-star rating, it had everything you needed: free parking, shitty wifi, and even complimentary breakfast. or, it had everything you needed except two separate and unoccupied rooms.

you had been surprised, at first, when the man at the front counter had only charged mark $58. but that was after he had conveniently left out that the amazing deal was actually for only one room, not two. sighing, you drop your bag to the ground in resignation at the sight of the single queen-sized bed. despite the stiff sheets and musty smell, it still stands to look inviting after ten hours, give or take, of almost nonstop driving.

with only two stops taken for restroom breaks or gas fill-ups, you figure that either one of you has reason enough to claim the bed. there is a thought of mentioning how the two of you had slept side by side with no sexual implications many times before but it’s fleeting, dismissed, and gone within seconds.

instead, you begin drafting your argument, pulling out the persuasive points of your monologue about why you were more deserving of the bed. sure, he’d driven the car the whole while, his eyes must be strained and his ability to concentrate and energy have probably been rendered null. you, on the other hand, could pull the motion sickness, weak composition, nauseated passenger princess card. yeah, surely that’d do the trick.

your opening lines are right at the tip of your tongue, ready to win over a hefty opponent, when you turn to see that mark has already situated his belongings on the ground by the couch. wary of how you’d been standing there for a good two minutes completely unmoved, he looks your way and very plainly comments, “you take the bed. i’m fine with the couch.”

and suddenly you feel very supremely guilty for having even thought of going into a full-blown verbal altercation for a slightly more comfortable place to rest. you now think about thus commencing a full-blown verbal altercation over the slightly less comfortable place to rest, if not to ease your guilty conscience, then just out of politeness. but you digress because after all, mark is way too nice and you’re way too in need of a good night’s sleep. even if it’s just slightly better.

laying in bed, scrolling on your phone, you recall that this is how it’s always been with mark. that at one point, you became too tired of always trying to be the nicer person out of politeness when mark had the kind of genuineness you’d find in about one of a million persons. sometimes, a simple exchange of things like who should get the bed could blow itself out of proportion without either of you meaning for it to have gone that far. you came to the conclusion long ago that fights about who was the nicer person weren’t necessarily fights on character, but rather just fights like any other. and choosing to let mark carry through with his niceness — accepting the last french fry, taking his jacket when it was chilly, and now letting him have the couch — didn’t mean you were inconsiderate. in a way, it was a compromise of its own to allow him the opportunity to be of service to you.

you think of showering the following morning for it seems unlikely that you’d depart the comfort and looming sleep the bed provides. squirming around, you tuck yourself under the blankets but before you could fully relinquish your body to the confines of sleep, a soft rustling by the edge of the bed coaxes your eyes to open a sliver.

mark’s squatting so that you’re right at eye level with him. his hair is mussed more than the wind had done and wet at the tips, sticking up in several places that seem to defy the laws of gravity. with an elbow set on the bed, he peers at you over the screen of his phone, eyes wide and set in the frame of his black-rimmed glasses. he doesn’t whisper though his voice comes out so low, you wouldn’t be able to tell much of a difference anyways. “sorry, i know you’re tryna sleep. just wanted to ask when you’d want to wake up tomorrow.”

repositioning to face him, you smush the side of your cheek into the pillow and the unease in mark’s face ebbs away. half alseep and a good amount dehydrated, your throat is scratchy when you pass it back to him, “what do you think?”

mark scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, “i, uh well… maybe six...?” and he traces your eyes as they find the clock on the nightstand. it reads 2:02 AM and he seems to share the same thought as you. “...thirty? six-thirty?”

you close your eyes, already losing your grasp on what he just said as you mumble out the last of your thoughts, “okay, we’ll grab breakfast downstairs and leave at seven?”

whatever he responds with goes in one ear and out the other. and it isn’t until he wakes you up, bright and early at 6:20 AM, that you remember the conversation even happened. in reality, you roll around in bed, trying to find another sweet spot that will lull you back into sleep, for about ten whole minutes. by the time you’ve given up, gotten out of bed, and begun collecting your garments for the shower, it’s 6:30 on the dot. it doesn’t even register in your mind that mark had accounted for your scheduled morning bout of grogginess until you’re out of the shower with a clearer head.

you sit across from him at breakfast and he passes the black pepper when you spoon your scrambled eggs. he offers to go refill your orange juice at one point and at another he apologizes adamantly for accidentally nudging your foot under the table. it’s only after he takes your empty plate with his back to the clean-up counter that you really bother to take a good look at him.

he must’ve skipped his morning shave, for his stubble is visible though not much more than a mere shadow. there’s a silver chain at his neck, one with a dangling cross pendant, and it sits prettily atop his plain black pocket tee. mark leads the way towards the front desk to check out. you notice the way he swirls the both the room key and car key around his fingers, his straight posture when he walks depite the heavy backpack mounted on him, and even the worn-in outline of his wallet from the rear pocket of his jeans.

and when he mistakens the pristinely cleaned glass door for a wide opening, resulting in a blooming red splotch on his forehead, you take the time to consider his big endearing head, and his big boyish eyes, and his big sloppy smile. you laugh along with him, but perhaps for more of a different reason. mark may have a big head, but at least it’s filled with good and godly things.

seconds later in the parking lot and you think to rescind those same regards. mark may be nice but there’s no way you’ll be the one to compromise on this one.

you’re fully in the seat and ready to get the car going, except mark is standing right where the door should be closing with his arms crossed and a foot hiked up on the frame of the car. his stance is a plain show of defiance, as are his firmly-stated comments. “i’m not letting you drive. you were vomiting everywhere just last night.”

“give me the keys, i need my redemption arc to happen right now.”

mark only tilts his head in disapproval, eyes boasting a look that emanates something along the lines of ‘are you kidding me?’ you press your lips thin in consideration, realizing that this has turned out to be harder than you’d bargained for. eyeing the keys hanging loosely from his left hand, you decide that your efforts were going to amount to nothing if not by way of force.

when you lunge for the keys, mark takes that you’re attacking him or something of the sort, throwing his hands out in front to block. in the three seconds the debacle had taken to unfold, the sharp end of the car key had scraped the length of your inner arm, nicking your skin clean apart. much to your chagrin and his relief, you end up in the passenger seat anyways.

mark wipes diligently at the long cut with an alcohol pad, whilst you use your unpunctured arm to search for where he’d claimed the first aid kit with the bandaids would be. you look away from the glove box to find his unimpressed disposition, and you hold the gaze until he meets it. but he only meets it for a split second before ducking his head back down to the red-stained alcohol pad, muttering low but loud enough for you to catch. “god you’re a mess, y/n.”

you return your attention to your search for bandaids, eyes rolling far into the back of your head. “i already admitted defeat. do you have to rub it in?” to which he responds with but a fleeting laugh. and by the time he can come up with a, “there we go, all clean,” you’ve conjured four bandaids for him to top it all off.

as mark busies himself with finding the most appropriate arrangement that would cover the length of the cut, you shove the first aid kit back to where you’d retrieved it in the far corner of the glove box. it’s then that the streak of red that was presumably tucked behind it catches your eye.

by the time mark returns from discarding the wipes and bandage packaging, it’s already too late for him to stop what’s to come. the red box — at first glance, what looks to be a sizable pack of cigarettes — had already found its way into your unsuspecting hands.

「 DAY 02, 07:09 AM 」 — BROCKHAMPTON SATURATION II, TRACK #16

when haechan first introduced his sophomore photography major best friend to you back in freshman year of college, he had described him as the guy with no emotional depth. and you had shaken his outstretched hand anyways, awkwardly laughing along even though you had no idea that it was an inside joke between the two of them.

you laughed again on christmas day, same year, same joke. however, you still had yet to figure out what it meant when haechan had gifted your new boyfriend the card game, cased in a brilliant red box. he had said something along the lines of “maybe this’ll get him to dig deeper” and your group of friends, most of whom had known mark since high school, seemed to find it funny and fitting.

the game itself, you knew; it was a popular drinking game among your college friends. you had played it several times yourself at more intimate gatherings, the reflective conversational prompts amounting to several instances of sob fests, tissue shortages, and long hugs. it was good for heartfelt conversations, and apparently mark wasn’t one for feelings. put two and two together and that made enough sense for you to laugh along and move on without much thought.

but well over two, almost three, years later, you wonder why it’d been shoved into the back of his glove box, the plastic wrap still intact and pristine. it’s as if mark had quite literally buried his feelings into the depths of this car, subsequently forgotten and later dug up by his girlfriend turned ex. life’s a funny thing, because only now as his ex-girlfriend do you understand what the gag gift meant in the first place.

looking out upon the barren gas station, you feel restless standing in the face of ten — bordering eleven — hours of driving beside mark of all people. but when he slips into the seat beside you, freshly washed hands wiping themselves down the length of his jeans, you begin to think of a better, or at least more interesting, way to pass the time. holding the box of cards out for him to see, your bouncing leg finally comes to a still as you suggest, “wanna play?”

mark regards the box with a joking manner, and while his casual, “yeah, why not” might prove his act of nonchalance convincing, you like to think you know him better than to look past the way his eyes had lingered, or the hesitance set in his brows, or even the readjusting of his position. he starts up the engine and moves the gear out of park as you fumble with the plastic wrapping. a small tear later and you’re peeling back the packaging, throwing small glances at mark’s way whilst he throws unsure glances at the box of cards.

two minutes back on the i-70 west, you’ve shuffled the cards until your fingers began to feel sliced through, and only then did you deem it time to begin. fanning the deck out to your left, you gesture for mark to select his first pick. he shakes his head and wordlessly gestures back at you to make the first move, a lick of his lips giving his uncertainty away.

shoving the rest of the deck into one of the cup holders on the middle console, you read along as your other hand sets forth in finding your phone. “wildcard. press shuffle on your music library. explain the first song that comes up!”

phone in hand, you look over at mark inquiringly, “me or you?” and if you had to guess his next words, there’d be no doubt that it’d be a stiff and uttered, “you.” almost taking glee in his squirmishness, you pull up spotify on your phone and click into your mess of a “liked songs” playlist. mark passes you the carplay cord and you plug it in, pressing the shuffle button apprehensively after the beep indicates it’s been connected.

heavy piano chords pan out from the speakers and a smile is slow to spread across your face as you come to a realization of what song it is. for better or for worse, mark seems to know as well, retracting his gaze from the road for less than a second to meet your eyes. there’s a sort of ‘ahh’ in them, an understanding, an underlying fondness.

in the heat of the summer…

“do i really have to explain?”

you know that you should be my boy.

“give it a go at least.”

in the heat of the summer…

“well…”

you’re so different from the rest.

you find yourself at a loss for words. amongst many other things that arise in this moment, your train of thought does its best to rationalize. why was this song still in the playlist? simple, you forgot to take it out. it’s only normal that things get buried with time. why can’t you just say that to him, then? simple, because then it’d be so easy for him to brush it off as a lame excuse, a cover-up, as to how plainly you still held onto your relationship. what the fuck are you feeling? panic. doubt. frustration. longing.

panic at the thought that he would read into it too much. doubt at the thought that there were other reasons for why you’d let this song gather dust in your playlist. frustration at the thought that there was only you to blame for this situation that you’d gotten yourself into. and longing. longing that had sat untouched for the same amount of time you’d decided to shove your feelings away instead of confronting them. longing that had since settled into your flesh and bones, going unnoticed. longing that, at the first chords of this song, had you casting your eyes downwards from the road ahead.

hastily, you grab for your water bottle, taking steady but large gulps. suddenly, your throat had become too dry. swallowing thickly, you wonder why the lump in your throat refuses to fall back. your breathing becomes noticeably haggard while the thing lodged in your throat remains. at the slightest indication of mark’s head turning your way, you snap your own in the direction of the window to avoid his questioning gaze.

biting down on your lip, your eyes fall closed even with the sprawling hills unfurling just outside. the sun is climbing to its height, as is your sudden onslaught of emotions that drowns out all noise except the sound of mark humming along to the song. you are numb, you are deaf, you are void of everything except his voice.

“do you remember?”

reverberating through you, it’s all you are able to feel.

“do you remember last summer at the lake?”

mind emptied, it’s all you know.

“it’s one of my favorite days, i’ll have you know.”

body capsized, it floods you. and it fills you to the brim until you can’t take it anymore.

“isn’t it funny that all my favorite days have been spent with you?”

and when it overflows, it comes in the form of tears.

your vision blurs and the wetness on your cheeks is quickly pulled into a pool at the edge of the seat. closing your eyes is a daunting task, even then, because you know just what you’ll see. you make the mistake of trying to blink away the tears, making them fall far faster than they had before. but for what it’s worth, it had been a favorite day of yours as well, albeit bittersweet.

the water was emerald green and the grass was knee-high. the sun rested overhead for almost fourteen hours a day and you had a tan comparable to that of a professional-grade spray. the wind was light though unrelenting, apparent in the way the clothes strewn across the clothesline were at the cusp of being carried away. everything under the sun was warm to the touch. the rocks, the grass, the water, his skin.

you snap your eyes open and only then do you notice that the car has come to a stop, pulled over to the side of the road. your hand is pressing into your forehead and the tears are still running free when you care to peer over in mark’s direction. both hands resting on the wheel, his eyes emanate in concern, lips pulled tight as if an apology was attempting to push past from within. it’s hard to pinpoint your finger directly to it, but there’s something about his expression that ticks you off so greatly that you regard him for less than a second before slipping out of the car.

the first inhale of fresh air makes the stuffiness inside the car feel like you had been breathing in water. the wind, just as it had been that day, is light though unrelenting, and it dries clean the tears in your eyes. your body sags and you give your weight into the side rails of the road, sitting against it and heaving thorough breaths to bring you some peace of mind. if you stared at your surroundings for long enough, the short grasses growing beside the road would grow long and the valleys in between the hills would carve out an emerald lake. the warmth would find its way back to you, but it’s far from pleasant and rather close to burning, scorching even. you fist and unfist your hands, recoiling from even the thought of it.

instead, you focus on the way the roughened wood of the rail nips at your skin through the thin spandex of your shorts. when you shift your position, the metal that accompanies it is hot to the touch and the uneven pavement beneath you is riddled with its fair share of pebbles and wood chips alike. taking your time, you come to pay more mind to your breathing, allowing the intakes to fill up your belly rather than your chest. the sky is a clear blue, the single cloud is pear-shaped, you can count up to seven peaks in the hills, and there are four dirt patches within your line of vision. it’s these little things that ground you.

seven minutes past. you hear a car door open you but you never hear it close. footsteps stop maybe three feet from your left but they never step any closer. he says, “whenever you’re ready,” but he never says anything more.

and perhaps that’s what hurts the most.

「 DAY 02, 01:56 PM 」 — LITTLE CRAZY LOVE SONG, MARY OLIVER 2014

“what’d you say?”

“nothing much, really—”

“well, you obviously said something if she’s voluntarily passed out for the last six hours.”

static crinkles on the other end and mark looks around at the endless stretch of trees surrounding the lone gas station. the signal is clearly not having its best moment here in the thick of the forest, but he rejoins anyways.

“i brought up last summer…” he trails off, hoping that just the season would provide enough context to tell of the situation without him explicitly having to name it as terrible, godawful, and no good whatsover. to be frank, mark wasn’t expecting understanding and empathy when he dialed haechan’s number. hell, he wasn’t even expecting to receive encouragement and good faith. perhaps all he wanted was recognition for the bad deed he’d committed and someone for him to bicker out his frustration with. and surely, haechan delivers just that.

