#like i get emotional over orange juice now

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

[lundenloves]

CHAOTIC RILEY HOUSEHOLD

{✧} dad!simon, everyone’s favourite dilf.

{✧} this is just a short thing of like a morning? (duh wtf) i mean if bro has three kids you already know he’s physically there but not mentally. and this was like? a depiction of that. it’s literally just one or two words on a screen. *trips on a curb after speed walking away*

taglist | dad!simon masterlist | masterlist | request info

↳ no warnings | 1k | dad!simon

The chaos of the morning always felt extreme to Simon Riley. He had never imagined them to be so busy and full of life, full of emotion, loudness and laughs. Having a full house did that. Having three kids did that. And that was something he would’ve never imagined for himself, period. 

Yet — here he was. Stood leant against the kitchen counter, piece of toast in his hand with a cup of earl grey on the counter behind him. His oldest argued with his middle, the last drop of orange juice teasingly drank down right in her face. The youngest cried loudly, protesting going to school by pushing her shirt over her head and screaming whenever anyone took a step near her. Plates were everywhere, half finished food was on said plates and you looked like a shepherd trying to herd her sheep. 

Simon didn’t move from his position against the counter. It was like a vantage point, being above everyone in height, yet stood still and seemingly blending into the background of family mess. 

That was until he was pulled from his peace, abruptly at that. “Dad, tell her.” The oldest had dropped her arms to her side in a teenage strop, gesturing to her sibling who scowled. 

“Hmm?” He stared absently, blissfully unaware of the chaos before him. You squeezed past him, your hand on his bicep with the movement, the youngest clung to his leg and the middle began shouting about getting ‘dad involved.’

“She’s just drank all the orange juice, there was enough for two.” Simon shrugged, taking a bite from his toast and waving a hand of dismissal, as if her biggest problem of the morning wasn’t a flake valid. “Mum!” She tried instead. 

“Simon, any day now?” You gestured toward his leg, silently telling him to deal with it. His eyes fell down to his youngest, still clung to his calf with force, half-dressed and crying. Loud. He rubbed at his temple, shoving the toast into his mouth and lifting his leg and her with it much to your fear. 

“What’s wrong, eh?” She wiped her nose on her arm, looking up to her dad with wet eyes. “Kid.” 

“School.” She mumbled, kicking away from him and attempting to run away before he had picked her up. She hit his chest, small hands trying to lift herself from his biceps. “Daddy. Stop.” Her demand only made Simon shrug.

“You’re going.” His hand pushed hair from her face. 

“If she’s staying off, I'm staying off.” The middle chimed in, loosening her school tie and leaning back on her chair. 

“No one is staying off.” He reprimanded, nodding toward the chair. “You’ll fall if you do that.” She shrugged and he manually pulled the chair back down, holding his palm on the back edge. “Go and get your bag.”

“What about her?” 

“I’m about to sort her out,” His youngest landed a slap to his neck, trying to kick out of his grasp once more. “Just— do it. Thanks.” And there came a long groan that followed her up the stairs, the oldest reaching to finish her orange juice in the short absence. Simon sighed. 

“I want everyone out in ten.” You shouted above the kitchen chaos, handing him small shoes that had been kicked off in a strop. He set her down on the table, holding her legs still to slide the shoes back on much to her physical protests. 

“I don’t want to go.” She cried, crossing her little arms over her chest with a frown once he had fixed the shirt and jumper back on. 

“No one wants to go.” The oldest chimed from the table, standing up and kicking her chair back in while absently scrolling on her phone. “I’m leaving.” She shouted to you, sending Simon a salute before walking backwards out the room and to the door with an accidental slam. “Sorry!”

The middle came humphing back downstairs and kicked her bag to the door, leant against the wall and glaring at her sister. You took your youngest from Simon, balancing her on your hip after pulling a jacket on. “I’ll see you when I get home, Si.” He nodded, mug of tea back in hand, brows frowning for a moment. 

“Did you get her food?” His index and forefinger lacklusterly motioned to the counter, nodding his head upward in acknowledgement once you had shown him the lunchbox. “Did you get your food?”

“I’ll just buy—“

“Can we go.” Came an extended scoff from the hall. 

“Buy something today.” 

“You need money?” He cleared his throat, taking your brief kiss before setting back against the counter. His eyes landed on the toddler in your arms, stern gaze unchanged for her own glare sent his way. 

“What five quid? No.” You rubbed his arm affectionately, taking the small raincoat for your daughter and pressing one last kiss to his cheek before walking down the hall. “Remember and sort out those shelves today. If you forget I'll be mighty impressed considering you’re doing fucking nothing.” You rambled while shoving your shoes on, letting your youngest daughter down and watching with a sigh as she sat on the floor. 

Simon let out a string of “Mh-hm’s” for your list of requests, each one becoming less patient and edging a grin from you. 

“Right.” You took your daughter's hand, picking her up from the floor. “The shelves, Simon.” A pointed finger of warning was sent his way and he merely nodded, seeing you out the door. 

And once the house had finally fell to a stilling silence, he blew a raspberry to himself, hard knuckles rhythmically tapping on the kitchen counters. The mess a Monday morning created was something he could and would never get used to. But, it was home. Any drop of silence was his bread and butter, therefore the pin drop quietness pushed a groan of relief from him. Heel of his palms pushed into his eyes. 

Home. Or something like that. 

i’m still in my block this isn’t a redemption.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox

as always, reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then i’ll sit in a hole.

↳ requests are open for dad!simon stuff although see the masterlist for more info.

[littlebumblebeesstuff]

Picture Board - Cg!Bucky x GN!reader

Summary: Bucky looks after his nonverbal little.

Warning: Neurodivergent little reader. Mentions of sensory issues, nonverbal communication. Mention of pull-ups

It had been a looong morning.

You had been up and down through the night which left you tired and fussy.

And then you hated all your clothes- screaming and crying as Bucky offered you different options. It hurt him to see you struggling with emotions that were just too big for your little body.

He was no stranger to your sensory issues, having spoken in detail about them with you when you were big.

But you just couldn't get the words to come out, which made you more upset, which led to a mini-meltdown.

It took a while, but Bucky finally managed to get you into a pull-up, and a light green fluffy oodie that had frogs on it. Matching fluffy socks were on your feet.

You had slept through most of the morning and into early afternoon, so now you were in your playroom, curled up on a pile of soft blankets and pillows, watching bluey with captions on, and the sound at low volume.

You had a fidget toy in your hands as you watched your cartoon, finally settled after a hard morning.

"Hi, pumpkin, do you need something?"

Bucky smiles widely as he crouched down to your level, watching as you played with your fidget toy.

You hum softly around your paci in response, not looking up at your Baba. He didn't mind this, knowing that eye contact could make you uncomfortable.

"Can you use your words?" When you shake your head Bucky follows up with, "Are words too much right now? That’s okay, little one, sometimes words are just too big."

He shifts and watches you fondly, thinking about how to make sure you are able to communicate with him

"Can you write it down?"

Another head shake, "No? Okay let me go get your picture board."

He gets up and moves across the colourful room to the chest of drawers and opens the top drawer to take out the picture board and extra cards.

He swiftly moves back to your side and kneels down again, holding the board out to you.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Can you point to what you’d like"

Your eyes move away from your fidget toy and to the board. Looking over the icons you point to the picture of a juice box.

"Juice? Of course, honey! We have blackcurrant, orange, or apple, which would you like? You can just hold up 1, 2, or 3 fingers."

You hum softly again, this time as you think about what juice you want. Then you hold up 3 fingers.

"Three? Apple juice it is. I’ll go fill up your sippy. Anything else?"

Bucky smiles as you nod.

"Yup, just point to the picture for me."

Bucky waits patiently as you point to the picture board.

"A hug? Oh pumpkin, of course you can get a hug, come here. You’re my sweet little one, and I love you so much!"

[dr-spectre]

Rambling about Marina and Relatability...

I've said in the past that i relate heavily to Marie, but as i think about it further.... I think i relate more to Marina... I just read through this incredible twitter thread by @ _CSenpai_ which i shall leave at the end, but it got me to really think... "huh... Marina is kinda me fr." (Also I'm gonna get pretty personal in this post so keep that in mind too.)

Marina has very serious special interests and clearly spends a lot of time researching and engaging in these interests. She gets VERY excited when someone mentions anything remotely about her interests and takes them seriously. Which is something i do as if someone even remotely mentions Splatoon out of the blue, my chest will go "BZZZTTTT" and i get the tingles and i wanna run around my room.