“mark, you whole-hearted idiot. wh—”

“okay but in my defense, i thought we were having a momen—”

“i think only you were having a mo—”

“it just slipped out, i swear it wasn’t on purpo—”

“how the fuck did you think she’d react to your sappy bullshi—”

“—but it’s all cool now.”

the other end goes flat after mark’s statement and he thinks it’s owed to the faulty service, until haechan sputters in disbelief, breaking the quiet at an ear-splitting decible, “cool? you call that cool?!” mark furrows his brow at his friend’s overuse of emphasis whilst he busies himself with retrieving his credit card one-handedly. he knows that somewhere along the line, he fucked up. and he thinks he knows exactly where but at the same time, mark isn’t quite in the headspace to own up to it. so he retaliates.

“it’s like you set me up for failure.”

haechan justifies, “hey, it’s not like i did anything wrong. a friend needed a ride and i found someone who could give her just that.” but mark can hear the sarcasm in his voice and he decides he would rather confront his friend than question his ex. “i highly doubt she’d be down for a forty-two hour drive over a six-hour flight. what the fuck did you even say to convince her?”

the younger doesn’t waver when put in the spotlight. in fact, he gives it away as if it’s all just a fun prank on his end. and that’s not to say that isn’t at least partially the truth.

“i told her you already agreed to take her, same thing i said to you.”

smart as ever, he hangs up before mark’s initial surprise gets translated into brute annoyance. the silence after the disconnect tone hits him almost immediately and thus, he finds himself standing in the middle of an empty gas station, in the middle of the eerily quiet city of winona, missouri, which is sat at the edge of a brimming forest where nothing but trees run on for miles and miles on end. there’s a town & county supermarket in the same plaza and a rundown dollar general down the street he’d passed to get here.

it suddenly feels as if he’s the only person alive in this whole wide world, trapped inside his four-walled mind with no one to talk to except his regretful self. more than confronting his friends or even you, mark has known for a long time that he feels the most social anxiety whenever he’s left to confront himself. he tries to shake the thought, pocketing his wallet as he makes a beeline for the supermarket across the desolate parking lot. it’s far on foot and with each step, he descends down into the depths of despair, digging up all the times he must’ve made you uncomfortable with just his presence. for once, he doesn’t think it’s such a wonderful thing to be alone in the world with the person he loves most.

seven hours of almost straight driving is bound to make a person go at least a little insane, as mark wonders if he even remembers the last time he saw anyone other than you. he grabs a bag of popcorn, a charcuterie box, and a gallon of water at the supermarket and only at the cash register, manned by a live and tangible human, is he freed from the confines of his tortured mind.

gas filled to the max and provisions restocked, he’s once again met with the struggle of having to close the car door as quietly and undistrubingly as humanly possible. you’re still very much asleep and the last thing he wants is to jolt you awake when your latest memory of him is how he’d insensitively instigated a panic attack at barely seven in the morning, albeit unintentionally.

after he closes the door with exemplary caution and barely a thud, mark lowers his guard with a sigh in relief in tow. though in this fleeting moment of mindlessness, the very next moment he’s dropped his keys on the center console. wincing, he watches as the clattering elicits a stir on your end, fluttering eyelids, and then — to his utter horror and dismay — you wake up.

mark plays it cool, or so he thinks, by letting out a low “oh shit” to make sure you know of his accidental mistake. rubbing your eyes, the first glance you place his way isn’t strictly a glare, but it might as well be with how you barely acknowledge his stilled presence. mark waits until you’ve had a couple sips of water in your system and a full routine of arm stretches before speaking up carefully. “how’d you sleep?”

you look his way and tiredly blink a few times before saying, “fine.”

back at square one, he thinks. mark hands you the bag of popcorn and charcuterie box and reaches over to drop the giant water jug into the back seats. you eye the bag and the box confusedly, then the blanket draped across your knees that you’re sure wasn’t there when you fell asleep, and then finally your surroundings.

“what time is it?”

“about 2:20.”

“where are we?”

“missouri. just outside the mark twain national forest.”

you eye the landscape beyond the windows where you’re met with the parking lot, a few commercial structures, and a shitload of trees. you turn back towards mark, “are we on schedule?”

he nods. “we’re actually ahead of schedule. we were supposed to be just out of illinois right now.”

you give him a tight-lipped smile that does little to ease the tension. removing the blanket, you make a move for the door and mark thinks that this must be it. you’ve had enough of him, you’re tired of tolerating his presence, and you’ve set your mind on walking the rest of the way to los angeles. it’s a rather immature thought but he entertains it for a split second regardless. the second half of the second is spent coming up with a hastened, “wait.”

you’re halfway out the door when you look back over your shoulder, a left eyebrow cocked in question. mark doesn’t have anything on hand to say, so he blurts out whatever question he had first in queue, “why… why did you agree to come?”

fully out of the car, you stand facing him with one hand resting on the car door and the other situated on your hip. in your freshly awakened state, you cock your head at the absurdity of his unprompted question. there’s a trace of thought pooling in your eyes before you answer rather nonchalantly, “i wanted to see how you’ve been.” the words hang in the air, waiting for mark to process them, and when he does it’s as if he’s had the wind knocked out of him. breathily, he recites a quiet, “oh i see,” and then you shut the door square in his face, leaving him with only an equally quiet, “i need to use the restroom, be right back.”

mark thinks back to why he himself had agreed in the first place and he’s not sure how much of a role haechan’s little ruse had played anyways. he appreciates the honesty with which you answered because it gives him the space to be honest with himself as well. he’d agreed to go because a part of him wanted to see how you’d been doing as well, but he’d also agreed to go because a part of him simply just wanted to see you. the little stunt that haechan had pulled was just the tip of the iceberg of reasons that led to this whole ordeal, and mark thinks — or at least hopes — that that had been the case for you too.

when you return, freshened up and looking more lively than you had in hours, mark’s more prepared than the last time he’d thrown a haphazard question your way. you’re fastening your seat belt when he asks, “since we’re ahead of schedule, do you wanna go for a drive around the forest?”

he sees where it starts, slow in the upturn. what looks like the beginnings of a frown blooms into an easy smile. it doesn’t reach your eyes, but it doesn’t need to for mark to know that you mean it. “around?”

he smiles too, quick with a flash of teeth and a breathy chuckle. “in, i mean. in the forest.”

you let your head retract to facing frontwards, leaning back into your seat as you nod, “sure, let’s go.” folding the maroon blanket into your lap, you follow mark’s pointed finger until your eyes set on his backpack shoved under your seat. “there should be a map in there. can you be my guide?”

for a second, he thinks he’s being too greedy with your patience but your easy smile flattens to show complacency. “i can do that,” and you salvage the map from the front pocket of the mess of his backpack. seeing about an inch-thick stack of maps in the same compartment, you look towards him with your smile now edging towards a knowing tease. “you planned for this, didn’t you?”

mark shakes his head fervently though he can’t find it in himself to audibly deny. after all, number two on his bucket list is to visit all the national parks and forests the country has to offer. how could you have expected him to resist when passing by a city that sat directly under 1.5 acres of forest land? and with the extra time to spare, it was a given.

you have the map crinkled open on your lap as you load up the top destinations with your phone in hand. mark’s excitement seems to be rubbing off on you; his giddy smile lends into your glittering eyes, his drumming fingers on the steering wheel translating to your bouncy leg. twenty-four minutes north — one right turn and one left turn — later, you’ve successfully navigated the both of you to alley spring and mill, a three-story red statement with a clear turquoise spring tucked behind.

the summer heat licks at the nape of your neck when you first open the door. you grab the blanket, the charcuterie box, the bag of popcorn and — with a thought spared in consideration — the stack of cards shoved into the cupholder after tucking your phone into the waistline of your shorts. the rush of water grows louder as you approach, the uneven pavement ebbing off into scuffed dirt and then brustling grass further down the stretch. pausing a good distance away from the decades-old structure, you hear a sigh in wonderment coming from behind.

mark’s mamiya rz67 weighs down one hand, the other raised to his brow to deflect the glare of the sun. he has a sort of satisfied look to his face, one that only grows as he makes his way to catch up to you. “good find,” he comments, tearing his gaze away from the sights to meet your eyes. pride snuggles into the corners of your smile and you duck away from his stare.

“lemme go find somewhere for us to settle down for a bit,” you hold up the blanket in gesture and then wave him off with another smile, “you go do your thing, don’t mind me.”

there’s a few people here and there coming in and out of the mill and a few more along the skirts of the spring, but you manage to find a quiet spot along the water with some trees to offer a decent amount of shade. it’s much cooler down here, where the spray disperses itself fresh from the water and into the air, and you drape the blanket over the mildly damp grass. spreading the contents of the charcuterie box across a napkin and pouring a portion of the popcorn into the now empty box, the setting begins to look as if it were all planned and not, in fact, an impromptu day trip that fell in motion less than a half-hour ago.

slipping your shoes off, you ease into the spot, appreciating the clear air while you can. if you shield your eyes, you can see mark in the distance with his phone held up to the red building to check the light settings. he takes a shot there in that position, and you swear you can hear the ka-shink! of his shutter even from this far away. nibbling a corner of brie cheese, you watch him closely as he jogs in a zig zag across the plot to find another interesting shot to frame.

mark gets six or seven more in before he rounds upon where you’re sat, having finally found the alcove of shade you’d claimed. he’s still holding his camera with one hand, the size of his palm making the five pound camera seem small. in the back of your mind, you can still recall the weight of it from a year ago as mark demonstrated how to advance the film for your first try at a shot. you remember how difficult it was to get the hang of medium format photography, much less the bothersome large format that mark used to haul around wherever he went.

“may i join you?”

snapped out of your momentary reminiscence, you glance up at mark as if you hadn’t even seen him coming your way. at the nod of your head, he takes his spot across the blanket with his legs criss crossed. the seconds tick away while your eyes trace the lines of his hands, moving familiarly to load a new film stock into his camera. the delicacy of his movements, the steadfastness of his grip, the roughness of his knuckles, and the baby soft pads of his fingers.

there’s nothing to do with his hands when he’s done with his camera so he resorts to fiddling with the folds of the blanket and occasionally reaching for a grape. mark looks a little lost, if you are to be honest. or at least, it seems as if he’s unsure of his presence; too scared of breaching boundaries thus he shies away from interactions altogether. his patterns of behavior are nothing new to you. and though there was once a time where you’d despise having to always be the one to coax him out of his shell of insecurity, you aren’t nearly so distressed to do so when there’s no strings attached, no long withheld feelings that come with it.

“when should we get back on the road?”

mark looks up at you in surprise and relief floods his face when he realizes no sign of annoyance in your expression. as if he were taking a firm hold of the hand you’d extended, he responds kindly, “it’s best if we go before five, so we can take our time on the road.”

you check your phone and the time reads a quarter past four. scrolling down your notification screen to see if you missed any important messages, you find about four consecutive texts from haechan, sent just before you woke up from the six hour stress nap you inadvertently took.

【 2:06 PM 】 bro u good? 【 2:06 PM 】 mark told me what happened 【 2:06 PM 】 should i beat him up for u? haha 【 2:08 PM 】 call me when u get a chance ;)

shutting off your phone, you retrace your attention back to mark. he’s the spitting image of a kid whose one and only friend didn’t show up to school today, hence he had to sit at his own table during lunch. you chuckle under your breath at the thought and he happens to hear, giving you a raise of his brow to which you only shake your head in dismissal.

so badly do you want to just clear the air — his newly uptight demeanor being a nightmare to get along with — but you know better than anyone how avidly mark avoids confrontation at all costs. to bring it right to his front steps is just asking for uncalled-for frustration. you zip your lips, and eye your surroundings, hoping for a topic of conversation to jump out at you.

sure enough, the red boldface catches your eye and it lingers. who says confrontation is the only way to subdue the tension? sometimes all you need is a little fun. and what’s better than a game to do just that? you place a hand atop the deck and wait for mark to recognize your intentions before softly suggesting, “your turn?”

the expression he dons is a bit squirmish as he reaches for the cards, but you can tell that he’s glad his careless words hadn’t ruined the game for you forever. his fingers make quick work in shuffling them neatly and, face down, he draws one from the pile at random.

“what do you think is the hardest part of what i do for a living?”

mark glances up at you from the card expectantly and you’re thrown off guard for a moment. “i answer? i did the last one though.”

he only laughs, “yeah i know. but even if i wanted to answer, i couldn’t. you don’t have a job.”

“oh that’s right,” you smile, masking a tinge of embarrassment at your late realization,” okay, i’ll answer it then.”

you cross your legs like his and pluck a grape for your fingers to play around with. momentarily in thought, you realize that there’s not much to the question, not when pertaining to mark and not when asked to you.

“the thing is, i’ve seen a lot firsthand. and i think you know what i’m going to say.”

it’s his turn to be thrown off guard with wide eyes and a hand to his chest, “i do?”

nodding, you pop the grape into your mouth to give leeway for your thoughts to string into words. shortly after swallowing, the words follow in suit, “i mean, you love your job and from what i remember, it pays your bills. which is great, it’s really great.” careful with your next words, you approach them with caution, “but at the same time, i think — and correct me if i’m wrong — i think...it’s put a strain on some of your relationships.”

mark doesn’t look the least bit surprised. in fact, you’re sure he’d known the answer the second after he read the question. hardly disappointed, he smiles wide when your eyes brim with uncertainty. reassuring you, “you’re right on point,” and then nudging you along, “i still want you to elaborate on it though.”

“okay,” you smile back at him, mostly in relief, “i know this is pretty personal, but since you insist…”

and so you trailed on about what you knew. on how his job drove a wedge between him and his parents. on how they told him it was one thing to chase after your dreams, and a whole other to let your dreams crush you. but to him, dropping out of college didn’t make those two semesters a waste of time and money. rather, he thought that going to college in the first place made it easier for him to realize it wasn’t the path he wanted to walk. there were always going to be times where he wouldn’t be able to make ends meet but that was nothing to him if he could have the support of his friends and family to do what he loved most.

you knew very well that a “strain” was a light way to put it. his parents cut him off at nineteen when they realized he wouldn’t be returning to school. as most parents would be, they were worried but unwilling to financially support their son who they no longer believed in. his mom still brings stacks upon stacks of tupperware kimchi and side dishes each month and his dad still passes money under the table at family dinners. but for some reason, they could never look him straight in the eye.

“do you ever feel like they betrayed you?”

“no, never,” he declares almost immediately. “it’s easy to think that they did. it’s harder to really feel that way when i know how much they love me. it’s just that we value different things.” mark says it so convincingly that you nearly dismiss the suspicions behind your question. when you meet his eyes and they are dark and glossed over, you start to believe them a lot more than what he’d just said.

seeing his pain resurface as if it were there the whole time, you’re reminded of the guilt you carry for breaking up with him at perhaps the most vulnerable point in his life. knowing that mark could never blame you for it, you blame yourself in his place.

looking down from his gaze, you hold your left hand in your right, imagining it as his, and hope that just the thought of wanting to hold his hand offers him some comfort, in some sort of cosmically significant way.

「 DAY 02, 10:34 PM 」 — TOMAYTO TOMAHTO

mark drove past the ‘welcome to oklahoma’ sign at 7:30 PM. between cherokee and muscogee nation, he considered stopping at tulsa for the night instead of oklahoma city, the capital. it was around 9:00 by then and you were still fairly energized; he took from that to continue even though it was you who slept through the day, not him.

in your search, etrip.net claimed holiday inn to be $19 for a two person room, seemingly a ‘too good to be true’ deal for a four-star hotel with an indoor pool. you booked it anyways — though only after confirming that he was fine with sharing a room — and keyed in the address into google maps for mark to follow.

when you look out the window less than a half hour to your destination, it’s near pitch black, save for the distant outlines of buildings behind large fields of what you assume to be grass. the two of you are just outside the city and when you roll down the window; the air is rather cool and crisp for a summer night. there’s a truck in front of your car with a shipment of fresh tomatoes and the scent of them wafts sweetly in the dawdling air.

basked in a comfortable silence for the first time during this whole trip, you feel that summer break has finally started. the days are long and long gone are your day-to-day worries about when this assignment is due and how much this exam will affect your grade. in hindsight, they were all passing worries, things that never irked you for long enough to be significant. and now that you had finally made peace with it all — moved on, and slowed down — the world seems much more pleasant, less frantic, and more at ease than you remembered. it’s quiet and you’re happy.

glimpsing to your left to check how mark’s holding up, the first thing you’re met with are his wide, frenzied eyes. you trace his line of sight whilst venturing to ask, “you good?” before noticing the oblong shape that’s been planted straight into the dead center of the windshield. upon further scrutiny, there’s a redish secretion that’s oozing down the glass.

“y/n...what the fuck is that?”

the two of you are stunned in your seats, frozen at the thought of what it could possibly be. (a hockey puck! a donut! a scoop of ice cream! a bloodied body part?!) though soon enough, your conscience returns in time for you to register it as a tomato, straight from the truck ahead.

“holy shit,” mark mutters, and he begins to slow the car down and away from the alleged source. a second hits, (“fuck!”), right where your head would have been if not for the window. the third and fourth follow shortly, splatters sounding more like fist-sized rocks under the sheer force of impact. mark sees you ducking and dodging, this way and that, and his blood pressure sky rockets as a huge portion of his side becomes slathered in goop.

both of you are screaming at this point, mark has no way of knowing when the road will curve, and he’s still going seventy miles per hour, occasionally speeding faster whenever a jolt of adrenaline hits too hard and he loses fine control of his foot on the gas pedal. “roll up the damn window!” and your fingers fumble around for the button, almost opening up the whole door in the process.

you swerve your head right after the window’s safetly shut to see if anyone’s tailgating. “pull over, mark. there’s no one behind us.” and when the car comes to a stop, the two of you are panting uncontrollably, despite having barely moved for hours. there are no thoughts running through your mind — absolutely none, zero — when you turn your head to meet his eyes. and the second you do, the two of you burst into laughter, in utter disbelief at what just happened.

still breathless at the thought, your hand comes to your mouth in belated shock. the aftermath is disastrous. cautiously opening the door, you can spot remnant tomato juice dripping from the bottom edge. mark rounds the car twice in inspection, only to find that every last corner of his precious subaru crosstrek is coated in a sheen of red except for the back, bottom, and some of the top. the meager stack of napkins you saved from earlier in the day does the best they can, sweeping off most the meat but none of the juice. the scent doesn’t seem so sweet anymore when it’s all you can smell from a mile away.

you notice that mark has been standing in the same position for the last four minutes, unmoved with both hands on his hips, sweat gleaning from his brow, and a distant look in his eyes. you fear speaking up will spook him into tears. luckily, he speaks first.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

“can you find the nearest coin-op car wash on my phone?”

“okay.”

“i’ll…” he trails off into a breathy laugh, that kind of echoed laugh that makes you want to give him all your hopes and dreams, support and love. “...i’ll be here for a bit.”

you clamber back into the passenger seat, careful not to transfer any of the liquids indoors. his phone is mounted on a stand and you pry it off, wondering how you would get past his passcode. you key in his birthday, a reasonable first try, but the lockscreen doesn’t budge. pressing your lips thin, you try to recall what his password had been way back then. mark was never one for unnecessary changes; he held onto his possessions and habits stubbornly.

after an aha! moment comes a moment of doubt. to get the code right was one thing, but you weren’t sure how you’d feel if it was indeed unchanged. shrugging off the hesitation, you press in the four numbers anyways, and sure enough it unlocks.

dumbfounded, your hands drop into your lap and your vision stills, zoned out on the curve of the steering wheel. it’s hard to really understand what you’re feeling and it’s even harder to discern mark’s intentions behind keeping his passcode set as your birthday after all this time. the signs have been there—and you had kept to avoiding them—but now is the first time you’re facing the possibility that mark still has feelings for you. and even just the thought of how it doesn’t disturb you greatly warrants extra precaution on your end.

mistakes are made so that they won’t be repeated.

you repeat the sentence to yourself perhaps five times over, and carry on with locating the nearest coin-operated car wash station as per his instruction. mark got in the car five minutes later with a small smile on his face. “it is what it is,” as he had put it. with only thirty minutes left, the car ride resumes in silence though this time around, there’s nothing comfortable about it. the man next to you is humming along to some john mayer song, oblivious to your disconterting mood that was induced solely by him (and partially by you, if we’re to be crystal clear).

deciding not to get too worked over it, you fixate, instead, on playing word games with haechan. time passes quickly as you win most of the rounds, half the time wondering why he’s even still awake when it’s already fairly late in his timezone. you make a mental note to call him when you get settled at the hotel, sooner the better if anything.

mark manages to hum along to every single song that comes up on the radio, sometimes even singing with a full voice and vibrato. you’re partially relieved that he’s no longer so on edge around you, also aware that now it’s you who’s way too in over your head. figuring that it wouldn’t be much of a problem once you call it a night, you move past your concerns and finally take a glance up from your phone.

marvelling at the ever-changing landscape on the other side of the window, your mouth falls agape at how the bare grasslands have since given away to streets among streets of buildings. you can peer even further down, where the city lights of oklahoma city make out a twinkling night sky, replacing the stars with their light pollution. devon tower stands the tallest and most discernable of the skyscrapers and for a second, your troubles melt away as you fall captive to The Big Friendly.

long past rush hour, the streets downtown are jam packed with both cars and pedestrians, forcing mark to brake every other second. the city night life in oklahoma feels warmer than the busy new york city had ever been. flourescent signs flash bright in invitation for you to enter, people flood the streets, swarmed with laughter and filled with good food. you keep a smile to yourself as this tedious road trip begins to feel a little more like a long-anticipated vacation.

marks pulls up at the coin wash station you’d found for him earlier. with it being a ten minute’s distance from the city’s main streets, the surrounding areas are quiet at this slow hour. when you reach over to unbuckle your seat belt, a hand comes to stop you and with a patient smile on his face, mark simply tells you, “wait here, i’ll clean it up real quick,” as he slips out of the car.

given no time to react much less disagree, he shuts the door behind him and you end up sitting in the car by yourself, watching mark as he busies around with his coins and then gets to hosing down the red streaks striping his car. presumably, they had dried in the wind. what a sight his car must have looked like, rolling through the city streets as if it’d been dunked in ketchup.

you get the idea then, while you’re idling around, to call up haechan quickly while you have the moment to yourself. if you could be curt with him, beat around the bush like the annoying little brat you are, you’ll have no problem with wrapping up the call within the next five to ten minutes it takes for mark to get the car scrubbed and shiny.

the phone rings a whopping total of seven times before he picks up. you put him on speaker and the groggy voice you’re met with is a telltale sign that you’ve freshly awoken him. “the fuck you want? i just fell asleep, you cow.” at least he went to bed, you think, whilst turning his loud ass voice off speaker and bringing your phone to your ear.

“woah, no need to be so vulgar. you’re the one who told me to call you.”

you hear a scoff coming from the other end. at his next quip, his voice is no longer groggy, now boasting a new tone of feisty. “yeah. i meant when i’m actually awake and willing to answer. bye, i’m hanging up now.”

“hey,” you whine, “you’re awake and i’m free right now so let’s just get it over with. what did you want to talk about?”

there’s a clear pause of deliberation on his end, only for less than three seconds though. “how’s it going with mark? i heard he made you cry.”

you sigh into the receiver, fingers having found the rim of your water bottle and decidedly tracing the cap around and around. “so he told you everything, i see. he just brought up some bad memories and i got overwhelmed in the moment. it’s all cool now.”

the line goes silent for while longer and the blasting hose outside just happens to shut off at the same time. you look up from your water bottle and through the shower of water, mark’s peering in with a sponge in hand, gleeful eyes greeting you hello. you give him an absentminded wave in return with your free hand.

usually, haechan had too much to say about everything but to your surprise, he only ponders with a lilt, “...it’s all cool?”

“it’s all cool,” you confirm. mark sweeps his sponge-equipped arm across the length of the windshield, the thick lather of bubbles building a wall between you and him. but just as his fingers dot two eyes and a big smile into the soap for you to see, haechan synchronizes, “so you guys are getting along?”

mark peeks into one of the holes to see you smiling as wide as the playful smiley face he’d drawn, the same one that was now at the mercy of the drooping liquids. contradicting your ear-splitting grin, you remark offhandedly, “we agreed to be friends.” and after a beat, you fill in the missing blanks, “for the sake of this trip, i mean.”

“friends…” haechan seems to have his panties in a twist today, for he’s pausing at all the weird moments, saying all the weirdest things. you can almost imagine the shake of his head as he cryptically states, “that won’t do.”

“what won’t do?”

the hose water is turned back on as mark directs it right at the windshield this time. you almost shriek in surpise, barely catching the click of his tongue that haechan gives. after dousing the windows clean, mark reaches for the snow broom to shimmy off the remaining water droplets. going row by row, he gives you a sore attempt at a wink when you meet his eyes. you supress your giggles as haechan’s dissatisfied voice soars past your ears without much thought.

“how can you be just friends with him when you still like him?”

you’re in no mood to be taking him seriously, so you end up saying the first thing that pops into your mind. “i’m pretty sure he’s the one that still likes me.”

“well you’re not wrong there.”

mark throws in another silly face — a really blown out toothed smile — and you decide then that you should probably end the call soon before haechan drags you into another discussion of who’s still hung up on who and who’s still in love with who. you decide then that, for tonight at least, you want to set aside the messy feelings and just have fun. because that’s what’s easiest when you’re with mark lee.

momentarily forgetting that you’re still on call, you hastily ramble out a quick, “hey i gotta go, something came up,” and the eye roll that haechan’s sure to give is predictable as it is true. “fine,” he deadpans, “talk to you later. or not, i don’t know maybe something will come up and i’ll forget about you for two weeks.” and with that, he hangs up right as mark reenters the car, eyes all shimmery and filled with glee.

“you have fun out there?”

he messes around with a few wet tips of his hair. “a lot of fun, actually. you should help me out next time.”

your heart races messily and mercilessly at the thought of ‘next time,’ so much so that you only have enough mindpower to muse absorbedly, “maybe i should.” he gets his seat belt buckled and you cap your water bottle after taking a long swig.

“so…” mark starts whilst pressing the start engine button, “who was that on the phone?”

“haechan wanted to know if we were ripping each other’s hair out yet.”

mark chuckles, reversing the car out of the small lot. his eyes tell you he knows that a lot more than just that was discussed, but he resists prying to a certain extent. “so what’d you tell him?”

“well...” you take a moment to admire his side profile, his one hand resting casually on the wheel, and the gentle way his lips curve into a smile when you say, “i told him that i still have a full head of hair.”

「 DAY 03, 12:00 AM 」 — YOU ARE MY SOUVENIR, MY PROOF THAT I WAS HERE

what etrip.net forgot to mention was that the $19 you happily gave away was actually just a reservation fee, and not — as they had deceived you into thinking — the actual price of the room. you direct a sheepish smile towards mark as the bright-faced young man at the front counter charges $124 on your card. evidently, the internet is why you have trust issues.

the hotel sits right in the belly of downtown oklahoma city, with the touristy bricktown district only two blocks away. you’re given a card key to a spacious room with a queen sized bed draped in a crisp and plush duvet. from the updated appliances to the chic furniture and decor, every corner of the room smelled like fresh lemon verbena.

“i guess this is what you get when you pay top dollar.”

mark nods dazedly, but at the mention of money, he snaps out of his haze. “here,” he fishes out his phone from his back pocket, “i’ll transfer you the $62.”

you recline into the white lounge chair in the corner of the room. a ding! sounds from your bag that you’ve set on the floor besides you, signaling the transaction. eyes now closed in respite, you direct your “thanks” towards no one in particular.

there’s no couch this time, despite having paid a ridiculous amount, so mark sets himself atop the left side of the bed. he rummages through the front pocket of his backpack until he draws forth a thin booklet with a giant OKC in bolded yellow on the front. as he remembered, there’s a checklist list on the second page that covers all the must-do, must-see activities and locations that oklahoma city has to offer.

mark looks up at you, then back down at the book, then back at you and back down at the book. he knows you well enough to see that you’ve yet to fall asleep. but give it another two or three minutes and the snores will catch up to you. but before those two or three minutes round upon him, mark decides that he has nothing to lose. if you want to come, you’ll come. if not, he still has a whole city to plow through in one night.

“hey.” there’s a hand on your shoulder and it’s shaking you lightly. distantly, you think that you’ve entered a state of lucid dreaming. a second after, the voice returns to say, “y/n, wake up,” and you’re conscious enough to recognize it as mark’s. willing your eyes to open, he’s hovering right above you with apprehensive eyes. “let’s go out.”

still not quite awake and still unsure of what you just heard, you blurt rather obtrusively, “what?”

“i mean...i mean like let’s go out out,” and he gestures to the window to make his point clearer. “we can get late dinner, or really early breakfast, or just walk around for a bit.”

not very convinced, you only frown at him. in turn, he’s prompted to ramble on further. “okay, but when’s the next time you’re visiting oklahoma?”