She's very into machinery, video games, music and manga/comic books. Marina stays up and overworks herself when it comes to music and her interests, which is shown in the dev diaries and chat logs in Side Order and Octo Expansion. This is something i tend to do as well as I consume my special interests way into the night and i can't go to bed because I'm so damn energized. Sometimes i become so focused that i don't even notice that time has passed by for so long and before i even realise it... It's 2pm and now i want lunch.

She corrects Pearl on wizards which reminds me of the kind of stuff i say during my rambles about Callie and her arc in Splatoon 2... I get VERY picky when it comes to people using ahem.... certain words when describing the events that took place.

In the Hero vs. Villain Splatfest, she is the only one who is taking it very seriously while everyone else is smiling or expressing anger.

She's using a god damn GAMECUBE CONTROLLER AND A HEADSET! She's literally me oh my god. When i go over for parties and celebrations and someone brings out a Switch and we play Smash Bros or Mario Kart? I take that shit seriously and i can't tone back my skill level and just have fun.

Also Marina is known to have sensitivity to certain food textures including mayo and pulp in orange juice. Now i LOVE mayo personally but i HATEEEE stuff in my drinks. I am a massive texture eater and i will avoid stuff in food that ruins the texture. When i get pumpkin soup for example, if i see vegetable bits in that shit i will actually feel sick and flick the bits off of my spoon.

Marina is also seen stimming and pacing back and forth when excited. When i tend to get overly excited by myself, i will literally violently shake for a brief moment and then squeal. I'm not joking.

Marina also tends to bottle up her emotions and often lashes out onto others when it's too much for her. Which is something i tend to do... I don't often say how i feel when someone asks how am i and i often wanna scream and break something when the anger is just too much for me to contain. I end up yelling by myself and cuss like no tomorrow. I can find solace in a character who does a similar thing i do, minus the cussing lmao.

I think one of the bigger reasons on why i relate to Marina is gonna be a weird one but... She is almost always seen with her headphones. No matter what situation she is in, she always wears her headphones.

Even when she's Marina Agitando and Overlorder has taken over her body, the Controller VM acts like headphones as it covers her ears!

Now this detail about her wearing her headphones almost often might seem minor, but to me it makes me love Marina even more. I always constantly wear headphones and it's due to various different reasons. First is because i love listening to music and enjoying background noise, second, it dampens the sounds around me as i can be pretty sensitive to certain sounds. And third... well... let's just say that i live with a uh.... loud parent who... gets pretty angry, NOT AT ME! THANKFULLY! BUT... when they scream... and swear... i put on my headphones and wait for the noise to go by. It's a comfort thing for me and helps get through those... rough periods... Marina wearing those headphones often and not being judged for it, makes me feel, happy...

...uh... yeah.

ANYWAYS! Another big thing i relate with Marina on is her want for order and balance in her life. She doesn't like massive changes in her routine and wants to maintain the balance in her life.

i do not like it when my routine suddenly changes and i get upset and angry. I have a strict routine and when it gets fucked over oh MAN OH MANNNN!!!!!!!!!!!

And that last point about feeling safe and secure, as i mentioned earlier with the third point about wearing headphones... I wanna feel safe and secure... I want to feel calm... I don't want someone to suddenly shout or get upset or for my routine to change and i can't do anything about it...

The only thing i don't relate with Marina on is well... Looks. Listen, i ain't no tall black octopus woman with a noticeable figure and a pretty face HAHAHAHA! I find it kind of funny that I'm able to relate SO MUCH to someone like her when I'm some 20 year old dude who looks nowhere NEAR like her. Except for maybe height i don't know.

However, i will say, i actually don't act this excited in person, i tend to be very shy and reserved in person compared to my online behaviour. I say words in a dry manner and i don't have the best social skills. So i guess that's where the relatability for Marie comes in as well. I'm a heavy introvert and despite my need for wanting to connect to others, i would rather stay indoors than go out and meet new people to start friendships or potentially a romantic relationship... like that's ever gonna happen anyways...................

I got two brain cells. It's them.

So anyways, that was all i wanted to say! I love Marina and she's my second favourite Idol, you can probably guess who's number 1 but i ain't talking about... her... well not today anyways.

Thanks for reading!!!

The thread that inspired this blog post: https://x.com/_CSenpai_/status/1367219374948376579

[justfonnsblog]

If anyone wanted some Iso Headcannons...

Or not. Here it is anyways. Hope you guys like it.

Warning; None. Only Iso in love.

Iso when he cares about someone(you).

He would be the kind of guy to watch you from afar and make sure that everything is fine. You seem hungry? Don't worry you will find one of your snacks near by just as you realize you should probably eat something. Or you're feeling a bit sick? You will find some coughing pills or orange juice near around you.

If you guys end up on a mission together, he will always be looking out for you even from afar, sometimes saving you from getting shot. And sometimes you save this poor man that is so overly focused on keeping you safe that he didn't hear an enemy approach him to backstab. Which is something you never, ever see happening to Iso normally.

With him listening to so many songs, he definitely has either a playlist or one specific song dedicated to you. When it plays during a mission, he gets even more motivated and focused, he's at his best, you give him motivation to finish this asap so he can see you as quickly as possible.

Even though he isn't the most talkative person, when around you he will try to start small talks or something. He just wants to be near you and hear your sweet voice. If you approach him first, it makes his heart beat faster and he internally melts like how can you be so sweet especially to someone like him? He's just weak for your attention.

If you get hurt during a mission, he will wait till the end and approach you with some medkit he has, using some excuse to not look like he cares too much but be able to take care of your wound.

When he learns that you can speak some Mandarin (please stick with it), even if it's only elementary level, he will love you so much more and be interally ecstatic about it, having little butterflies in his stomach from knowing you know and are interested in his mother tongue. At any opportunity given he will try to teach you a word or two or something, especially if you ever ask him to.

He's not one used to feeling all kind of emotions of course, so when he first started liking you, he didn't know how to react and would try to be further away from you because he didn't know how to handle it. So when he stopped avoiding you, you were relieved because you thought you might have done something to insult him. Which is totally the opposite, he just didn't know what do to with himself and his heart beating faster everytime he saw or was near you....Not that it changed, he just got kind of used to it and knows how to hide it now.

If you guys are on your "days off" and you two end up being alone, with him it will either be chilling together while listening to music or going to a bobba store and drink it over there or back home if you two do not feel like being in public. I mean technically its more you, since Iso prefers to be alone than in public but for you he will do it.

He would also be the kind of person to when he's snacking, ask you if you want any...But if anyone else says they want some he will just stare at them and not want to give it. He will end up giving it if you suggest it, but he won't want to share it with other people than you...Especially if its Yoru, Jett or Pheonix that asks since they usually steal other's food just like that. He does not like the disrespect.

He wouldn't be the one to worry or show any emotions, but if you ever went on a mission without him and you guys were coming back late, or simply back with you in a critical state. His eyes would water and he might even silently cry as he stays by your side and tries to make you feel better asap if you got back hurt.

If you simply arrived late, he would swallow and take a deep breath to calm his heart down and check on you for any wounds. Asking about the mission only after making sure you're fine.

Also. Whenever you're in a mission with him, he will always try to be as badass as possible and get as most kills as possible to try and impress you. If he ever misses a shot and you saw it, he internally dies and will hide his flushed face in his jacket as he tries to act like you are not here.

In all honesty, if you bring him some snack or a bobba tea, his eyes will have a small sparkle to them as he will take it and thank you politely. Although inside he is so happy. He might cherish it a bit longer, like he usually drinks his bobba tea really quickly but will make sure to enjoy that one. That or if its a snack, he will eat some then keep the rest for later, looking at it in his dorm like it was some kind of treasure.

This of course, will get him fighting to protect the snack from the food stealers agents. Ahem.

If the agents ever made chatrooms, Iso will always glance at his phone when he gets a notification hoping that it is you, sighing when it is not, and quickly opening the chat when it is.

If you two normally texts in dms, he would be the kind to wait for your answers till he ends up falling asleep waiting for it...If you were training or busy.

100% more of a text kind of guy, but when/if you ever get with him, he will love to get calls from you. And sometimes he will even call you if he misses you. He can't get enough of your voice, his favorite sound, yes, more than his music.

He might also call or text you even when you both are in the same room. Either texting, asking if you two wanted to go somwhere else if there were people, or simply to get your attention if you were talking enthusiastically with Killjoy, Jett or Gekko and kind of “ignoring” him.

He lowkey wants your attention, all of it.

Of course, since he's not much of a man of words, he makes up for it in actions and spoiling you in his own little ways (snacks, drinks, matching clothes).

—

[lvnleah]

Valentine’s Day | Beth Mead

This was a request but I cannot find it to save my life 🥲 anyways, in honour of Beth’s birthday enjoy this cute one-shot!

Summary: it’s valentine day and your wife, Beth, surprises you throughout the day and makes you feel like the luckiest girl ever.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stirred as you felt soft kisses being placed on your skin. You opened your eyes to see your girlfriend, Beth, hovering over you. Her lips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of delicate kisses along your jawline. The softness of her touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Good morning,” she whispered, her voice a gentle whisper. “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling!”

You reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” you replied, leaning up to peck her lips.

It was Valentine’s Day, the four one together for you and Beth and the first one married. Beth reached over and grabbed a tray from her bedside table before handing it to you. As you sat up, Beth placed the tray in front of you. On it were four heart-shaped donuts and two glasses of orange juice as well as a card and a small box.

You laughed, “This is the best breakfast ever! Thank you, babe.” You picked the card up and undone it. You took the card out gently and as you opened it a handwritten note fell onto your lap.

“This is for me?” Beth nodded, answering your question, “Oh Beth, this is so sweet.”

Beth's soft laughter filled the air, you couldn't tear your gaze away from her. The handwritten note laid cradled in your hands, its words etching themselves into your heart.

"Read it aloud," Beth urged, her fingers tracing patterns on your leg above the duvet. "I want to hear it."

You cleared your throat, your voice trembling with emotion. "To my darling wife," you began, glancing up at Beth. "Happy Valentine's Day! Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you, to deserve the love that you give me."

Beth's smile widened, “Go on."

"I didn't realise I could feel this much love for someone until I met you," you continued, your voice soft. "There aren't enough words in the universe to express how much you mean to me. You make me smile every day, no matter how difficult or tough things get."

Beth's fingers brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Keep going," she whispered.

"You're my everything," you read, your voice catching. "My best friend, my lover, my partner in crime, my soulmate, and the mother to our future children." You glanced at the small box on the tray, wondering what it held. "I can't imagine life without you, and I never want to. You're my whole world and always will be."

Beth's eyes welled with tears. "And the last part?"

Taking a deep breath, you continued, "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. I love you, and forever will."

Beth's eyes never wavered from yours. She reached for the small box, her fingers trembling slightly. "Open it," she whispered.

Inside was a delicate silver necklace—a heart-shaped pendant with a tiny diamond nestled in the centre. It caught the morning light, sending rainbows across the walls. You touched the pendant, your heart swelling with love.

"It's beautiful," you said, your voice barely audible.

Beth leaned in, her lips brushing against yours. "It’s just a little something, instantly thought of you when I saw it in the shop with Jen and Steph.”

You kissed her, taking in the sweetness of the moment before pulling back and reaching down to your own draw and getting your gift for Beth.

“Don’t know how I’m going to upstage that.” you laughed, handing the grey box to Beth.

Nerves bubbled up inside you as you watched Beth take the grey box that was wrapped with a pink bow. You wanted your gift to be perfect and now that she’d given you yours, you didn’t know if your gift could be as beautiful as hers.

She untied the bow, her fingers unwrapping the silk material. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet. Two tiny hearts linked together were engraved on the front whilst your name was engraved inside the bracelet.

Beth’s breath caught as she lifted the bracelet. She turned it in her hands, the silver catching the light. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Do you like it?” You asked, anxious about her answer, “I know there’s no sappy love note but—”

Before you could continue, Beth interrupted you, “Darling, this is perfect, I love it. Thank you.” She sealed her sentence with another kiss on your lips.

The pair of you ate your donuts in bed together before getting ready for work. Beth had training and you were a primary school teacher. You weren’t full time, you and another teacher shared a class and today was one of those days where you taught for just the afternoon.

You would’ve loved to spend your day with Beth but work needed you and you loved your year one class. You had many activities planned out for them, something that you were excited for and could take your mind off not spending the day with Beth.

Later that day, you were clearing up your classroom. It had been a messy day so things were everywhere and you felt bad for the cleaners. With the kids gone, you took this as your chance to tidy.

Your classroom door sounded open, you were greeted with your wife. Beth was standing in your classroom, holding a bouquet of pink tulips which were your favourite flowers. The silver bracelet you’d given her earlier shined her wrist, the delicate hearts catching the light.

“Beth!” You smiled as she held the bouquet of tulips out to you, “These are stunning!”

You closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around her and placing a kiss on her lips. The scent of tulips enveloped you, and you buried your face in her hair. “I missed you,” you murmured against her lips. “What brings you here?”

Beth pulled back, “Just wanted to surprise my favourite teacher,” she teased. “And maybe steal a kiss or two.”

You chuckled, feeling the weight of the afternoon lift from your shoulders. “Well, you’ve succeeded on both counts.”

She looked around your classroom, “Looks like you gave them a fun afternoon then?”

You glanced around your room, taking in the sight around you. Colouring sheets were scattered across the tables, pencils were laying on the floor and paints from earlier were dotted around the room. You never knew five and six year olds could make this much mess.

You winced a little, “Yeah they definitely had fun, I did too, but not looking at my classroom I’m regretting my decisions.” You joked.

“How about I help you clean it up so we can head home?” Beth offered, placing a comforting hand on the small of your back.

You nodded, “that would be perfect if you didn’t mind.”

“Of course not, darling.” She placed a kiss on your temple, “team work makes dream work!”

Together, you tidied up. The tulips sat on your desk along with your other things. Beth took on the job of cleaning the pains up whilst you organised the children’s colouring sheets, each put into their draw ready for them to go home with the students tomorrow.

Before you knew it you were in your car, making your way home together with your playlist sounding in the background and you both sang along.

Beth handed you the front door keys as you stepped out of the lift. You turned the key in the front door, yoj stepped inside, kicking off your shoes. The lights were dimmed, and the soft glow of flickering candles shone across the walls. The dining table was set for two, decorated with delicate china, glasses, and a vase of fresh red roses.

“Beth?” You said, turning on your heels to face your wife. “What’s all this?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling!” she smiled, “I thought we could have a quiet dinner together.”

You were speechless. Beth wasn’t usually one for grand gestures and after this morning you were just expecting a cosy night in bed together. After this, you felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world.

“You did all this?” You finally managed to say, your voice hoarse.

She nodded, stepping closer. “I wanted to remind you how much you mean to me,” she murmured. “After working hard today, I wanted to show my wife how much she meant to me.”

“I don’t deserve this.” You murmured, “this morning would’ve been more than enough, love. Thank you so much.”

You kissed Beth’s soft lips, her hands resting on your hips, “You deserve the whole world, darling.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ynmead6 Valentine’s Day <3

tagged: bethmead_

comments…

bethmead_ love you ❤️

leahwilliamsonn aww sappy

↳ ynmead6 aww single leah

jbeattie91 adorable

stephcatley my favourites!

kyracooneyx yuck

↳ bethmead_ go to bed child

comments limited

[sinswithpleasure]

Body Art [Female Reader, Futa]

You're so close, almost there, just a bit more—

"Ning~," you moan, as your toes curl and grip the sheets, the two fingers deep in your dripping hole brushing right against the spot that you know will get you seeing stars. Your mind wanders—you think of the Chinese art student in the next room, naked, on her bed, pumping her cock with her fist. Too many times you've seen her bulge in the shorts she wears at home, and you're unable to keep yourself from imagining how it'd look when she pleasures herself. You think about how pretty she'd look with her legs spread, her hair fanned out across her pillow like a halo as she pleasures herself to orgasm, hot thick ropes of semen spraying across her stomach and hand as she cums.

"Oh, God, Ning, you look so hot like that, mm~!"

Her beautiful womanly body, right in front of you, all in your mind's eye. Her moans, soft, needy, the pleasure vocalized in her siren song. You're lost in it, in her, the image of Ning Yizhuo in your head pushing you closer and closer to bliss. 

Almost, almost—

"Fuck, I'm cumm—!"

"Oh dear, what do we have here?"

Bliss intermingles with shock as your pleasure-addled brain registers the object of your sexual desires leaning against your door, staring right at you with a smirk. You almost scream, but instead, you release a loud, drawn-out moan as your fingers relentlessly pump into your pussy. You're unable to stop—too far over the edge you've gone—and your hips buck with every wave of pleasure that washes over your body. Wave after wave of your juices rush over your fingers, and you can only let the conflicting emotions wash over you as you orgasm right in front of the one and only Ning Yizhuo. Slick flows freely between your legs and onto the bed, and Yizhuo feasts her eyes across your bare body, enjoying the show you've put on for her. She waits and watches you ride out your orgasm, the lust evident in her eyes.