“like… never,” you drawl out slowly. mark nods fervidly as if there were a right answer and you were at the precipice of discovering it. impatient or in sudden fervor, he exasperates, “exactly! so you should make the most of tonight and see what it has to offer.”

he’s like an overly enthusiastic salesman and you decide that even if it’s just to please him, there’s no harm in playing tourist for a few hours; you could sleep as much as you want on the road anyways. you give in, “okay fine,” and watch as he pumps a fist not-so-covertly. “gimme like five minutes to change first though.”

by the time you meet him at the lobby, mark’s switched out his tour guide booklet for his phone, having loaded up all the destinations in preparation. the warm air outside is breezy to a fault and the wind picks up your hair and sloshes it this way and that. mark is quick to laugh but equally quick to tuck the wandering strands behind your ears. unknowingly, you blush and when you don’t break the stare, he breaks it for you. the tips of his ears are red when he looks away.

the first stop — a touristy jazz club — is closed for renovation, and the next one that you guys attempt had rebranded into a strip club. unease begins to nibble away at mark’s intial excitement, as his exhaustion and embarrassment collide to dampen his mood. the sidewalk crowd doesn’t care to part for two, so mark grabs hold of your wrist, leading you towards what he hopes is the final destination for the night.

mark finds his composure being built up and chipped away by your presence in the exact way he’d expected it to even before this whole ordeal of a trip. he can avoid your careful eyes and feign ignorance towards your attempts at civility, but he will never be one to deny to himself how much he still cares, how much he has always and will always care, about your opinion of him. it’s in the littlest ways that he hopes if not to impress you, then to make you smile at the least. mark doesn’t endeavor to lie to himself about that — that he wants you to smile and that he wants, even more so, to be the reason behind it.

he thinks he’s done a rather good job of accomplishing that tonight. from afar, “the flea” is but a green box with brick facing and a short line abutting the entrance. but upon entering, the ambiance of the bar feels rather like an old school arcade, with low ceilings and dimly colored lighting. it’s littered with games from pool to cornhole to connect four, and people are drunk and having fun. mark glances at you to gauge your liking, and supresses the urge to pump a lame and loser-ish fist at they way your eyes glisten in response to your lively surroundings.

he’s not sure if he’ll ever get the courage to apologize for the consequence of his thoughtless ramble from earlier in the day. and he knows that an apology is what you deserve. but in his own selfish and self-serving way, he hopes that this one night of drinking and games will at the very least make up for your soured impression of him.

you order two beers at the bar and amble over to mark, who’s found himself a spot at the darts corner. handing him the drink and taking a swig of your own, you query with a cocked eyebrow in the direction of the board, “wanna bet?”

taking the drink from your hands, mark deadpans, “you suck at darts.”

mouth full, you quickly swallow before laughing aloud, “maybe i got better, you never know.”

mark rolls his eyes in disbelief, but concedes nevertheless, “so what’s on the line?”

you take a quick scan around the room in consideration when a girl standing on the opposite side of the room by the pool table catches your eye. but not because she’s looking at you. feet crossed at the ankles and left hand swirling a half-emptied margarita, she has her sights set square on mark. a small smile dawns upon your face, and you turn back towards him. “you lose, you get her number.”

once glance around the room and he, too, knows who you’re talking about. maybe his heart sinks a little. and so he laughs. maybe he wishes you wouldn’t be so quick to write him off with another person other than you. mark takes a sip of his beer, and looks around the room once again. maybe he doesn’t mean what he’s about to say. “you lose, you get his number.” maybe he wants you to know that he still likes you, at least a lot more than the guy by the bar with the sleazy smile.

you take a look at him yourself and decide that he wouldn’t be too bad of a punishment. some part of you felt the need to distinguish you and mark as two single friends who were just hanging out. the barrier needed to be defined after how it’d been ebbing between the extremes of exes and more than exes the whole day. it’s hard to say that you don’t like mark at this point. and that while any other guy could make you feel things, it would never amount close enough to what mark made you feel.

but it’s even harder to say that you would want to get back together with him.

mark decides on a 200 point game and whilst you get off to a good start with two 20-pointers, mark beats you out by almost a hundred point margin to sum up the game. today, he feels up for admitting the truth to himself, for he knows well that he had tried his best to lose. but any further effort on that attempt would have made it obvious, as there was no conceivable way for him to out-lose your constant 1-pointers without suspicion.

he watches as you down the rest of your beer before gesturing in the direction of the bar. he smiles back when you mouth, “i’ll be back,” over the blaring music. he knows why you’re being like this. he knows that it’s mostly his fault. he also knows that you’re doing this to protect yourself, that it’s not a means of punishing him. but mark accepts his punishment anyways, looking onwards as you approach the guy with a tap on his shoulder. he watches as the guy’s eyes rakes your figure in delight, sets a casual hand on your waist, smiles along to your cheesy pick up line.

but mark tears his eyes away before the guy can smash his greasy lips onto yours, or before you respond in kind. even seeing him lean in made mark sick to the stomach. he goes to retrieve the darts from the board and when he returns, you’ve returned too. “got it,” you show him the contact and number in your phone, “and i got a smooch on the cheek too.”

a small, “ew,” is all he can muster in his confusion of equal relief and disappointment. mark keeps you close for the rest of the night. you suggest many times that he go talk to this girl, or how that girl looks like his exact type. but you don’t seem to understand that mark only wants to talk to you and that you’re the only person in this room, or even in the world, he’d consider to be his exact type. you are nowhere near the understanding that mark has never felt this unlucky to be spending the night with a girl he wants but has lost the privilege to have.

you’re tipsy, with an arm linked with his and your head on his shoulder, as he walks the two of you back to the hotel. mark can’t tell you — at least not in this state — how he’s thought of trying again at least a million times. he’s come up with a million scenarios of how he’d somehow loop himself back into your life and slowly regain your trust for him. a million times over, he’d lost the confidence to follow through, always so sure that he would fall in the same patterns of negligence and immaturity. even so, he’s never wanted to try as much as he does right now.

he places your shoes by the bedside and slips off your dirty socks to add to the laundry. rummaging through your toiletries bag, he comes upon the micellar water and reusable cotton pads. he swipes it across your sleeping face to collect the makeup and extra debris, then washes the two pads and clips them on a hanger to dry. mark is dutiful in drawing the covers up to your chin, in pulling your hair back from your face, in everything a boyfriend would do.

mark is sober when he sets his lockscreen as the only thing he has to remember oklahoma city by: a photo of you, smiling at him.

「 DAY 03, 8:21 AM 」 — HIS APOLOGY

“what is the hardest truth you had to face this year?”

you place the card to the back of the deck after reading the question aloud. mark takes his eyes off the road for a split second to glance at you. fiddling with a used toothpick with your fingers, mark wonders when you started flossing after years and years of ignoring your dentist’s nagging. yesterday, he noticed you were using a different chapstick brand than what he remembered as your go-to. you wear your hair up more often, and you frequent warm-toned clothing as opposed to your routine neutrals.

the more time he spends around you, the more mark realizes he’s never felt this distant from you. in barely two days time, he’s been surprised by how much you’ve changed in the relatively short duration the two of you spent apart compared to the time you had spent together. mark’s even more surprised by how little he’s changed in comparison.

the thirty seconds you’ve taken to formulate a response — to decide your terms of vulnerability in just how much to divulge — weren’t nearly enough for mark to be prepared for what you were about to share.

you don’t look at him when you speak. with your eyes set on the passing hills just outside, your voice breaches lowly into the air and across the car, right to mark’s utter confusion at the first of your words.

“i’ve learned that no amount of love goes wasted. i’ve learned that bad, unfortunate, terrible things happen to good people everyday, most of the time for no reason.” when you next blink, there’s a thin film of tears that gloss your eyes. “i’ve learned that the same bad, unfortunate, terrible things can happen to the very people that you love, and that sometimes there is nothing you can do about it.”

he thinks he can hear your breaths, or some similar rhythm pulsing in the thickened air, taut with tension and the fragility of your words. two beats pass, then four, before mark confirms it to be your now labored breathing. it stops shortly after, and you continue speaking to your best ability, which even then amounts to very little. “i’ve learned…”

mark turns to look at you for a little longer than he should, and the composure with which you held your head gives out, the weight of his gaze somehow heavier than that of your circumstances. he’s never seen you like this. he doesn’t know what’s your reality, and that this car, this trip, this moment, is your escape.

“i’ve learned what it means to grieve for someone before they’ve even passed.”

he doesn’t know that you’re running on stolen time. he doesn’t know, wasn’t there, never saw how your mom had given your hand a squeeze, feeble but certain. how she faults her poorly-timed illness. how she struggled to sit up to give your grief-stricken, heartbroken body a hug and a kiss goodbye, regretful she might never be able to rejoice in her daughter’s marriage, and yet grateful that at least her other daughter can rejoice in her stead.

when you find it in yourself to lift your head upright, mark takes in another glance at the puffiness around your eyes and the streaks running down your cheek to your neck. he knows he should free a hand to locate the tissue box or offer that hand in support but he can hardly breathe, much less move, when you start speaking again.

“it’s my mom. her cancer, it’s relapsed.”

for a few seconds, all he can hear is the white noise of his car tires on an endless expanse of road. it’s like your words dissolve into the noise, refusing their impact on his own ears, richocheting between reality and his imagination. mark holds so still that he might as well have stopped breathing, or thinking, or being.

it’s only when he hears a sob escape from you that his gravity returns to him out of a sense of realized necessity. a sort of certainty courses through his veins when he pulls over the car. there’s barely anyone on the road to witness him exit and circle around to your side. mark moves with conviction when he pulls your door open, unbuckles your seat belt, and embraces you whole. neither of you register the tears leaking from his eyes nor the way his hands shake ever so slightly, because his expression has been set straight, and his body sturdy for you to lean on.

forehead pressed to his chest, you’re gasping for air and making all sorts of incomprehensible sounds of anguish. you weren’t sure of where your strength had come from to confide in him like that, after you’d dutifully dedicated yourself to a trip detached fully of worries beyond your control at home. but you know it now. in the way he pats down your hair, rubs circles into your back, holds all the same grief-stricken, heartbroken pieces of your body together like glue, you know that it’s because it’s mark.

he doesn’t yet know what he’s saying but it’s coming out of him anyways. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he panics even more when you’re shaking your head in his arms, your hitched breaths unable to let forth any words of disagreement. but mark shakes his head too. you don’t know.

you don’t know how much it hurts him. from his heart, in his bones, through every fiber of his being he feels it. his apology.

“i’m sorry for not being there when you needed me most.”

you make up for your loss of words by looking up at him, finally. his mask of placidity folds, first at the seams with the furrow of his brow, but then in full as his face scrunches into what can only be described as indescribable heartache. his shirt is fisted in your hands as you sob, “how could you… how could you have known?”

mark shuts his eyes because he doesn’t think he has it in him to bear witness to the misery written across your face. his heart hammers inside his chest, unpromising of any relief any time soon. he holds you together, closely, closer, until there’s hardly a hardly a point of separation between the two of you.

your question rings in his head, because it makes no sense, because it only makes him feel worse about the last year he’s spent alone, because even without you by his side…

“i should have just known.”

only now do you realize that your trust in mark is the one thing that could possibly nullify your entire messy history. in hindsight, it was obvious. you knew that if you told him, he would make it his duty to make you feel better. you told him because maybe that’s precisely what you wanted to feel. and maybe you needed mark, more than anyone, to hug you like this and to convince you that everything was somehow going to work out. because maybe, just maybe, you would begin to believe it for yourself.

「 00:00 」 — AMARANTH

it was something that you didn’t think was possible. to live with someone, to inhabit the same room, sleep in the same bed, and yet, to be so distanced to the point at which you were strangers.

sometimes he’d leave a mug on the kitchen counter, lukewarm coffee left idle. other times the tv would be left on when you got home from class, or the shower was wet when you stepped in. it was these small things, like traces of a ghost, that reminded you of your relationship with mark, or what was left of it.

on the off chance that the two of you would meet face-to-face, he was always reserved to himself. a few small apologies, maybe a peck to your lips, and always a search for reassurance — that you would’t leave him, that you wouldn’t understand where he was coming from, that you knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

the it was complicated. on the surface, the it was his absence in the physical sense. despite dropping out from college and having a suddenly abundant amount of free time, barely any of that time was spent with you. despite moving in to your apartment after being cut off financially from his parents and being forced to move out of the school dorms, the it was him rarely being at home. mark was always out on some unnamed errand, or to shoot at some far away location, hours away from anyone and anything.

but under all that, the it was his inability to face himself and his future head on. the it was his latent realization that there were consequences to his impulsive and headstrong decisions, more than he had the foresight to think of, more than what he was capable of dealing with at the time. the it meant that he was incapable of putting any of these feelings to words, and even more so unwilling to say these words aloud to you.

mark didn’t know how to tell you he was lost without feeling like he had lost the one thing that was left of him — his dignity. he had held his head high when he’d passed word around that he would quit school, certain that it wasn’t the right path for him. he had held his head high when he had left his parents’ house, his childhood home, after his own father had gotten on his knees to beg him to just finish up his degree, to hold out for one last year. but he couldn’t even admit to himself, much less you, that he didn’t know what to do with himself after all his bravado had worn off.

it was an adulthood thing, he’d much later come to understand, his own version of a dramatic coming of age movie where he needed to lose himself in order to find himself. and it led him to the job of his dreams: somewhere between a full-time photographer and a part-time influencer, traveling the world, capturing it on film, documenting his process and growth journey for others to be inspired by. ever so passionate and devoted to his work, mark poured his whole into perfecting his craft. and only when he emerged atop the hill he had climbed all by his lone self — without a degree and without the support of his peers and parents — did mark realize that he had lost the one person that would have supported him through anything. you.

but the damage had been done. at that point, there was no such word in the english dictionary that could remediate the month and a half of unexplained absence. in response to his silence and refusal to confide in you, you had withdrawn from the relationship yourself, having given up on getting him to clue you in and having to deal with your own problems as well.

it was too late for mark to say anything about it, far too late for any verbal apology to make up for it all. mark figured that his actions would speak louder than his words ever could.

at the height of summer, the sun couldn’t have shone brighter. it was that day where you had come to understand that mark’s place of refuge had never been the apartment you thought you’d both called home; it was the lake. the emerald lake would have a special feature in the photobook that mark would publish months after the two of you had broken up. in his captions, he’d write that it was there that he would turn to when his thoughts overwhelmed him, when he didn’t have it in himself to face the world.

and it was beautiful, in the most heartbreaking way, to see for yourself that in his most vulnerable state, he had turned to these waters and these winds. it was most beguiling, in the most earth-shattering way, to watch as he submerged himself bare in the water, to realize that he could never bare his heart to you, didn’t know how to, didn’t want to, didn’t care to.

he didn’t understand how badly you wanted to love him for everything that he was. he was too proud to let you see the worst parts of him, too proud to let you love the worst parts of him.

to him, the water was a symbol of renewal. to bring you here, where his heart lay, meant that he was opening back up to you, urging to you enter his waters. to you, it was a symbol of cleansing. to enter the water where you were beckoned meant washing off all the grief and bitterness that had accumulated towards the tail end of your relationship. you hadn’t yet figured out where you stood with him, if you still loved him, or if you even knew him well enough to say that you still loved him.

it was ill-fated timing, really. your mom was diagnosed with hodgkin’s lymphoma, not even a week after what mark believed to be the turning point of your relationship. you had called him from the hospital, voice thick with affliction, rambling about chemotherapy and medical bills and breaking the news to your sister and everything else that had brought your world to a standstill. and yet in the midst of all your despair, mark could not for the life of him string together a single sentence.

later revealed, her cancer was at an early stage, so one round of chemotherapy was enough to quell it into remission. it wasn’t, however, easy on your family in terms of the financial burnden and emotional turmoil that steadily built over her four months of treatment.

all of this, mark would only hear of through haechan, for your relationship had ended the moment you had hung up that call.

blocking his phone number and social medias was the easy part. the hard part was convincing haechan to let mark move in with him. it was completely and utterly stupid and unreasonable, according to him, to end a fully committed relationship just because the guy couldn’t formulate a response to your trauma dump. “why?”