"We have a naughty girl here, mm?"

Yizhuo steps over to you, and you instinctively move to cover up with your blanket.

"No, no, let me look at you." The Chinese girl smiles, and you stare at her hands as one of them slides right above the bulge in her tight shorts. The other reaches upwards to her off-shoulder top, and she begins to work the buttons open. 

"Ning—it's not what—" You scramble to lie, grasp for an excuse. Yizhuo wasn't supposed to be home! Didn't she go for a walk earlier?!

"Shhh…" You fall silent, and Yizhuo grins. Her top falls open, and you're greeted with the nice sight of her bare cleavage before she tugs the garment off her body. You keep your eyes on her, admiring your roommate as she undresses, her hair in a messy bun, strands of it falling over her eyes and framing her face. She looks gorgeous, and you feel your clit throb at the sight of her topless form, a soft moan escaping your lips. Dark brown nipples top off her large areolas, taut with arousal, and you want nothing more than to suck on her breasts right now. Yizhuo grins when she hears you.

"You thought I wasn't home, mm?" Yizhuo's saccharine voice is laced with sweet temptation. "So this is what you do when I'm not here…"

You feel the dip on the mattress as she climbs on right next to you. You breathe in, anticipating what she might do next, yet dreading it. 

"Brea~the, Yun." Yizhuo draws closer, and you release a shaky breath when she crawls over you, one hand right next to you to support yourself, the other now right at the waistband of her shorts, her thumb already digging under it. "I won't hurt you…"

She draws closer and closer—

Her orange bodywash smells so good—

"Unless you want me to."

Yizhuo's hot breath against your lips has you shuddering and whimpering, and you can't help but notice the lust burn deep in the Chinese girl's eyes when she pulls back. She looks like she wants to eat you, devour you, and you're more than willing to let her to. A rush of slick coats your fingers, and you begin to pump them into yourself once more, the slick sounds so lewd that you blush in embarrassment. You can't resist the moan of pleasure that pushes its way out of your throat, and that moan only intensifies when Yizhuo slaps your hand away from your dripping cunt and replaces your fingers with her own, thrusting into you hard. 

"Ni~ng!"

"Did you know how fucking hard I got listening to you moan, Yun?"

All you can muster as a reply is a drawn-out whine—Yizhuo's fingers feel so good against your walls. 

"That's right, moan just like that for me, Yun, baby…

"I was so close to finishing my painting, baby, and what do I hear, mm? I hear you fingering yourself, moaning my name with so much desire…" Yizhuo bites her lip, raking her eyes over your writhing body. "With your door open too, Yun, almost as if you wanted me to catch you…

"Tell me, mm, is that what you wanted? Have you ever wished that I'd come home early to catch you fucking your cunt and squirting while moaning my name?"

"Mmmgh~, N-Ning!" Yizhuo's filthy words render you unable to process anything but the pleasure and thoughts that it brings, and before you can even attempt to try, you yelp in surprise and pain when Yizhuo slaps your pussy hard.

"My name is not an answer, baby. Let's try again, shall we?

"Did you fuck yourself like that wishing that I'd catch you one day fucking yourself for me?"

"Y-Yes, yes, Ning, yes!" You choke out the words as a tear rolls out of your eye at the shock, pain, and pleasure. All you get is another slap right on your sensitive clit—you buck your hips at the pleasure, and you gasp as the sensations wash over you. 

"God, you're such a slut, aren't you, Yun? Wishing to be caught cumming by the girl you so desire so badly that you exhibit yourself like that…" Yizhuo trails off to softly groan as she rubs herself over the shorts. "Congratulations, dear—I'm here to take care of it now."

You watch with bated breath when Yizhuo pushes her shorts off her hips. She pulls it off her body and throws it aside, and you don't even mind that her hands aren't on you for now—what has your attention is her cock, stiff, the tip red and angry, precum dripping from the slit and collecting on her foreskin. You marvel at the size of it—God, she's thick, just like you thought—and you can't help but squeeze your legs together at the thought of Yizhuo hilting deep into you, emptying her balls into your needy cunt. As Yizhuo moves in front of you, so do your eyes while you give her space, and you watch as Yizhuo grabs your legs and forces them open to push herself flush against you. Her cock brushes against your clit, and she begins to slap your cunt with it, the wet sounds and sensations drawing whines of embarrassment and pleasure from you. 

"God, I've wanted to feel this since I heard you just now, Yun, fuck…" Yizhuo begins to softly thrust against your nether lips, coating her shaft in your slick. "I couldn't resist stroking knowing you were touching yourself to me, and I'm so happy I came over to catch you."

Yizhuo looks almost heavenly as she prepares you to take her cock. You finally get to hear her groan as she gets wetter—precum drips from her tip onto your skin, and you're coating her shaft in more of your juices. As your eyes trail up her body, you can't help but notice the way her breasts slightly jiggle with each soft thrust. You admire how fucking hot she is, and your hips buck once as more slick coats her shaft. 

"I wanna put it in you so bad, Yun…" The Chinese girl finally admits her desire, and you don't bother hiding how much you want it either. 

"Please, put it in me, please, Ning!"

At your consent, Yizhuo pushes herself into you. You choke back a moan—the Chinese girl's huge cock stretches your walls out thoroughly, and her husky breaths accompany your sounds of pleasure as more and more of her cock disappears into you. 

"Fuck, Yun, so ti~ght—"

"Ni~ng!"

You swear Yizhuo might tear you open if she starts moving—

Eventually, your roommate hilts into you, and both of you catch your breaths at the intense pleasure that washes over both of you. You feel so full, so filled with the Chinese girl's cock, and you think you might be addicted to it now—this sensation is all you've craved since you've known about her cock, and you never want it to end. 

"How does it feel, Yun?" Yizhuo is just as breathless, just as overwhelmed, but she still maintains her control over you. "How does it feel to finally have my cock deep in your tight cunt?"

"I… I f—Fuck!" You barely manage to stutter out a reply as Yizhuo begins to move. She gives you neither her mercy nor a chance to reply—her cock slides halfway out before she slams it back into you to the hilt again, rocking your body with her thrust. 

"I don't think 'Fuck' isn't a reply to that question, Yun, dear." Yizhuo slowly pulls out again, and before you can retort, she pumps herself back in, moaning out loud at the tight squeeze of your cunt. "Does my cock—oh, fuck…—feel that good that you've forgotten how to speak?"

"Mmh, Ning~! Ning, you feel… oh, God, so good, fuck, Ning, fuck~!" Your moans mix in with your reply, and Yizhuo begins to leave soft kisses all over your breasts as she hears you out. You cradle her head as her tongue glides over a stiff nipple, and you only get louder when her thrusts slowly begin to increase in speed. 

"I'm gonna make you feel so good you're screaming, Yun."

The pleasure of Yizhuo's cock rubbing against your walls threatens to drive you crazy. Her cock feels so hard, so warm in you, and you can't believe that you're starting to get used to the stretch. Her cock is thick, so thick, and it fills you up entirely—you swear she might even bulge your tummy with every thrust. As Yizhuo ramps up her thrusts, you begin to release a stream of unintelligible moans—the Chinese girl is beginning to use your pussy well, and she's feeling just as good as you do, if her soft grunts and moans are any indicator. 

"Ning, fuck, fuck, yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

Yizhuo doesn't even bother with a reply—instead, she fucks you harder with each plea. Her hands grip your hips, and she holds you down. Next thing you know, Yizhuo takes off—she begins to pound your cunt. 

"Oh my God, oh my God, Ning, Ning, Ning, fuck, Ning!"

Your eyes begin to roll back in your skull as Yizhuo begins to fuck you. The wet claps of your flesh against hers are deafening, and so are your cries of pleasure. Your roommate gives you no mercy—she now pulls herself all the way out and pumps her full length into you with every thrust. Every stroke gives you whiplash—you alternate between being painfully empty and tightly stretched over and over, and the sight of Yizhuo's breasts jiggling with every hard thrust, mixed with her thumb rubbing circles on your clit leaves you dizzy. 

"So wet, so tight, fuck—!"

"Ning, fuck, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm going to cum all over your cock!"

With a loud scream, your hips buck once, twice, and a strong gush of your juices spray onto Yizhuo's body, before more of your cum leaks down between your legs. You shudder uncontrollably as Yizhuo's cock is forced out of your cunt, the pleasure of that orgasm sending your eyes rolling back into your head, jaw slack, moans uncontrolled. In an instant, you feel Yizhuo's hands on you—she fingers you hard and fast, her other hand rubbing your clit, and you scream once more as more squirt gushes out of your cunt, drenching the sheets even more. 