“because he’s emotionally constipated,” was the easy answer with an easy counter that haechan was sure to give, “but you knew that even before dating him.”

you sighed. however impossible, you could hear his impatience over the phone. it was enough to get you to be fully honest with your best friend. “he can’t talk to me. he can’t be honest with me. he can’t look me in the face and say ‘i’m sorry.’ tell me, hyuck,” your breath picks up and you’re mere seconds away from sobbing, “tell me, how am i supposed to come home from the hospital everyday and tell my sob story to a fucking wall?!”

later that day, haechan came over to your apartment to pick up all the belongings of your ex-boyfriend. you had dumped him because your life was in no state to house someone who didn’t know how to shoulder a burden. you had dumped him because, for the sake of your well being, you could no longer put up with his inability to communicate openly with you, to tell you what he was feeling, to tell you to ease your worries, or even just to tell you that he loved you.

but even now as you’re sat in the passenger seat of his car, if mark told you he didn’t love you anymore, you probably wouldn’t believe it.

you know it in the way he looks at you, with eyes so tender and attentive to your every motion, ears perked at every intonation, and heart worn bare at the foot of his sleeve. these were all made fact from the moment you first stepped in his car, when the simple idea of seeing him still made you apprehensive and guarded.

but with how low your defenses have since dropped, there’s no reason left to deny that mark wouldn’t believe you either if you told him you didn’t love him anymore.

and you can’t say it’s any sort of impulsive feeling, or an effect of loneliness that’s gotten the best of you. it’s evident to you now that the mark beside you is not the same mark you fell in love with. he is a result of your breakup, the one thing that he could not bury away with the rest of his feelings. the one thing that, if he ever turned to the lake for refuge, would only haunt him in the form of the memory of you that day. he could not run from the torment of losing you, because it had consumed him whole.

the mark beside you gave you your space when you needed it, and held you close even when you didn’t know you needed it. he still is awkward in responding to your questions, but he responds nonetheless. he apologized.

he’s not the same mark you foolishly fell in love with, overlooking his weakness until it ruined your relationship. the mark beside you is someone you have the choice of falling in love with, in full admiration for his growth and strengths, so much so that it begs the question:

what do you do when the reason you broke up with your ex no longer exists?

「 DAY 03, 12:47 PM 」 — WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?

“thank you.”

mark jolts in his seat, though he keeps enough of his cool only to answer somewhat lamely, “uhh… for what?”

“for comforting me.”

mark doesn’t look over at you. he can’t. he’s afraid of what you have to say, of what’s to become of your fleeting friendship, of the boundaries he’d overstepped. so he merely brushes it off, hoping you don’t read too much into his actions to feel uncomfortable about it. “oh that? it was nothing, no need to thank me.”

but you look over at him, and continue to, for seconds or even minutes on end. the profile of his face is perfect to you, round eyes, the slope of his nose, an equally boyish and nervous smile playing at his lips. you could almost cry, again; this time at the irony of how your break up was so ill-fated by time, but your reunion so auspicious.

“it was not nothing to me. it was… everything.”

now he looks over at you with curious eyes, but you just shake your head slightly. “it just meant a lot to me. that’s all.”

mark returns his gaze up front. he’s still nervous, afraid, and ever so conscious of you, but at the very least, he’s glad that he seems to have successfully communicated his care for you. in silence, you’ve spent the last three hours switching between playing sudoku on your phone and annotating a red-covered book titled all about love by bell hooks with a pink pen.

until a few seconds ago, mark hadn’t had any insight whatsoever as to how you were feeling, whether you wanted more space to yourself, or if you wanted to just put it behind you and move on to cheerier conversations. and with bated breath has mark awaited some sort of sign that you were doing okay. now, as if given the green light, he sighs in relief and begins to speak, almost a little too eager to be able to strike conversation with you again.

“we’re almost halfway through texas now. well, the tip of it.”

the view just outside is completely flat for as far as the eye can perceive. blocked with only two colors, the vivid blue sky is completely void of any cloud, just as the dirt ground is void of any plant. seeing the landscapes change restlessly before your eyes over the past few days has felt like putting your life on double the speed, and the constant and unchanging blue and brown just outside feels like a welcome contrast. in all the flurry of this trip, you yearn for a moment to reorient yourself. and so you ask, “where are we staying tonight?”

“not sure yet, but if you want to you can look up some hotels in new mexico.”

you ponder the suggestion to yourself before suggesting an idea of your own, “how about we go camping? i saw your gear in the trunk.”

it’s gradual and awfully subtle, but you watch intently as the corners of mark’s lips upturn into a small smile. you even take note of how the sunlight from outside catches in his eyes, a small glint that gives his whole countenance a boyish radiance. he chuckles under his breath, simultaneously spotting a sign on the right side of the road. there’s almost a singing undertone in the way he says, “wanna take a break somewhere, grab some food, and plan something?”

you notice that the smile is still on his face as he sits across from you at a wendy’s in the middle of amarillo, thirty minutes later. in the same plaza there happened to be a taco bell and a denny’s, with an ihop and mcdonald’s across the street, inciting a fifteen minute heated debate as to which would make you less likely to vomit all over his car. in reality, there was no right answer. they were all wrong, but mark lee isn’t usually one to win arguments.

he has a few travel brochures splayed on top of the table, though he spends more of his attention typing into his phone and scribbling down notes on a yellow post-it. while he put himself in charge of finding a suitable camping spot somewhere in eastern new mexico, mark put you in charge of something you couldn’t mess up, and something you thought was too easy for the high paygrade of your company.

you did it begrudgingly and anyways, opening up the notes app on your phone, not all that happy to be left with the comparatively more boring job of coming up with a list of things to buy. with some on-the-go food options and a blanket on the list, you contemplated what kind of alcohol would most appropriately suit the occasion, looking up from your phone in time to catch mark as he did the same. briefly, your eyes met across the table.

he knows you both thought of the same thing. you must have.

he’s the only one who knows he didn’t actually need to study for any of his finals that semester, with most of them being projects and the only outlier being a general education psychology course. but mark was at the library every day and night with you, knowing you were scared shitless for your first week of finals as a college student. you were in two completely different majors, with no overlapping classes or even departments, and yet he was there, quizzing you on your human anatomy or art history notes. you’d get all in your head about the answers, rethinking and doubting yourself. and then you’d look up at him, eyes meeting across the table just the same as now, and you’d say the correct answer.

and there was that one time, in the complete silence of the top floor of the main library, where mark had slipped you a post-it note, eyes attentive and lips pulled into a line as he watched you read over his penned question. and as always, you had said the correct answer. i would love to go on a date with you.

just like back then, you smile at him brightly and fondly from across the table. mark looks taken aback for a second, either reeling or pleasantly surprised by thought of the memory. he takes a bite of his burger, chews a bit, then swallows roughly. you look back down at your screen and quickly type ‘soju’ before setting your phone down, figuring something stronger than beer would be able to get more truths out of you that wouldn’t escape so easily when sober. seeing as how this trip had you revealing more than you expected, even going as far as confiding your most vulnerable self to mark, you wish he would let go of some of his own thoughts as well.

mark sets his phone down too, as you rummage through your bag to find the red box you’d taken from the car. he watches as you set it on the table and after recognizing it, quips almost incredulously, “you still wanna play? after all that?”

“well i was thinking i could use a break from answering.”

“you want me to answer?” he quirks an eyebrow up, and you pass the set of cards over to him. barely shuffling, he draws a card at random and his eyebrows move again, this time to furrow as he skims the question. mark reads aloud, “how old do you feel, emotionally?”

it’s a question that you yourself can’t answer for him, even if you wished to. there’s no way for you to tell what kind of changes had occurred between then and now, but at the very least you know that he’s years wiser than the mark that once sat across from you at the library. and that thought alone pulls at your heart incessantly.

after giving the question some thought, mark answers in all the ways you least expect him to.

“i feel like i know nothing.”

and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further.

“what?”

mark laughs a bit. it’s evident that his thought was underdeveloped, and so he develops it some more, “i feel like a newborn baby, but like… really smart.” he continues to make no sense, so you laugh at him. and then you’re both laughing. it’s sweet, really.

he had spent so long in that library with you, dutifully studying for what would be the easiest final exam of his life. mark reread his psychology notes so many times that week that they would be forever ingrained in his mind. but to you, the next thoughts he shares are completely out of the blue.

“you know like crystallized and fluid intelligence?” he pauses to laugh some more at the quizzical look you’ve thrown him. “like crystallized is like accumulated knowledge and stuff like facts, while fluid intelligence is like problem-solving and reasoning or something.”

now he really needs you to stop laughing because it’s infectious. “and what does that have to do with anything?” your laughter is especially infectious to him, because he really can’t bring himself to stop laughing despite the point he so desperately wants to make.

“just let me finish my thought, okay? and then you can laugh all you want.”

at that, you stifle your laughter by pressing your lips together, and all mark can think of is how cute you are. he pushes past that thought and does his best to sound like he’s not stupid.

“i mean like, i feel like i have a bunch of crystallized intelligence from being in the world for so long, but at the same time i have zero fluid intelligence. like i’m a newborn baby with all the knowledge in the world, and no idea what to do with it.”

and you catch on immediately, “so basically like… adulting? like facing the real world after being coddled your entire life?”

mark isn’t laughing anymore nor was anything he said that stupid, but he has this stupid dopey smile on his face. because if there’s one person that can comprehend his thoughts so completely and so easily, even as he uses the most unorthodox methods to explain them, it’s you. always you. only you.

and just like that you understood it all. the months he spent in solitude after dropping out of college weren’t spent alone, they were spent facing the real world. you had always been so bitter that he would rather endure those rough moments by himself than shoulder his worries with you, but you understand it now. and he didn’t even need to say much at all. mark had needed space to figure out himself, for himself. he needed to unlearn everything that people and society had told him about who he was, what he was good at, bad at, should or shouldn’t do, and for once, spend time to get to know himself. after all, how was he supposed to be in a relationship with you if he didn’t even have an idea of who he was?

sitting across from him now, you can see in full how mark’s grown into himself, his passions, and his work. he’s facing the world still, and will always be, but he is confident instead of prideful. he isn’t ashamed of what he doesn’t know, for he will learn in due time. he isn’t afraid of failure, because he knows he’ll only grow from it.

it’s astonishing how these past few days have brought everything into a full circle. in hindsight, the messy break up was really just what the situation called for. and this impromptu reunion turned out to be a miracle of timing, to the degree at which the both of you can’t help but think…

right person, right time.

「 DAY 03, 10:12 PM 」 — MY DREAMS COME TRUE (WHEN I’M WITH YOU)

you found it strange, but didn’t think too much of it.

it was like there was some foggy haze over everything, like a honeyed film that made your world a little sweeter, softer, and more precious. you had spent almost a full two years juggling your classes, extracurriculars, and family and relationship issues, flitting between school and home and the hospital and then repeating it all over and over until you couldn’t even trace when you’d gone a bit insane. to you, it was something between a secret orchestration of the universe and an answered prayer to find yourself out here, surrounded by cicadas and under the scorching sun.

to him, it was everything he could have asked for, and more.

sumner lake state park had his favorite hues of greens, blues, and browns. and you were grateful, for mark frequently paused your impromptu hiking trip to shoot on his camera, leaving you moments to catch a breath and take in the views along the lakeshore.

the sun had set at half past eight. that was almost two hours ago, and two hours after the two of you had luckily scored a spot at the eastside campground. whoever made the original reservation would forever have no clue as to what they helped achieve by simply not showing up.

it was like a dream, except you were awake. it was like a movie, except you were the star. it was like a book, except it wasn’t all about love. it was all about mark lee.

he has one hand holding his mug and the other on your thigh. again, there’s the glint in his eyes, this time sourced from the small campfire he’s made. the summer night is hot enough, but mark had insisted. “for the ambiance,” he’d said, “for the memories.”

this is how the memory will go. for whenever you think back to this moment, you will always remember the glow of the fire reflected in his eyes, the buzz of cicadas, the sound of the lapping lake, and his hand on your thigh.

you take a swig of your soju, face scrunching at the initially bitter taste. setting your mug down, you lean back on the palms of your hands and look up towards the sky. it reminds you of the color pencil set you used to use as a kid, the black you’d always confuse for a dark navy and the dark navy you’d always confuse for the black. and dotted with a white color pencil were the stars, shining one by one, all too similar to the light in his eyes.

the water of the lake reminds you of him. the leaves of trees he’d dedicated countless rolls of film to reminds you of him. the singing of birds, as soft as his mindless humming, reminds you of him. the sweetness left by the soju in your mouth reminds you of him.

maybe the world felt a little lighter on your shoulders when you were with him, and everything seemed a little brighter because of his bright eyes and carefree smile. he makes you feel like you’re a kid whose imaginative color pencil drawings of her dreams spin off the paper and turn into reality. like a kid who, in her heart, only has space for hope for the future.

and you think, that must be what it means to love someone. to see everything in a different light, to see only the best of situations, of people, of the world around you. and ultimately, to love the world, everybody in it, every thing ever created, because you love him.

and so when he draws the next card, it’s the most ridiculous question ever.

“how did you get over your first love?”

you laugh a little, then gulp down the rest of the soju in your mug. wincing at the taste, you decide that it would do no harm whatsoever to be a little more honest with mark. compared to the first day you stepped in his car, back into his life, you now have a very good idea of how mark had changed, how he knew how to handle your feelings with care this time around. it’s a newfound trust, and you plan on exercising it.

looking him straight in the eye, you cock your head a bit to the left as if considering the thing you already knew you were to say. “i don’t think i’ve ever gotten over you.”

mark has no reaction. he just stares at you for longer and longer, until you tilt your head to the other side and he seems to remember that time hasn’t stopped for him. suddenly he’s also downing the rest of his soju, throwing his head back and gulping it down thickly.

truth be told, he used to be intimidated by the honesty with which you always spoke, but he thinks he gets it now. whether it be with other people or with himself, mark feared that the truth about his feelings, his pridefulness, or the nature of his insecurities weakened him. but at the end of the day, what good has avoiding the truth done for him? it was through losing the most sincere person in his life that he realized being forthright and overcoming the fear, the uncomfortableness, and sometimes the displeasure of being honest, made him all the stronger.

and it’s with these thoughts that mark is able to muster up the courage to regain your gaze with all the softness in the world. maybe it had a little to do with the alcohol in his system, but the words seem to slip right out of him. “i don’t think i’ve ever gotten over you either.”

you hold your gaze for only a few moments longer, for shortly after processing his words you break out into a grin so wide, mark can’t help but think the alcohol’s gotten to you too. and then you’re laughing a bit — whether out of relief or bewilderment, he can’t tell — but he’s glad. mark is glad to hear your honest answer, glad to give an honest answer back. he watches as you fully recline on the air mattress in the trunk of his car, looking onwards adoringly. there’s really no way to tell if he’s feeling this giddy because he’s drunk or because for the first time, there is no need to suppress his feelings for you. mark suspects it’s both, at the same time, in full effect.

he grabs another card, reads it for all of two seconds. mark leans over to where you’re peering up at him and, smiling fondly, he tells you to, “close your eyes for a sec.” you think of the campfire, the cicadas, and the lake, but when you recall this night in memory, this exact moment is what you remember most vividly.

it was bound to happen. you just didn’t know it’d happen like this.

the air mattress isn’t uncomfortable, per se; it’s just that it feels hot against your skin. chills run down the length of your spine, but it isn’t the doing of the wind from the half-open windows. it’s mark lee and his lips on yours. his hand comes up to your arm feverishly, barely grazing it, and more chills ripple from wherever the rings on his fingers ghost your skin.

mark stops for a moment. takes a breath. looks back up and peers into your eyes. he kisses you again.

you don’t know what to do except kiss him back. he has both hands on you now, the one on your arm and the other one on your neck. and he keeps kissing you, lips molding to yours with slips of his tongue here and there, gentle and prodding. he’s scared. for what exactly? he doesn’t know. maybe for his life.

his life, that you seem to be holding in your hands, the same hands that are now making their way around his waist. mark can’t breathe. the skin at the back of your neck is warm and soft to the touch, but he already knew that. he’s known it for so long. everything about you is familiar to him like a well-worn book or the lines of his favorite song. the sound of your voice is so low when the briefest of groans escapes you, but to mark it’s almost predictable. this is the you that he knows, the you that he couldn’t forget, the you that he lost.

mark can’t breathe, and so he stops kissing you. he mumbles an embarrassed, “i’m sorry.” he buries his head into your shoulder. he thinks he loves you. he knows he does.

but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

out of fear, he can’t tell you he loves you. it’s not the same fear that held him back from sharing any vulnerable side of himself with you, but instead the fear of losing you. even as you admit your lingering feelings and kiss him back like you’d never stopped, mark is filled with the fear of how overbearing he’d be if he fully leaned into his desire for you. he can imagine himself, in this same moment but in a million different universes, and in each one he messes up.

in one, he moves too fast by saying the words but he’s got the timing all wrong, and all of a sudden his feelings are a burden to you whose own feelings lack the depth of his. in another, he never says them at all, and this night marks the last of any intimacy he’ll receive for the rest of his life. in all of these universes, he knows why he kissed you, but he doesn’t know what you meant when you kissed him back. in all these universes, he wants, more than anything, to do right by you.