"That's right, just like that, squirt for me just like that!"

You barely even manage to process Yizhuo's words—right as your orgasm finally subsides, your roommate has her cock rubbing against your folds again. Without warning, Yizhuo once again pushes her cock into you, her shaft easily sliding in. 

"Yizh—fuck, I—Ning!—I can't, pl—I can't—!" You're delirious with pleasure, and the overstimulation has you protesting, but deep down you know you don't mean it.

"Yes you can, and you will, Yun. You want this as much as I do."

Yizhuo wastes no more words—she shifts your legs above her shoulders, and you're crying out in pleasure when the Chinese girl mounts you and rocks your world with a hard thrust, then another, and another. You feel yourself physically rock as Yizhuo pounds your cunt, and you scream as she begins to fuck you faster, harder. She gives up on keeping her moans in as well, her pleasure vocalized alongside yours in grunts and swears. You almost seem to fall into a trance, but you're kept grounded by the rhythmic thrusts that Yizhuo perpetually sends against your body, her cock stretching you out with every stroke, pushing you towards another orgasm.  

"Fuck, Yun, God, your pussy's going to make me fucking cum, oh God, fuck…" Yizhuo bites her lip, a guttural whine-turned-moan ending her sentence. "You're going to feel so full when I'm done—"

Want, want, want, want—

"Oh, fuck, fill me, Ning, fill me, fill me, fillmefillmeFILLME—!" You're already screaming even before either of you reach your peak. You're close, so close, and you can feel Yizhuo's cock growing bigger inside you—!

"Fuck, Yun!"

You barely even manage to catch the precursor before you feel warmth explode deep into you. Yizhuo's body grows stiff over you, and her hips stutter, cock twitching with every burst of hot semen that bursts into you, painting your walls white. At the same time, you gush against her body and drench her cock with your cum, a long moan being all you can manage as your second orgasm washes over you. Burst after burst of your squirt soaks the sheets beneath you as Yizhuo's cock fills you with more and more cum, until you feel it leak from the gaps between your hot connection, every time Yizhuo pulls out to fuck more of her cum back into you. 

When Yizhuo pulls her softening cock out of you, you fall limp in exhaustion, dizzy from the pleasure. Your roommate is in the same state, but she shifts up to you and mutters "Cuddle" before her arm wraps around you to pull you to a dry spot, into her embrace.

"Ning…?"

"Please?" The Chinese girl right now is a far cry away from the girl that's just topped you in bed. "We can talk about this later. Just let me cuddle!"

Who're you to deny her adorable request, you think, and you sink into Yizhuo's arms, her breathing eventually slowing to a slow rhythmic lull that leaves you sleepy as well. 

"Fuck it, we'll deal with this later."

[themultifandomgal]

I have a Mark Sloan x female

What if Mark Sloan had been dating Meredith’s older sister who is head of trauma. Y/n and Mark broke after the situation with his daughter and grandson.

After the night at Joes after the attendings had been celebrating Derek, Mark and y/n ends the night with sleeping together.

About 8 or 9 weeks y/n starts to feeling nauseous and tired. Callie starts to feel the same way as y/n, the two friends takes a pregnancy test and they both finds out that they are pregnant.

Callie had slept with a stranger from joes bar.

Y/n tells Mark that she is pregnant with his child and he wants them to get back together.

Maybe you can make it as two or three parts, something based on season 7 episode 9, 13 and 14

Mark Sloan- Try Again Pt1

It all started 9 weeks ago with one drunken night at Joe’s Bar. One night of weakness. I promised myself I wouldn’t run back to Mark, but I did. We broke up because I felt he needed to focus on his daughter and his unborn grandchild. I still love him, I think I always will. Maybe braking up was a mistake, but here we are. Now Callie and I are sat in my bedroom both with pregnancy tests in hand

“I’m scared” I reveal

“Me to. At least you’ll know who the dad is though”

“Why did we go to the bar that night?”

“Because we were celebrating Derek. The real question is why did we get so drunk?” Callie replies

“Cal, what are we going to do if they’re positive?”

“Well, you need to talk to Mark. But whatever you decide to do I’ll be by your side. If I’m pregnant I’ve already decided I’m going to keep them”

“I mean I have wanted to be a mom forever and I am getting older” just then the timer goes off. Both Callie and I take in a deep breath and look down at the tests in our hands. 2 pink lines. Pregnant. Tears immediately start to threaten to fall from my eyes, emotions are all over the place, scared, confused, excitement

“I’m pregnant” Callie says

“Me to”

“You ok?”

“I honestly don’t know how I feel. You?” I turn to face my best friend

“Same. Guess I gotta tell Arizona now”

“Fuck I gotta tell Mark” I groan placing my head in my hands

“You want me to come with you?”

“No” I shake my head “I gotta do this myself. I’ll call you later”

“Good luck” Callie says as I get up from the couch and leave my apartment, heading straight for my car and then Marks place.

I knock on the door waiting for what feels like ages until it finally opens up to a confused looking Mark

“YN? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk. Can I come in?”

“Sure…” Mark opens up the door more so I can step into his place. Knowing where everything is I head straight to the kitchen to get out a bottle of beer for him and a glass of juice for myself

“Bit early to drink isn’t it”

“I think your gonna need it. Go sit” I follow Mark back into the living room and sit down next to him. It’s silent for a number of minutes until Mark finally says

“So you going to tell me why your here and trying to get me drunk while you sip on orange juice”

“Mark, I’m pregnant”

“Your… you… are you sure”

“Yeah. Took a test this morning. Plus no period, I’ve been feeling nauseous and tired. Boobs are aching and I swear they’re already a cup size bigger”

“But we used…”

“Are you sure we did because we were both pretty drunk. Look I think I want this, the baby. I’m getting older and I’ve wanted kids for a long time. If you want to be apart of their life I would love that, if not then that’s ok I under….”

“No I want to do this. I’ve missed the chance to be a dad before. I’m not doing that again. I want to be part of their life”

“Well ok then. I still need to book for a scan so I’ll Errm let you know” I stand up ready to leave

“Wait. Err I was just making some lunch, made to much for one… so if you’d like, you can stay for a bit” I give Mark a little smile and nod my head

“Ok. Yeah”

[daisyblog]

Congratulations

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry and YN share their news with close friends.

Niall:

YN: PHOTO Hello Uncle Niall🤍

YN sent Niall the text and waited because she knew once he had read it, she was going to receive a call. 

And within a few minutes, YN’s phone began to ring with Niall’s name displayed. YN was quick to answer the FaceTime, eager to see his reaction.

“Hi Niall!”. YN and Harry answered together, a big grin on their face. 

“Are you two having me on?” Niall got straight to the point. 

“No…we’re having a baby!” YN explained.

“I can’t believe this…I think I’m gonna cry!” Niall had been there from the beginning of their relationship, so to see his two best friends happy and expecting a little one was emotional. “Congratulations guys…I’m so happy for you.”.

“Thanks Ni…well get ready for Uncle duties!”.

“I can’t wait!”. Niall couldn’t hide his excitement. “I’m gonna be their favourite uncle”.

“I think you’re going to have to fight for that spot with Louis!” Harry joked. 

“Tell him to give up now!” Niall teased. 

---

Mitch and Sarah: 

Harry: PHOTO Hi Uncle Mitch and Auntie Sarah❤️

Harry could see that Mitch was typing a reply, so he and YN waited for the response.

Mitch:  Little one is having a nap or I would be shouting down the phone right now!! CONGRATULATIONS GUYS!! Welcome to parenthood, we can’t wait for you to join us!! 

---

Jeff: 

Harry: PHOTO

Harry had sent his manager and friend a photo of the scan and purposely not saying anything more. So when Harry’s phone rang, he wasn’t shocked. 

“Harry!” Jeff didn’t allow Harry to answer. “What’s going on?”.

“I don’t know what you mean Jeffery.” Harry played dumb, a smirk covering his face. 

“You can’t just send me a baby scan and say nothing else.” 

Harry laughed but decided to put Jeff to ease. “YN’s pregnant!”.

“Fuck off!”. 

“I’m serious…she’s like fifteen weeks now.” Harry explained. 

“FIFTEEN WEEKS!” Jeff had a similar reaction to others when the couple announced how far along YN was. 

“We only found out this week.” Harry defended himself.