“sorry for what?”

mark lifts his head up to look you in the eye, and when he still fails to say a word, you tease him a bit to lighten the suddenly dour look on his face. “for kissing me? really?”

to your delight, he chuckles at that and shakes his head lightly.

you can tell he has a lot on his mind, but his neck and ears are flushed red and you don’t mean to use his inebriation to pry the words out of him. you pat the empty side of the bed, “lay down, we should get some sleep.”

slowly and cautiously, he moves to the spot next to you. laying down flat on his back and staring at the darkened ceiling of his car, mark wonders if this is the universe where nothing happens at all and he misses his chance completely. he sinks into this feeling and almost lets it consume him whole when he realizes he’s the only person who has the ability to change that.

the blanket the you bought earlier in the day has been discarded by your feet, the summer heat imanent even in the dead of night. you don’t know how to process what just happened, and you don’t get a chance to. a warmth is felt along your side before you realize mark’s arms have found their way around your waist, bringing you closer to him. he nuzzles his face into the sleeve of your shirt, eyes closed and humming in satisfaction.

his voice is barely discernible when he mumbles, “i’m sorry if that caught you by surprise.”

the sound of cicadas chirping just outside fills the space between his apology and your forgiveness. “it’s okay. i didn’t mind it.”

mark shifts his position a little. he places a small kiss at the base of your neck. “do you mind this, then?”

though his eyelids remain heavy and all his words are slurred together, he’s more alert than he has been all day. he doesn’t hear your small laugh so much as he feels it pulse against him, and it fills him with much joy. perhaps this has been his superpower all along, changing his universe in small and big ways, however he desires. perhaps, as long as he is true to himself and honest with his feelings, he will always find a way to have you close by his side, feeling every rise and fall of your breath.

that night, in the brief moments before sleep overcomes him mark decides that he will create a universe where you are his, happily, rightfully, and fatefully.

「 DAY 05, 1:44 AM 」 — JUST TELL ME YOU LOVE ME

number three on mark’s bucket list — the one he made in his sophomore year of college — is to one day visit the svalbard islands. located in the arctic circle, the northernmost town in the world, called longyearbyen, goes about half a year without sunlight during its dark season. it is there that mark wishes to undergo the challenge of photographing in almost complete darkness, something he’s never quite been able to catch the hang of.

number four on his bucket list is to start a company that produces camera gear for his own needs, and for the needs of the many people he’s inspired with his work. number five on his bucket list is to buy an old ass subaru manual transmission wrx and fix it up until it’s perfectly to his liking.

out of all these ambitions listed on his bucket list that mark had told you about way back then – the previously mentioned visiting of all the national parks and forests, shooting in svalbard, starting a camera gear company, and owning a wrx — he’d neglected to tell you what tops his list at number one.

after two years, his bucket list remains unchanged, even the mystery number one: to complete everything on his list with you.

when you had asked a few days prior why mark hadn’t bothered moving out of nyc as it no longer served his needs, he had said you were the one reason he couldn’t part with the city. it had made you frustrated as to why he kept you in the equation even after your relationship came to a close, but more so confused as to why he still held you to such importance.

you had spent the many months after the break up working hard at keeping your life together, removing all emotions, situations, and people that stood in the way of your priorities at the time, which were school and family. while that still holds true for you, mark’s priorities hadn’t changed either; you have continued to be a priority of his to this very day. and only now, when he’s right in front of you, do you realize this.

maybe it had been your insistence on moving on from him that you believed all his actions were nothing more than displays of his latent guilt. he’d send boxes of protein drinks to your front door, salves and balms for cracked skin, and woven hats for your mom who was undergoing chemotherapy at the time. and for you, there’d be the occasional uber eats ramen or chicken noodle soup that would arrive at your doorfront unprompted, and especially right at the times when you were up studying all night.

under suspicion, you had stopped complaining to haechan whenever you were feeling particularly tired or hungry, and the late night meals that were sent to your house lowered in frequency, and weren’t as punctual to your needs. mark wasn’t outright with anything, never showed up himself, or contacted you personally, but he wasn’t exactly discreet either.

only you, haechan, and mark knew your door code, for you hadn’t bothered to changed it after he moved out as there was no apparent need to. after the lightbulb in your kitchen went out and you had asked haechan a favor to buy you one at the nearest hardware store, you came home later that day to find it already fixed. knowing haechan was also busy with school and wouldn’t go to such lengths without further bribing, you had surmised it was mark and decided to put it to the test. the next time when your shower faucet started leaking, you mentioned it in passing to haechan and before the end of the week, it was good as new.

could it have counted as breaking and entering? that’s debateable. but you were aware of it and yet did nothing about it, rendering it legal at the very least. back then, you had given the vitamin supplements he had sent to your house to your mom, eaten every meal he bought you, and accepted all his covert services without a second thought, because you were firm in your belief that any form apology sent your way was useless in repairing the relationship you had put to a stop. you might as well accept it, move on, and wait until the day mark was no longer ridden with guilt, and no longer felt the need to perform such acts out as a result.

that day never came, and it’s evident to you in retrospect that he did nothing out of guilt, but everything out of care, for your health, your well-being, and safety. his care, simply, for you.

it’s evident to you in the way mark exceled in his role as the passenger princess the entire day. after he lost another argument to you, you finally found yourself behind the wheel which, somehow, felt like the safest seat in his car. he fed you snacks, kept you entertained, put on all your favorite songs, and navigated the both of you safely to the white sands national park in new mexico.

mark kept an extra pair of sunglasses in the central console of his car. mark also had facial oil blotting papers in the glove box. in the trunk, there was an extra pair of sandals in your size, and a set of two fold-out camping chairs. the way he never stopped caring, it was as if you never broke up with him.

there is no city in the world that mark would rather live in, if you are not there. there is no national park he would ever visit, if you are not with him. he would freeze to death in the northernmost city in the world, without your warmth beside him. he would run his company to the ground without your input, and his favorite wrx becomes just another car without you in the passenger seat. all his life goals lose their meaning in your absence. this is how it’s always been for mark. this is why you are a priority to him.

even with his sunglasses on, the white sands were exceptionally bright. for the duration of 45 minutes, mark had guided you along the dunes drive, a scenic eight mile drive through the famed gypsum dunefield. the road conditions were harsher the farther you went along, and so he instructed you into the nearest parking lot, and swapped seats with you before going on. mark held your hand while driving, and he also squeezed it whenever he inevitably hit a bump here and there, as if in apology, as if it was his fault.

mark had kissed you again, with nothing but the white sands and blue skies in the backdrop. he’d taken pictures of you, using up his most expensive film stock on your priceless smile. he’d paid for the motel too, knowing you hadn’t initially wished for the trip to be more than three days, but wanting you to stay for yet another.

all of this has you wondering if you have it in you to care for him the way he cares for you.

you wonder how much importance he holds to you, how much of your heart you’d be willing to give to him, where your love for him would take you if you set it free.

as it turns out, your unanswered questions would be answered in the wee hours of the following morning. this is after mark had driven another six hours to ensure you would be able to make it to los angeles by the day after that to help with last minute preparations for your sister’s wedding.

you are in miami, a city in which — up until the last hour of your life — you had no idea existed outside of florida. you are in arizona, a state in which you would never have had a reason for visiting, if not for mark lee.

you are in a room, at the two-star rated el rey motel. and now you are in the bathroom, dimly lit by the dispersed light of a plastic water bottle placed atop your phone flashlight. you are in the bathtub, and though the water’s no longer hot, the temperature maintains its warmth from the heat emanating off your body. alongside mark lee’s.

it’s a forced darkness; the single lightbulb was out, and the early hour meant the motel staff had already retired for the night. with only one weak light source, the darkness of the room sets a tension so high that both of you are afraid to speak, much less move. but you put it upon yourself to break the tension, as it was your idea in the first place. bathing together.

the silence and the darkness combined makes it so every movement and every breath is unmistakeable and pronounced. the same applies to the sound of your voice when you start to speak, “thank you.”

all of a sudden, mark repositions himself. you can barely see it, but you hear the water sloshing and you feel it move about you. he’s sat across the tub, and you find it fascinating that even without light, his eyes still manage to shine. looking into them, you resume, “thank for everything you did, after we broke up.”

you can hear him swallow. the more you talk, the more you feel the tears pricking at your eyes, your emotions rising as you continue to speak, “and thank you driving me across the country, and for always being considerate, and for apologizing, and for…” your voice lowers to a bare whisper, “...everything. for everything you have ever done for me.”

“you don’t… you don’t have to thank me for anything.”

whereas your tears are at the precipice of falling, you notice that mark has begun crying. they’re silent, the way his tears roll down his left cheek. the water around you shifts, ebbs and flows, as you move closer to him and reach a useless wet hand to wipe his tears. you keep your hand on his cheek. and again, mark finds that he can hardly breathe, “i did it all… i did all of it, because i…”

mark breathes a sharp inhale, the air struggling to squeeze past the three words that remain lodged in his throat. he’s twenty-four now, and he’s still scared of the dark. but by no means is he scared of the monsters under his bed. without light, a camera has to resort to longer exposure times to piece together a full picture. without light, the human eye has to dilate to capture more of what is right in front of it. if his exposure is set too low and if his eyes fail to dilate, all that will remain will be a blurry image, uncertainty as to what was, nothing when there was actually everything.

here in this bathroom, where there is nothing but you and him and a million unsaid truths, mark finds that he is terrified of losing what’s right in front of him to the darkness. again, he is most fearful of losing you.

both of your hands now cup his cheeks, bringing his face in line with your own. he has his arms around you, and you can feel his fingers pruning on the skin of your waist. you think you have an idea of what he’s about to say, was about to say, but you’re scared he won’t say it. with nothing but a thin veil of air between your noses, you decided to help him overcome his fears.

“i think we feel the same way about each other.” please say it to me.

mark blinks, breaks the stare, looks away, upwards, to the side, “we can’t possibly feel the same…”

he sounds almost exasperated, in the most diminished sense, but you push again, “even then, i don’t mind,” just tell me you love me.

“we can’t possibly feel the same…” mark returns your gaze again, and you watch as his pupils dilate, “because there’s no way you love me as much as i love you.”

the veil of air between your two noses lifts as you lean in for a kiss. a small one. one that says, i will always love you.

of all the things water could symbolize, the water in this bathtub surrounding the two of you represents life, the life that was breathed back into your relationship. this is owed to truth, which is a funny thing for it often hides in plain sight. a year ago at the lake, where the sun had touched every surface on the face of the earth, it had not bothered to dig deeper than that. it is only in the darkness that the truth has nowhere to hide. and if mark had been fearful of the dark moments ago, it is for this reason that he isn’t anymore.

「 DAY 06, 1:18 PM 」 — LIKE WE JUST MET

the trunk of his beloved subaru crosstrek slams shut from behind. mark winces. the car door of the passenger seat slams shut shortly after. mark winces once again, and complains rather brashly, “can you not do that every time you get in my car?”

“you’re late. we’re late. can we just get going already?”

mark huffs, turning his attention to the front because the both of you are at fault. you, for not treating his baby with love and care. and him, for picking you up almost twenty minutes after he was supposed to. the wedding venue was an hour away including traffic, and now mark had only forty minutes to not jeopardize the state of his new old relationship.

he’s all but broken your neck by the time you arrive — only five minutes late — after accelerating and braking as aggressively as was necessary to get you to your destination.

while you collect your belongings, mark exits the car, straightens out his tux, and makes his way over to your side of the car, pulling the door open for you. you meet him with a glare while clambering out the car, “you’re lucky nothing’s started yet.”

with you as the maid of honor and with him as just your plus one, he spends most of the time idling around and mingling with acquaintances he hasn’t seen in ages, whilst you headed to the suites of the beachside resort to help your sister get ready. mark is shocked, more than he has been in the past week, to find out that you hadn’t told a single relative that you’d broken up with him in the first place. still, he plays his role as “boyfriend for almost three years” quite well.

throughout the rest of the day, mark notices a few things.

1) you like the venue, a lot. a summer wedding on the beach, with pastels and flowers and the wind in everyone’s hair. and since you’d commented on these things more than once, mark made sure to commit it to memory for future reference.

2) your sister made a face at you before turning around and throwing the bouquet, which you caught. did everyone think he was supposed to propose right then and there? he doesn’t know, but something about the way your sister had regarded him the whole night makes him nervous. as in the “meeting the in-laws” kind of nervous.

3) lastly, you were more beautiful that you were yesterday. but also, yesterday you were more beautiful than you were the day before. mark had recognized this ongoing phenomena ever since you’d stepped in his car, and it doesn’t seem like there’s a cap to his admiration for you. at this point, it’s like he’s just waiting for any day now where it gets out of hand and he does propose.

it’s on the dance floor where this last point becomes very apparent to him. you’re laughing at everything he’s saying, eyes beaming up at him as he sways you this way and that. when he leans down to plant a kiss to your forehead, mark swears the smile you give in return could save lives with just how radiant it is. he feels a bit silly, like he’s gone a little crazy, but mark knows that the next wedding he’s going to will be his.

and it’s as if your minds communicated on a frequency that only the other could hear, as just the next moment you whisper in his ear.

“us next?”

✧ author's life update — honestly who knew i would get back into writing ff... basically i graduated from high school, got into a few t20 colleges, lost a parent to cancer, gained a parent, lost two best friends, broke up with my long term boyfriend, got my license, turned legal, AND saw the dreamies in concert. so if anyone's wondering why i left.... i'm just glad to say i'm so bored that i'm back. and yes this fic is mostly a self-indulgent account of what i wish my relationship and family life turned out to be but the moral of this story really is: if you're emotionally unstable, seek professional help before relying too much on your s/o. unless they are, of course, mark lee.

sources wnrs card game wnrs free deck (shhh) upmc pinnacle colon and rectal surgery center brockhampton saturation ii track 16 one star relax inn review little crazy love song alley spring mill the flea holiday inn at ok my fav tea that got me thru this wendy’s in amarillo sumner lake state park svalbard wikipedia things to do at white sands national park new mexico el rey motel

#mark lee x reader #nct mark #mark lee #mark lee fluff #mark x reader #nct fics #nct scenarios #nct #nct x reader #mark scenarios #mark lee scenarios #nct mark lee #mark x you #lee mark #mark fluff #nct dream #nct 127 #nct u

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kararomanoff · 1 year

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who's your mommy?

This was written by a minor, if you don’t like that that’s okay you don’t need to read.

when Natasha comes over for a week to stay with you and your mom, she learns that you may have had sex with your now ex girlfriend but your hers? Can’t you see that

warning: smut, mommy kink, innocence kink, double sided dildo, legal age gap, pet names(detka means baby in Russian)

this is shit, I apologise for the terrible writing

its summer break from collage and you where back in your home town for a bit staying in your child hood home.

You had grown up with only your mom and big brother, your dad had left when you where 6 for another woman and it broke your mothers beautiful heart, Natasha had come to stay for a year and a half after the day he left to help as your mom had a depressive episode.

eventually you guys became like a little family, you, your mom, your 11 year old big brother and Natasha. you still remember it, you still remember the day she surprised you by taking you out of school for the day and took you to the zoo and you accidently called her mommy.

after a year and a half Natasha had to leave and go back to New York, you never stopped missing her even to this day at 20 you never stopped, of course you still saw her but only every so often, every few years and every time she saw you it always made her proud for the good smart girl you turned out to be.

but lately she had seen you a bit differently, in a more inappropriate way.

today Natasha was coming to visit you and your mom. There was never really anyway to describe how seeing Natasha again made you feel; nervous or excited or maybe scared which was absolutely stupid cause you loved her and she loved you like a daughter, or so you thought and awhile ago she thought the same thing.

''helloo'' the door opens and you hear Natasha shout, you jump up from your seat running to the front door and jumping into her arms ''NATTY!!!'' you shout in her ear with excitement ''detka'' she replys with the same excitement as she holds you as close as possible, smelling your coconut scented hair.

''Natasha'' your moms voice sounds through the front hall of your suburban house. Natasha reluctantly puts you back on the ground and walks over to your mom giving her a big hug and you can see the giant happy smile on your moms face, happy to see her best friend and that some how made your smile grow impossibly bigger knowing how Natasha had always been there for the woman you gave you life no matter what.

you walk up to them pulling Natasha out of your moms arms ''Natty i want your attention, i've not seen you in foreverrrrr!!!'' you whine

''And here i was going to say how grown up you are but it seems like your just the same little girl who called me mommy'' she smirked making you blush and duck your head.

you offered to take Natasha's suit case up stairs to her room that was left from when she lived there, you had never let her move any of her stuff out, always going into her room when you missed her. but Natasha refused and said she'd take it up because she needed a shower any way.

when she was in the shower you started on dinner knowing Natasha cant cook and wanting your mom to relax but secretly wanting to show Natasha to see your cooking skills. you decided to make her favourite, well what was her favourite last time she tried to make you dinner, which was when you where 6 you had never seen her cook since then.

you got the chicken wings out of the fridge and the sauce you made earlier, you dipped the chicken in eggs then bread crumbs and fried them, next putting the crispy chicken and spicy sauce in a tray to put in the oven.

''mhm baby that smells delicious'' Natasha spoke giving you a fright

''oh natty you scared me'' you breathe, hand on your chest

''sorry little one'' she kisses the top of your forehead, she had always done that but this time it was different, it made you feel different, a way you had only felt once with your ex girlfriend Agatha.

''Natty, you need to leave, its a surprise'' you say seriously

''oh yes, how dare i interrupt the chef'' she says with faux seriousness walking out of the kitchen to sit with your mother at the dinning room table.

you continue to cook put the chicken in the oven and setting a timer. You walk into the dinning room to see your mom and Natasha sitting across from one another drinking red wine, you sit in the chair next to Natasha as you wanted needed to be close to her.

you rest your head on her shoulder, looking up at her ''hi'' you whisper

''hi love'' Natasha whispers back making you smile

''i need to go get the dinner'' you say still look up at her beautiful face

''go get it then honey'' she continues to whisper

''okayyyy natty'' you get up wishing you where still close to her, you hadn't actually seen her in 4 years, of course you had called and text but it wasnt the same and you never wanted her to leave again.

you walk in to the kitchen getting the food out of the oven and put it on plates.

you go back to the dinning room giving Natasha her dinner first, then your mom and finally yourself.

''so how's collage been sweetheart?'' Natasha asks

''gooood'' you hum biting into your food

''she has a girlfriend too'' you mom says unknowing how Natasha would react to that ''mh y/n honey this is delicious'' Natasha blocks out what your mother is saying turning to look at you with a look in your eyes you've never seen before, almost like jealousy but that made no sense why would she be jealous?

''we broke up actually'' you say with a saddened voice

''oh baby im so sorry'' Natasha faked sadness for you, she wasn't sorry, she wanted you, she was going to be your mommy again. ''but i hope there wasn't any touching'' she turns to give you condescending look, you cant reply knowing that there was, but only once.

she picked up on this giving you what you thought was a disappointed look.

for the rest of dinner Natasha practically ignored you and it broke your heart thinking she was disappointed in you.

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

it was now 10pm, you, your mom and Natasha had all watched your favourite movie. You had cuddled into Natasha the whole time but she hadn't said a word to you, she hadn't even looked at you.

''imma go to bed now'' you say getting up from your spot on the sofa.

''goodnight honey, i love you'' your mom said

''goodnight mom i love you too........goodnight Natty.... i've missed you and i love you'' and for the since dinner Natasha looked at you, her eyes soft ''i love you too little one''

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

you are lying in bed in your favourite pjs that Natasha had got you for your birthday a few years ago unable to sleep knowing Nat was upset with you, you couldn't sleep like this. you get up from your bed and tip toe down the hall till your reach Natasha's bed room door, debating where to knock or just to walk in, you decide on just walking in in case she is sleeping.

when you walk in you are surrounded by the sound of panting, you frow your brows ''Natty are you okay?''

''fuck'' you here her mumble and see her head pop out of under the covers, you start to laugh and Natasha's face changed from a worried one to a confused one ''what, what's funny?''

''Natty! your hairs so messy! what the hell where you doing?'' you giggle, Natasha smiles seeing that your still her innocent little girl.

''i was just thinking about you baby girl'' that was true she was thinking about you she may just have been........ touching herself at the same time

''thinking about me makes your hair crazy?'' you continue to giggle

''it makes lots of things crazy detka''

''can i come into your bed natty?'' this was her shot, in all honesty she came this week of course because she had missed you but really because she needed to touch you, to have you, it wasn't a want anymore.

''of course you can sweetheart you don't even need to ask'' with that you get in to her bed, cuddling your head into her chest. ''how did you and your girlfriend touch honey?'' she speaks after a minutes silence and you blush yet again '' was it like this?'' Natasha cups your pussy with her already wet hand that was covered in her juices.

she watches as your face scrunches up ''Natty....what- what are you-'' Natasha cuts you off ''teaching you who you belong to princess and calling me mommy'' she says pulling your pj bottoms down as you whine.

''no panties?''

'' Aggie said it was bad to wear panties''

'' well she was right baby but you still wore your pj bottoms, you should do that because if mommy thinks you need her it'll be really hard for mommy to help you'' she rasps

'' 'm sorry mommy'' you squeaked as she started to rub her fingers against your clit

'' its okay, Aggie was mean and didn't tell you that but mommy did because im nice and i want to be able to help my baby'' Natasha speeds her fingers up making you moan as she lies between your legs teasing you. ''mommy is going to show you soooo much love tonight, you have no idea how long mommys waited to have you here'' Natasha then takes her fingers of your clit to see how you'd react, she wasn't going to let this be over fast, she had waiting to long for it to end in 2 minutes.

''mommy wh- why did you stop?'' you voice shakes needing to feel her against you again.

''awww do you need mommy to make you feel better, to fix the feeling in your tummy?'' she teases as she gets up walking over to her dresser and stripping

''yes mommy please, please please fix it, it hurts. i need you mommy'' you beg relentlessly just like she imaged you would.

she was turned away from you so you couldn't see what she was doing, she open one of her drawers pulling something out and after a few seconds turning back around.

''mommy whats that?'' you ask in fear as you stare down at the two sided dildo, the smaller side already inside of her.

''its whats gonna make you fell better dove'' Natasha climbed atop the bed pulling you down by your open legs ''this is gonna hurt a little sweetheart but i promise that in a few minutes you'll feel amazing, okay?'' she was worried for you but far more excited to ruin you and make you all hers, her little baby.

she starts to slowly push the head of the strap inside of you, making you let out a scream ''honey you need to be quite for mommy'' she whispered hoping that put it in your head to be quite.

once half of the strap is inside of you Natasha starts to take it out only to then thrust the entire length into you

she watched in pride as you bite your lip to stop your scream and tears streamed out of your eyes ''such a good girl for mommy, i promise it gets better'' Natasha's voice is surprisingly soft. she starts to very slowly thrust into you, loving all the noises of your cute little whines.

''mommy can i have more please?'' you moan into her ear, how could she say no to that. Natasha starts to thrust recklessly into you “mo-mommy mhm I-“ you moan

“Gonna cum all over mommy’s cock huh?” She rasp as she feels the coil in her stomach and brings her hand down to play with your clit

“mommy it to mu-much” you whine “feel like imma explode mommy”

“it’s okay baby explode for mommy” she thrust, look down to see you squirt all over her dick “such a good little girl” Natasha hums

“mommy- to much now” you cry after your orgasm is over as Natasha continues to thrust in to you at an outrageous speed.

“mommy need to cum to honey so be a good girl and lie still and let mommy use you as her fuck toy” you whine but do as told wanting to do what Natasha asks of you

“who’s your mommy?” Her voice is lustful as she gets herself off using your body

“you” the whispers falls out of your mouth

“who own you baby? Aggie?” She growls at her own mention of the woman

“no you own me mommy”

“fuck” Natasha groans as she finally cums riding out her high and pulling out of you, then taking the other end out of herself. Natasha climbs into the bed pulling you into her arms

“you mine now baby girl and no else is going anywhere near you”

#natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natalia romanova #fanfic #mcu #natasha romanov #natasha x y/n #wlw smut #lesbian #mommy!nat #mommy natasha #mommys fucktoy

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everythingcanadian · 1 month

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Marvey but domestic:

Harvey is eating a bagel with cream cheese, glasses on his nose, and reading from his phone. And Mike is trying to sneak up on him, socked feet quiet. And as soon as Mike is within reach of snagging the other half Harvey is grabbing his plate and phone and sliding away with a little smirk. "Get your own rookie."

"Harvey."

"Ah-ah-ah, big boys can make their own breakfast." He looks to his pouting fiance. "There's a cheese bagel with your name on it in the bread box. Veggie cream cheese in the fridge. Fresh from Chelsea's this morning."

Mike perks up. "Coffee?"

"Ready to go in the coffee maker. You just have to hit send on it."

Harvey sits back down as he watches bare feet pad around the kitchen island, pajama pants featuring little bowties and top hats, floating around Mike's legs, and one of Harvy's zip-ups thrown on over a bare chest.

He sighs in bliss as he watches Mike move around like a zombie with just a bit too much enthusiasm in its bones.

Mike is half asleep but bouncing on his toes waiting for the machine to press boiling hot water through a perfect tasting roast. Mike adds too much sugar to be sane but he wrinkles his nose when Harvey gets a syrup or flavouring in his own.

Their expensive but wonderful toaster is already set to the perfect setting for Mike, who likes his bagels a little too crisp for Harvey's mouth. It cuts the roof and his gums. But Mike will crunch in little bites like a gremlin. Crumbs all over the plate and counter and his lap. If there ends up being some on Mike's face Harvey will kiss them off.

He takes a sip of his coffee, steam fogging his glasses momentarily, and smiles as Mike stirs in his sugar and rests back against the counter. His sleepy, bleery-eyed smile is enough to say he loves Harvey. And Harvey's dopey and eye-crinkling one is answer enough.

#marvey #otp: marvey #suits tv #suits usa #fic #my fic #harvey being head over heels for mike is what i live for #them being little shits to each other is also my kink #mmmmhad to make an edit because i put mike in socks and bare feet. oops

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shapelytimber · 6 months

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It's *definitely* not a date

[COMMISSIONS] - [PRINT] (Promo code UJABTZ still available until 11/19)

I love these two glhohkgkgjgk the silly 60s spies are cute ok ;; (and there is something about an american man and a russian man romancing each other during the cold war-)

Process (+ a long ass rant about what they are eating (with pics)) below vvv

For this one I wanted to challenge myself by drawing something that's really challenging for me : food ! It's really hard for me to make it look appetizing- I don't really like eating, and I don't usually bother to cook (why cook when I could just grab a baguette, a piece of cheese that could kill an american on sight, and combine the two to create easely one of the top 5 dish france has to offer ?), so I really struggle with making it look good lgkglflfofi but I'm very happy with how it turned out !!!

Welcome to my long ass rent on a very specific type of french food :

So the plan for this was always to have them eat at a french restaurant, but I could not resist doing something really personal and extremely specific to my hometown- so they are eating in Nice ! And Nissart cuisine is very different from the rest of France. Why ? Quick history (I swear this has something to do with food), Nice was a very late addition to France, only becoming french in 1860, before that point it was part of the kingdom of Sardinia (so not Italian, but pretty close). It mostly translate to it having it's own dead language "Niçois" (a derivation of "Provençal", the old french language of the south), it's own anthem "Nissa la bella" and a very distinct cuisine.

So what are they eating ? First, you'll notice they have a little plate of Pissaladière ! It's flatbread with caramelized onions, anchovy (this is a crucial part of the dish, if you exclude them your just eating onion pie (/neg)), and black olive (btw I checked the english wikipedia page for pissaladière- it's so shit omg nooo)

It's commonly free in restaurants, and served while you wait for your order (not all restaurants do that, but it's always so nice when they do fkfjkf). It's a pain in the ass to make, and all the ones you buy in boulangeries or stores are dogshit-

Ok for the actual dishes (It was hard to find something that would go well with red wine kgkgfjlfk because that means no fish-) ! Napoleon is eating roasted rabbit a la Niçoise ! The rabbit is flavored with olive oil, onions, garlic, lard and white wine (quick note, nearly everything we cook in Nice is in olive oil, not a big fan of butter). It's served with cooked tomatoes, rosemary, potatoes and black olive.

And Illya is eating two distinct things, 1) zucchini flower fritters ('beignets de fleurs de courgette' in french) ! More specifically, the flatter version (it taste more like the flower. The more crispy version tastes more like just oil (in my opinion)).

And 2) stuffed vegetable a la niçoise ('farcis niçois' in french) ! Just empty a tomato/zucchini/eggplant/bell pepper, stuff it with a mixture of meat, garlic, thyme, parsley and parmesan, then put bread crumbs on top.

PS : just wanted to share a quote from my evil advisor (@quijicroix) : "I'm glad the waiter brought their F cups" (this is my best attempt to translate : "damn le serveur de genre indéterminé qui ramene les miches !")