“Well all I can say is…Congratulations H, you really deserve this and I’m behind you and YN every step of the way!”. 

“Thanks Uncle Jeff.” Harry teased. 

---

The Love Family:

Harry: PHOTO Our new addition to the love family🫶🏼❤️

Elin: Aww you guys🥹Congratulations Harry and YN🤍

Ariza: Congratulations to you both! So happy for you, amazing news!

Niji: Congratulations! You both deserve so much happiness❤️

Pauli: YESSS!! Saucy saucy😂A big congrats my man!

Yaffra: Wow! Congratulations!! 

Lloyd: 👀…THIS IS THE BEST NEWS! Congratulations Boss x 

Brad: WOOOOO! I KNEW IT! Congratulations H and YN x

---

Zayn: 

Despite some distance being created when Zayn left the band, YN had always tried to stay in contact with him. They didn’t talk all the time but they would occasionally catch up over a few messages or now and again a FaceTime call, especially when Zayn had Khai.

YN: PHOTO Hello Uncle Zayn 👋🏼

Zayn: What a message to wake up to. I wasn’t expecting this news. A massive congratulations to you and H, you’re going to be amazing parents❤️

---

Liam: 

YN: PHOTO Hello Uncle Liam 👋🏼

Liam: 😱😱😱

Liam: OH MY

Liam: I’m speechless 

Liam: A huge congratulations to you guys! You deserve so much happiness and I wish you all the love x 

---

James Cordon:

Harry: PHOTO Hello Uncle James!!

James: Thank you very much for making me cry on a Monday morning!! WAW!! A big congratulations to you both!! H…welcome to fatherhood, it’s incredible. Big love x

---

Lou Teasdale: 

YN: PHOTO Hi Auntie Lou👋🏼🩷

Lou T: OMFG!! You kept this quiet! Congrats my darlings🩷Love ya both xx

---

Nick Grimshaw:

Harry: PHOTO Hi Grimmy x

Grimmy: This better not be a joke! Congrats both! Catch up soon? Orange juice for you YN x 

Tag List: @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour @bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream @treehouse-mouse

[rouiyan]

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?”

✧ [ FIN. ]  copyright © 2023 rouiyan all rights reserved.  

✧ 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

[neverinsignificant]

How I Am Getting Myself Out of A Funk

This past month, I’ve been in a very terrible funk that has left me with overwhelming stress, an unregulated nervous system, feelings of discomfort (hopelessness, worthlessness, etc…), bloating and a bad case of imposter syndrome. I realize I’ve been wallowing in my own self pity and not taking care of myself the way I should, so I am being honest and admitting that I am scared as to what road my life may take if I do not improve where I know I can by taking the necessary steps. Here’s how I’m getting myself out of this funk:

• Taking my iron medication

I was prescribed medication for my iron deficiency anemia years ago and I haven’t been taking them due to my fear of swallowing pills. I use to let them dissolve in orange juice, but I grew to hate the taste and realized I wasn’t getting the full benefits by doing it this way. I have a complicated history with pills and I would like to get over it by learning & possibly speaking with a specialist who can help me get over my fear as iron has many benefits that would be beneficial to my body.

• Growing comfortable with my therapist

I recently started therapy and as much as I like my therapist, it has been hard to open up to them as much as I’d like. I know it’s because this is a new experience, but once I grow the courage to discuss some of the things I really want, I know my stress levels will decrease and mental health improve because I won’t have to worry about them anymore.

• Cultivating gratitude

I complain…. A lot because if it ain’t one thing, it’s another but by cultivating gratitude, I can practice to be more thankful of what I have and lessen my desire for more and negative thoughts. It will also lead me back to the path of my spiritual journey, which I seem to have slightly abandoned.

• Consume more water

I made a Habits I’m Not Waiting Until January to Implement post back in December where I said this same thing and I wasn’t consistent, but it’s never too late to do so now.

• Working out with positive intentions

Usually when I workout it has been with the intention to develop a certain body type, which lead to me closely examining and prodding at my body in the mirror, but as someone that comes from a family with people who develop physical health issues as they age, it’s important for me to workout simply to remain healthy, especially as I am still young with an able body. Develop stronger knees; hip mobility; straight posture, strength building.

• Breathwork + thought-stopping

This will go hand in hand with meditation. Simply saying “stop” to negative thinking doesn’t usually work for me, but what does is reframing the thoughts I’m having by making a positive light out of it or actively listing solutions. I don’t tend to be consistent with this, but I’ll try.

• Focus on my gut health

Lymphatic drainage by dry brushing, drinking peppermint tea, eating cleaner based foods, consume more fiber-rich foods, cut out gluten, eating more with smaller portions.

• Say “Girl, fuck you”

To people, emotions, circumstances. Simply dismissing the issue has sometimes helped, especially if they’re minor. Living in delusion isn’t always bad.

I’m not a “clean,” health and wellness guru, goop using (whatever tf that is), green juice drinking everyday girl and that’s okay. This is fairly new to me and I didn’t notice the severity of my health until I felt a sharp pain in my chest from stressing. I won’t fully immerge myself in this “aesthetic” as it isn’t in my interest to do so, but I will incorporate some of the habits to my benefits.

“Everyday the sun won’t shine, but that’s why I love tomorrow!” 🌟 -Glorilla

[fandomwritingbit]

Too good to be true

william afton x (fem) police reader

synopsis: A two part series about William destroying your life.

It's your first homicide case as a detective, a young child murdered with no tangible leads and you're eager to bring the evil bastard to justice. It's a lot of pressure though, and to much weight on your shoulders leads to questionable decision making.

warnings: child murder, smut, swearing, drinking, domestic arguing/marital problems. just generally mature themes.

A/n: As always this isn't steeped in fnaf lore, just purely from my silly little brain. I'm so glad to finally have this out and be back on here to obsess over men. Hope you like it Xx

“It’s okay, take your time.”

The social worker smiled kindly, hoping that the pleasant expression would hide how her heart was breaking at the words leaving this child’s mouth. It’s harrowing to hear, the topic of death should never be exposed to kids this young, at least not in the cruel fashion it had been mere hours ago. “We can take a break if you want, get a snack?” 

The little lad shakes his head, at only seven years old he knows it’s better to get the story over with. Never before had so many adults been so interested in what he has to say, this is serious. Even if he doesn’t understand what happened, he does understand the finality of it. The scary, definitive nature of what’s happened. He’ll never see his friend again. “Can I have some juice?” The boy asks quietly, his voice the epitome of innocence. It makes the social worker’s eyes sting. The lead officer smiles wryly. 

“Sure you can, Josh. Shall I go?” The lady switches her attention from the child to the pair of cops sitting across from them. 

“No, I’ll go.” You interject, not wanting you and your superior left alone with the weight of this child’s emotions. He hasn’t cried, but you can see the tears brimming beneath his surface. You look Josh in the face and try to speak as kindly as his companion, “Do you like orange?”

He just nods. 

…

The room was heavy in silence during your brief absence, you were only gone a couple of minutes, the vast majority of the time spent in thought over the canteen sink. You were promoted to detective only a year ago and so far the cases you’ve been assigned were of little intensity, drunken brawling, verbal domestics, thefts and robberies. And now a child was dead, murdered, and it has utterly devastated the community. But as upsetting as it is, this is an opportunity for career growth, even if you already feel out of your depth. 

The crime scene was brutal, the child laid in the outside storage of a restaurant, face down, multiple stab wounds. Blood smeared on the ground that your splatter analyst said horrifyingly suggests that the child dragged themselves closer to the door, only stopping when they no longer had the strength to continue. No murder weapon. There are no obvious suspects, every man and his dog within a 2 mile radius was pulled in for questioning. But the lack of witnesses and the hole in the chain fence leading to the area was a hindrance. The only lead you have is Josh because, unfortunately, he found the body. 

You bring the child his drink, handing it to him before sitting down next to the lead officer, mentally steeling yourself for questioning.

“So, Josh.” Your colleague begins, talking to children doesn’t come naturally to him, but you see him trying. “I asked you, what time did you last see the vict- Mary?” He corrects himself, but all three of you know what he was going to say. 

 “I’m not sure.” He answers in a tiny voice. 

He goes to ask again, sitting forward, but you stop him, cutting in to ask the boy in a different way. “I know you all sang happy birthday to the birthday boy at around half twelve. Did Mary get a slice of cake?” The social worker puts her hand on the little lad’s shoulder, whilst he thinks. 

After a moment, he says, “No. Auntie Carol asked if she wanted one but she wasn’t there.” 

“Okay, thank you.” You smile, before turning to the other officer, talking quietly, “Coroner said T.O.D was between 12:00 and 13:00.” 

He agrees, “So it’s looking closer to twelve.” 

~

There was a group of people waiting outside to be questioned, parents, staff, everyone who may have a shred of information and your precinct was struggling to manage it. The deceased’s parents have already been spoken to and ruled out, and so, in the main interview room another detective set about tackling the restaurant’s staff. 

“Mr Afton, we just have a few more questions to go over.” The middle-aged policeman lifts his gaze from his documents to look at the restaurant owner over the top of his glasses. He sees the businessman nod in response. There’s nothing to implicate this fella, no motive, no evidence, but he has a previous so caution was to be taken. 

With the question ready on his tongue, the officer sits back in the chair. “How often do people go out to the outside storage?”

He meets the man’s eyes, it’s not the first time he’s been under police scrutiny, probably won’t be the last, but the gravity of this investigation is severe. Not wanting to play any games he just divulges what the cop wants to know. “Frequently, we keep ingredients out there, and other supplies, people are always in and out.” 

“Even though it’s a fire escape?” There’s doubt in his face. 

William Afton reveals a small smile then, he can’t quite figure out what the copper is getting at, “Yeah, there’s a cinder block out there to keep it open. I disconnected the alarm a long time ago.”  

The policeman writes that down, it may go over the interviewee’s head but it’s an important question. The killer had to access the area somehow. And either they knew of the fire door and its cinder block or the gap in the fence. A crime of opportunity, from someone who knows the area well, that’s the takeaway. 

Looking up from the sheet, the DI asks another question, “And I understand that you and your partner are more handsoff with the day to day, but were you there at the party?”

“I oversaw arrival and seating.” Afton halts but the detective says nothing, it’s clearly unsatisfactory. “... There were two more kids than discussed, it caused some tension. I left Henry to deal with things.” He elaborates dryly, the tone indicates boredom but that’s to be expected after having waited hours for this conversation. 

“Tension?” The officer asks curiously, his eyebrows raised in a most provoking way.

William remembers to keep himself professional, maybe he could have worded that better. He tries again, “Well, it wasn’t ideal. Waiters had to set extra places and find more chairs. It was a fuss.” 

That seems to resonate better with the detective because he nods, some understanding written in his expression, Afton has to stifle the satisfaction that gives him. 

The copper consults his papers again before deciding he’s gotten enough, he stands, taking his glasses off and letting them hang on the chain around his neck. “Right, I’ll let you get back home. We have your contact information and we’ll be in touch.” 

With a tight-lipped smile, William follows suit, pushing the chair back and standing. An old impulse to stick his hands out for the cuffs being greatly fought, it was a different time, different station, different crime, but the same old William.

He shakes the detective’s hand, the standing difference of the two is almost comical but neither of them show any signs of amusement. He’s led out the cold interrogation room into the life of the precinct corridor, there’s a lot going on, a mix of uniformed and non officers and some of his staff still awaiting questioning. 

But before the policeman can get away, William let’s some curiosity free of its constraints. “Have you spoken to Henry yet?” The man meets his eyes, no longer as stoic as he was during the interview, the burden of inquisition must be a heavy one. 

“No. I’ll be handling staff enquiries. Your partner should be in later on. 4 o’clock I think.” William nods, and the officer now no longer concerned with him, heads off down the hallway. He should do the same, he’ll have to sign out, he remembers that from last time too. 

As he’s walking back towards reception, a door opens in front of him, a flash of cream walls and a green sofa, before a woman exists holding the hand of a small child that he recognises. He stands aside to let them pass, watching a male officer leave, followed by a female one: you. 

You hear the social worker's voice grow quieter as they leave you to lock the door, your keys jangling as you turn the stiff lock. Your mind is so engrossed in theories, you’re wanting to talk to DI Donnelly about the staff profiling and see if anything has come up in the way of a suspect. You’re so engrossed that you don’t think to look behind you before moving. 

The very moment you step out you collide with the hardness of a human body much bigger than yours. You stumble from the surprise of it, and large hands catch your waist to stop you tripping. It’s a very intimate way to touch someone and you gasp from the suddenness.

“Ay watch it, lady cop.” The bloke says, when you turn to see who you’ve just accosted, you see an older man with perhaps the most handsome crooked grin you’ve ever seen. 

Choosing to ignore the casual sexism of that you go for a, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” 

Cos you weren’t looking, he thinks to himself but doesn’t say anything aloud, you do look sorry and you’re cute. For a rozzer.  

“You’re alright.” He excuses you, raising his eyebrows. 

The only other thing exchanged was a mutual nod of regard before the man walked away towards the exit, leaving you to wonder what role he must play in all of this. 

~

William drives home without the radio, lost in a deep track of convoluted thought. He’ll reach out to Henry later, see if anything’s changed. He doesn't think it will, despite the taskforce on this case he thinks it’ll go cold pretty fast. Children capture the news interest every now and then but once the media has no evidence or case progress to get its hooks into, the case is dead in the water. Unless the parents have the money to keep pushing it.

He pulls outside his house, turning the engine off but not leaving immediately. He’s about to step into the circus here, no doubt his wife has been waiting in bated breath, anxious for any news. He sighs, he probably should have drove around a bit longer knowing she was holding her breath, maybe he’d have got lucky. 

He drags his feet on the mat before stepping inside, he hasn’t been outside today but it’s force of habit at this point, then he chucks his jacket towards the hook and closes the door. Sighing again, he sits on the second step to take his shoes off, already on edge at how quiet this fucking house is. She emerges as he reaches for the other shoe, arms folded over her chest like she’s already disapproving of something. 

“So? What happened?” Clara’s tone is brisk and strained thin. It sounds like she’s been crying, though he can’t imagine why when it’s him that has to face the bobbies. 

He scoffs, “They asked me some questions.” Everything about him is closed right now, and if she knew him at all she’d leave it for a while. 

“And?” She’s pissing him off, she’s too prickly to talk to like this. She’s worried, wants to know what’s going to happen, what is happening, but it’s not his responsibility to console her like some fretful little kid. 

“I answered them.” She scowls, how can he be like this, so indifferent? Like nothing’s happening, making her feel like she’s overreacting or going mad, maybe both. 

“For fuck’s sake, Will.” Her voice cracks with frustration and she pauses a second to regain herself. Immediately losing it once she begins speaking, “Do they know who did it? Do they have someone in custody? Will, when are they going to take the fucking body out of your restaurant?!”

He laughs a little then and stands from the stairs, “Why would I know that? The police will be taking care of that, or the coroners, I don’t fucking know.”

“Don’t know, or don’t care?” There’s tears streaming down his wife’s face and he can’t cope. 

“Does it matter?” He looks particularly harsh right now, a sharpness in his gaze and tone that’s like a razor and again her face twists in disgust. 

William rubs the bridge of his nose, allowing his eyes to close for a moment of respite from the headache only Clara can claw out of him. With a deep breath he bends down and picks up his shoes, moving then to pick up his coat from the floor where it landed. He’s not staying, not with her wound tight as a wire-trap and not in a good way. 

“What are you doing?” Her voice is quiet now, trying her hand at reasoning. He’s past that though. 

“Going out, I can’t deal with you now.” He doesn’t even put the shoes back on, just carries them out with him, shutting the door heavily behind him. Leaving her to her. 

~

It’s about to hit 8pm before you leave the station, it's been a long day but you hardly noticed what with how busy you’ve been. Your questioning didn't end with Josh, and even after talking to four other witnesses, you had your paperwork to do, then discussion with your colleagues. Everyone on the case has their own theories but at this point that’s all they are: theories. Nothing concrete and no real inclination into what to press next.

You change before leaving, knowing that you’re too restless to just go home, you need to be alone with your thoughts over a cold drink. So you get in your car picturing the hotel only a few minutes from your flat, the business-y one with the nice bar and the clientele that will leave you alone. That’s your ticket for that cold drink. 

Music plays as you drive there, a CD you’ve made compiling your favourite tunes, it should help take your mind off the horrors you’ve seen today but it doesn’t. You can pull yourself away from the crime scene, that poor child in the centre of it, nor the distant look in young Josh’s eyes. No matter how much you enjoy the song playing, it's just not enough to distract you. 

You park easy enough, a weekday night means that the car park isn’t completely full so you manage to get close to the entrance. Which you’re glad of when the moment your car door opens specks of rain tap your skin. Looks like the weather’s about as miserable as you feel. 