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onigirio · 9 months

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Hi! I love ur workk!! :) Could i request percy x child of apollo where hyacinth flowers bloom where they walk and they can summon them? (Yknow, bcz of apollo)

🐝: TYSM! i really liked this concept but i feel like this may be too short...lmk if you want a part 2!

camp half blood was no stranger to miscellaneous flora. after all, it was a camp in a forest, so there was bound to be a lot of plant life. however, recently, percy noticed a drastic increase of a new kind of flower, especially around the apollo cabin.

normally, he would ignore these things since flowers weren't his forté (he left gardening to the demeter kids) but the way the flowers were popping up seemed...too intentional. they formed intricate pathways from cabin 7 to the dining pavilion, or to the shooting range. hades, they were even popping up during capture the flag games!

damn his curiosity, but when percy noticed a new path, how could he not follow it. it's like someone was leaving a trail of bread crumbs for him to follow. the flora went from cabin 7, to the big house, to the dining pavilion. sometimes he would get mixed up with the different paths, but keen ocean eyes noticed that the colours differed from day to day, and today they just so happened to be blue

of course they had to be blue.

it was like the gods were poking fun at him. now everyone was wondering why percy jackson was walking around camp with his eyes glued to the ground. as far as he knew, he was going to get duped. this seemed like the perfect set up for a youtube prank video. fortunately for him, that wasnt the case

the trail of blue flowers led up to the edge of the strawberry fields, and right at the fringes sat someone overlooking the fruit as they baked in the summer heat. percy didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned, because yay! he wasn't getting pelted by eggs or falling into a pit of snakes, but at the same time, he wasn't sure what exactly this meant.

before he could ask the mystery kid about it, they turned around and immediately started blushing and rambling about cleaning and distractions. the ocean eyed boy only caught something about a "stupid sun god" followed by a significant amount incoherent mumbling. when they finished, percy just looked at them with a confused expression and they sighed

"my bad, i thought you were coming to complain about the flowers" they said sheepishly.

percy could only smile, "no, I'm not here to complain I just- decided to follow the weird trail of blue flowers".

this caused them to laugh, a sound that clearly had the ability to make flowers bloom considering the reason he was there. it made his heart run laps in chest.

"they're hyacinths" they clarified, unable to hide their amusement with him, "they bloom wherever i walk, because apollo had a crush on this guy named hyacinthus or something. either way, it's not exactly the best combat ability" they said with a small laugh, and it seemed that today percy's heart decided to be a track star

"If it's any consolation, I think they're very pretty" he took a seat next them, sitting criss cross applesauce as they overlooked the strawberry fields

"thanks bubble brain"

percy quirked an eyebrow at the new nickname they had given him. usually he'd feel a little bit offended, but after seeing the smile on their face, he couldn't help but smile too.

"what? you're that poseidon kid right?"

percy laughed, "well, yeah. does that make you buttercup?"

"they're hyacinths, bubbles" they reminded him with a playful nudge, "and my name is (name), but buttercup is also accepted"

'note to self ' percy thought, 'stop and smell the hyacinths more often'

#pjo #hoo #rio writes 🐝#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #asks! 🌼#pjo headcanon

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r3starttt · 4 months

Text

Amoeba

a/n: third part of don’t delete the kisses (lmk if you noticed the Dina x Ellie reference 🤞)

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.4

Warnings: a little bit of angts(? lots of fluff. homophobia. mentions of suicide.

“Between the gasps, I was swimming laps”

Echo chambers inside a neighborhood

In centerfold, humility’s shown

You’re not as good as what your mama’s sewn

Nobody yet everything, a pool to shed your memory

Could you say you’ve been tired? You haven’t called your family twice

I can hope tonight goes differently, but I show up to the party just to leave

The delicious and soft aroma of sweet bread wakes you up. Before you can even open your eyes properly, you feel your stomach growl. How much have you been sleeping for?

The warm of the sun coming from a big window besides you doesn’t help as you try hard to open your eyes. You rub them, yawning and stretching your legs.

It was probably the first time since you moved to this place that you didn’t felt exhausted.

You grabbed your phone to check the time, it was 10:30 am. How on earth could you slept for so long? you usually don’t make it pass 9 am, your body simply wakes you up and once your eye open there’s no way to feel tired enough to go back to sleep.

“Did I wake you up?” Ellie’s voice bring you back to reality, you finally turn around, there’s two plates on top of the kitchens counter with what seemed like hotcakes in them. Your heart felt like melting. “No… did you just cook our breakfast? How long have you been awake?”

Still a little bit sleepy you stood up from the couch you’ve slept in last night. Giving slow dizzy steps towards the counter and sitting on one of the few chair that were along it.

“Not too long, probably an hour” you could only see her back and her messy hair as she looked trough the many cabinets of the kitchen “what’re you looking for?” “The fucking maple syrup! I literally bough it like… three days ago”

“I bet you forgot it at the store” a sleepy chuckle came out of your mouth, already craving the very tasty hotcakes displayed in front of you.

“No I didn’t, I’m not that stupid” just before you could speak back she found it, whispering a ‘yessss’

She turned around and sat next to you, covering her plate with and exaggerated amount of syrup “That’s a lot” “it’s not” “it is”

Probably she was just as hungry as you were because none of you spoke again último both plates were empty, not even a crumb left.

“No, lemme do it” you pushed her away from the sink, she’d already done more than enough by cooking something for both “Why did you wake up so early? Didn’t you say how your day started like…. suuuper late?” with your hands you lifted both sleeves of your sweater, starting to wash the dishes.

“Couldn’t really sleep” she replied, almost too fast “Why?” she stood in silence for some seconds before explaining “It’s gonna sound super cheesy, just forget it”

“Now I really wanna know” you laughed “Did you dream of me? Of us? Did you marry me and started the most pretty cliche life with me?” she groaned

“Actually yeah, but you were so different…. and we were younger too” could it be? “did I have the same name?” you glazed at her quickly, but enough time to see her sudden change of expression “How’d you know?”

“I’ve had the same dreams, I freaked out when I first met you” you could hear the way the chair moved abruptly, her footsteps getting closer to you

“It made me feel nostalgic” her figure finally appeared on the corner of your eye, you were about to finish cleaning the last glass “and you haven’t even got to the best part” the sarcasm on your voice made her feel so confused,

Were you being serious right now? “What does that even mean?” her arms rested on the counter, watching you clean the glass “I’m not gonna spoil you our failed romance, just go to sleep and you’ll see” “You’re fucking with me” her hand slapped your shoulder slightly “I’m not! You’ll see what I mean tonight” all dishes now clean, how convenient.

“Is this what you meant yesterday? Is that why you asked me about-“

“Yes, but you don’t believe in those things, it’s fine”

“We’ve really met before then? Isn’t creepy?”

“Not really, I mean, not literally”

“You think we are soulmates then?”

You shrugged

Wooden floor sounding loudly as you walked to a small coffee table where you’d put all your bags the day before. Everything you’d bought and everything Ellie had insisted on buying you. There were just a few bags, you didn’t want to carry much.

“I can’t believe you suddenly believe in all this” you chuckled “well, we both dreamt about it. It’ll be too creepy if it was just a coincidence or something” she was just following you through the apartment, walking behind you whenever you moved.

“Have any plans for today?” you we’re hoping she didn’t, it would’ve been cute to stay all day with her, or maybe go out again. But she nodded, she did have plans for today.

“Gotta go see my parents, family reunion or some shit” you hummed “then I’ll go already, I don’t want you to be late or anything”

“I won’t”

“You know if you bring a girl this is over” Ellie’s mom looked furious. Her dad was just sitting besides her, trying to calm her wife down and trying to convince Ellie to stay a little more to properly talk.

But both of them were so stubborn and easily blinded by anger. No one could really intervene once they started shouting at each other.

“What’s the matter with it? I’ve been a fucking perfect child for this entire family but I’m not allowed to do one thing for myself?” she was so mad, her fists tightening more and more every time her mother spoke back.

“You are, just….not something like this” her mom finally calmed down, sitting besides her husband and staring back at Ellie with the must blank expression ever. it was infuriating.

“We’ll it’s either her or you two, and I’m not gonna quit to my life anymore just to please you” the whole room stood in silence. Everyone could fill the tension but it was completely quiet.

“Then don’t ever dare to come back”

This words made everyone feel disgusted, an unexplainable shiver running trough the ambience, touching every inch of skin of those present.

“No… shit, mom I’m sorry alright? I just” the knot of tears forming on her throat didn’t allow her to speak properly “what am I supposed to do? why can’t you accept it?”

“Get a man Ellie, grow up and start acting like an adult”

“Why not a woman? If it’s about the money, she’s rich alright? She has a great job, she lives in my same building, you know it’s not-“

“She lives there?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“You’ll find another place then. I don’t want you to keep talking about this, I trust you’re gonna do the right thing”

You haven’t heard of Ellie since that day in the morning when you left to your apartment. You could hear her when she came back but decided not to bother.

She’d told you about her parents, how they weren’t so supportive now that she’s an adult. She’d told you how much it overwhelmed her the idea of visiting them or just having any type of contact with them.

And it’s not that you could do much about it either. You’d only have one date and knew her for almost two months so far so you weren’t quite sure about how to help or comfort her, also, you didn’t have the time to go and find out right now.

You were busy placing every new decor you’d bough with her and taking the chance to clean everything.

However you were thinking the whole day about her, well, the old Ellie you’ve met somewhere else. Could she have any effect on your new Ellie? on your new relationship?

It gave you anxiety to think about how she’d react when she knew what had happened, if she ever got to see it.

Would she understand? Would she hate you? Would she just ignore it? Would she even let you know If she knew what happened?

And the most darker and cozy the ambience got the more your anxiety grew, because you feared that night came and Ellie could see something that made things change. That maybe it’ll affect her as much as it did to you when you first saw it all.

You feared that the story could somehow repeat again, maybe as a karma type of thing. You feared that not you or her could handle it.

Because you’d wait her forever, you’d do anything for her. But something you did knew and something you were sure about was that whenever someone hurt her, she’d never forget about it, she won’t forgive, not easily.

10 pm

Weird to not have a single text from Ellie, she always sent you dumb stuff or tried to convince you to go with her to work or eat together.

“You haven’t texted me all day. U good?”

“Can you come over? I feel like shit”

“Wanna talk?”

“Just cuddle, hurry”

She’d been sleeping next to you for almost an hour now.

When you came in she didn’t say anything, her eyes looked puffy, her nose and cheeks were slightly red and her hair was a mess.

You decided not to ask any questions, she’ll tell you everything eventually, when she’s ready to talk about it.

You’d been running your hands trough her hair, caressing her back and arms, hugging her tightly and whispering to her how everything will be fine, how you wouldn’t leave her side ever. Reassuring her that you would stay as long as she needed. Until she fell asleep.

So now you were just cuddling with her. Arms around each other’s warm bodies, the whole apartment in complete silence, just Ellie’s heavy breathing as your hands kept on palming and caressing her back.

She started to cry on her sleep, saying random words and murmurs that made no sense. Whispering a bunch of unfinished phrases and letting out small whimpers.

You assumed maybe it was the stress, or whatever situation her parents had put her in some hours ago.

Until you heard your name. Could she be dreaming about the two of you again? Should you wake her up? Was she experiencing what you feared the most? So fast already? Maybe you-

Her eyes opened abruptly, letting out a loud gasp as if she was out of breath.

“Ellie, hey…. I’m here shhh” small pats on her back as she tried to compose herself. She was breathing extremely heavily “What happened?”.

Her eyes met yours and only there you realized about the tears on them, about the sweat on her face making some of her baby hairs stick on her face.

“You’re here” her body practically jumped to yours, embracing you with her arms, tightly “What is it? did you have a nightmare or something? El?” you could practically hear her heart beat, so loud and unsteady. Almost too fast.

She murmured something, her voice was too shaky and teary to speak properly “I don’t wanna lose you”

Your hands ran trough her hair, trying to not panic and make things worse for her. You leaned on her and kissed her head, gently.

“Good….”

“Why’d you do something like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Leave everyone and everything like that”

“That wasn’t really me, don’t worry ab-“

“Just why? you had so much privilege and fucking friends, I was dating you, we were best friends”

She couldn’t go to sleep after that, she didn’t really tell you about the dream she had but you already knew.

And you thought she’d understand, but maybe you were wrong, maybe she never did and you just convinced yourself about it because you two were in love.

“I felt overwhelmed, I thought you-“

“I feel overwhelmed too but it’ll pass, there no fucking need of killing myself”

Was she being serious? How were you supposed to reply back?

“Is it because of your parents? We don’t need to talk about this if you’re not feeling like”

“No it’s not” it is “and It’s important that we talk about it because that fucking detail just changes everything, how am I supposed to live like this with you knowing you could do it again?”

You’d make her dinner this time, but at this point it wasn’t possible for either of you to even touch the food anymore.

“Did you see what happened after I died?” she nodded, maybe the lack of knowledge was troubling this whole thing. “Is that why you’re mad? I didn’t see it”

You were trying your best to not explode, but you felt like punching her right in the face. How could she speak like this about you? About everything?

How could she be so selfish and stupid right now.

“I’m mad about the whole situation, why’d you leave me and not even talk to me about it? Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling? Why’d you have to be so selfish? I was left alone after that, your parents moved out of the town.”

So they did take care of her as you’ve asked them to. And she did search for them to have some support as you’ve insisted.

“That was someone else Ellie, things are different here. I won’t leave you, I’m fine”

“How do you know? if we met again is for a reason”

“To actually end together maybe?”

“I don’t think so”

The immediate regret on her face was something you’ve never seen before. But you’re now too focused on your own pain to care.

“You know, the reason of those letters, the reason of why I didn’t died earlier and the reason why I’m here right now, making you fucking dinner Is because I care about you more than I could ever care about myself”

You could feel the salad flavor of tears slowly appearing in your throat. The tears slowly blinding you as rage built in your heart. It was physically painful.

“And it sucks and I know it’s not how any of this should’ve been but it it’s, and we can’t change what we’ve experienced” she stood up from the chair she was eating at, almost running towards you “but I’ve tried over and over again to make us work, and I’m tired of you not understanding. You’re supposed to love me Ellie, why can’t you?”

“I really thought you’d get over it, I really thought you’d understand in this life too. But you always let the anger in you fuck everything”

She tried to hold you, to speak, anything to try and talk and not fuck yo things again. Because you were more than right and she knew it.

“I guess we’ve changed, maybe you’re right snd we are just not meant to be anymore”

“That’s not what I meant! my mom she- they don’t want me to be with you, I’m sorry I’ve been feeling like shit today, please let’s talk Mhm?”

Her hands were on your face, cleaning every tear that ran along your pretty eyes and your pretty nose, along your shaky lips and all the way to your jawline.

But you stopped her, because you didn’t care about any explanation she had now. It was fucking stupid from her to act the way she did and maybe she was right, maybe you two weren’t meant to be.

Maybe it was all an illusion.

“I’m mad at them and you’re right, I let the anger blind me but I’ll promise I’ll control it. Just let’s talk, please” you wouldn’t reply, not verbally or physically and it made her feel so horrible to see you like this.

“She wants me to stay away from you, but I chose you over them. I love you, I really do-“

“I’ll make her a favor then”

Hopefully it was an illusion.