The hotel bar is all dark furniture and yellow lights, a soft, warm and dark oasis and you feel relief to step inside. It’s a swish bar, not the kind of place to get a pint, even if that’s what you’re craving, it’s a nice glass with a hefty price bar. And so as you approach the bartender you’re thinking of what you want.

There’s only a few stools at the bar, seven or eight at a glance, and they’re mostly full. A gap between two gentlemen both very focused on their drinks, but you don’t want to get chatted up right now, especially from either side. At the otherside there’s two empty ones but one has a jacket laid over it and a drink on the counter. But needs must. 

You sit, taking your coat off and laying it over your legs, smiling politely at the bartender. 

…

“There you are.” The barman reappears in front of you, setting your drink down on the counter, “That’ll be £3.30, please.” 

You scoff a little at that, mentally complaining about how the world’s gone mad with these prices, but you obediently reach into your bag for your wallet, a five pound note soon between your fingers. 

“Thank you.” Your hand is raised for your change, you’ll tip later, at this point you don’t know how many drinks you’ll be having. 

As the barman is digging around the till for your change the occupier of the seat beside you returns, neglecting to pick up his jacket in favour of sitting on it. You blank the man, receiving your change with a “Cheers,” for the bloke. 

You sip the drink through the little straw, it’s nice to be fair and just what you need after today. You’re ready to forget about it, but you’re becoming increasingly aware of the figure next to you looking at you, and any kind of scrutiny is too much right now. So you turn to it, and you recognise the man immediately. 

The man you’d bumped into earlier, who you’d since found out a lot about from his interviewer.

“Well, if it isn’t the lady copper. What are the chances of that?” There’s a casualness to his tone and posture that suggests he’s perhaps nearing the point of one drink too many. That’s what prevents your usual curt response of ‘just copper is fine’.

You don't smile, don't show any signs of the polite mannerisms he’d expect, just look at him objectively and he can tell you’re analysing the shit out of him. “Oh I remember you.” You start plainly, wanting to get back to the solitude you came here for. “By which I mean, I have since found out who you are.” It’s designed to be standoffish, encourage him to keep to himself, and play to what you learned about the man from his record: he shouldn’t like the police. 

It doesn’t work though, the glasses of whiskey he's had tonight make the very blunt and sober way you’re talking to him more than amusing. And it shows on his face, “Ah someone’s been through some files.” The ways he’s grinning irks you, but if this was any other day in any other place you’d be swivelling yourself around to talk properly to the attractive man beside you. “Bumped into me and had to find out more, I get it.” 

Your expression remains stern, he must be drunk as a lord or at least confident as one to say that. “I recognised your… photograph; the man who walked into me and called me ‘lady cop’.” He owns the restaurant the victim was murdered in, he’s a key figure in this case, you shouldn’t really be talking to him at all, let alone in a bar. But your drink was expensive and you’re not going to fucking leave it. “William Afton.” You say his name offhandedly, no feeling on it, but he still likes how pretty it sounds off your tongue. 

“You can say mugshot, darling, I’m aware I have one.” He snickers at the look on your face, you were trying to preserve him some dignity in your wording, so much for that. The bloke sticks out his hand for you, “Just William will do it.” 

You take his hand before your mind can overcome your manners, introducing yourself as, “DC L/n.” He has a firm handshake, much more respectable than the bitten down nails on his larger than most hands. Then again, he’s a larger than most fella, sat next to you now his feet are completely rested on the floor, whereas yours are tucked neatly on the bar of the stool. 

He chuckles at the formality, fucking Detective Constable, you really aren’t budging off your high horse, are you? Normally he’d give up on someone being this clearly closed off with him, but not tonight. He’s starved of the chatter and drink has alway made him want to make new friends, especially when they're as cute and grumpy as you. You need cheering up, and he needs the challenge.

“We’re not at the station now, love. What’s your name?” He watches the frown on your face grow that little bit stronger and has to hide the smirk on his face behind the rim of his drink. 

“It’s definitely not ‘love’.” Your voice is firm and you let the silence that follows it sit for a few seconds. But then you consider who you’re doing this for. It’s not yourself, you don’t want to be rude to anyone, let alone a tipsy person who probably doesn't know how annoying he’s being. You’re not doing it for work, there’s no boss here to remind you of your conduct, there’s been no suggestion of his involvement, even with the previous convictions. So why not take your mind off things with some meaningless conversation?

You sigh, then tell him your first name.  

“So… is this your regular?” You ask the cliche question in some effort to force yourself into normality, thinking about any other way to ask him if he comes here often, hoping he won't catch on to how his answer might impact if you come back here again. 

His eyes narrow at the change in your manner, but he goes along with it, “No. No, I’m just taking a break from domestic bliss.” The words are sarcastic enough that you gather their meaning easily, unhappy at home, coming out to get away from it, it’s fair enough. You nod, mentally clocking the silver band on his left hand and chiding yourself instantly. That’s not the kind of distraction you came here for. 

“And what has you here?” He can take a guess, a long, bloody day at work, sufficient to make most people thirsty, but curiosity nips at him, he wants to know how senior you are, what your role in the whole shitshow is. More than that he wants to know what’s come of the police’s incessant questioning, and what ammo they have.

An incredulous laugh leaves you, “Just the joy of work, you know. A lot of difficult things to think about- I already know I’ll never sleep tonight.” You’re only half joking, even with a few more g&ts you don’t see yourself getting any rest. 

You sip your drink, realising all of a sudden that you’re not far from needing another. And as you pull the glass away the man beside you says, “Oh, I could help you with that.” 

Turning to him straight away, you’re practically scowling. What a thing to fucking say. 

At your disdainful expression he adds, through a wicked smirk, “Night nurse- you know the little bottle? That usually sorts me out.” All his suggestiveness dropped, and now you look silly for overreacting. 

“Aren’t you funny.” Despite the palpable sarcasm on the words you are smiling, just a little, you can’t help it, your facade draining faster than your gin. You swirl the liquid around, thinking over your words before you say them, you know better than the harmlessness of this, even if you wish you didn’t. “You’re being awfully chummy with me and I’m not sure why. I can’t and won’t tell you about the case.” 

You try to hold back the sharp edge of those words but even said nicely they’re cutting. 

It doesn't faze him though, and he leans a little closer like he’s jokingly telling you a secret. “I’m half-cut, lovely. I’d be chummy with anyone sat here, especially if they need cheering up as much as you do.”

You let your expression soften a bit, there’s a relief from what he said that there shouldn’t be. “Based on your file, I’d have thought you’d sooner switch seats than sit next to me.” You smirk as you speak, teasing but it’s based in truth. 

“Oh calm down.” He’s shaking his head at you, “I’ve nowt against the police, it’s only a job. Until today I hadn’t seen the inside of a police station for going on 20 years. It sounds like you’re the one with prejudices.” He’s openly mocking you now, and you can see why, but he can say what he likes, it doesn’t change what you read. 

The officer’s scrawl was plain to see: ‘Fucking filth’ he said to PC Markham, right before headbutting him, adding assault of an officer to his other charges. 

“You don’t think people can change then?” He asks, more seriously than anything else he’s said tonight. 

You think about it, going over both sides of the argument in your head whilst he waits expectantly. You arrive at, “I think… If they want it enough, then yeah.”  

He shrugs then, back to wearing a striking grin, “Well, don’t worry then. I’m good at getting what I want.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you are, you think, trying to hide the thought from your face. Opting to only say, “You’re insufferable.” under your breath.

“No, just drunk. I think I need a water.” There’s a new self-deprecation to his tone and it amuses you. WIlliam glances at your empty glass and already knows you’ll be having another. He likes this back and forth, it’s good fun, much more entertaining than the chat he’d be having at home right now. 

He leans forward a bit to catch the bartender's attention, “Will you get us another one of these and a water, thanks mate.” He slides your glass forward for the man to see and he nods, going about the order. 

“Oh, you were serious.” You say, partially to yourself, it’s hard to tell with this man. That’s probably the trouble.

He sits back, “Yeah, I’ll have to keep myself sharp if you’re sitting with me, sweetheart.” 

You grin, yeah there’s the fucking trouble. 

~

You don’t know how another drink turned into three. And how three turned into you watching him get a hotel room, his elbows on the desk as he talks to the receptionist. And how that turned into keys in his pocket, the two of you getting in a lift. And then your hands pulling on his shirt to get him close enough you can kiss him, his tall frame pressing you against the wall of the lift. 

You don’t think about how stupid this is as you’re doing it, you’re too distracted by the heat of him and the all encompassing way his tongue is in your mouth. You moan into the kiss, knuckles taunt with his shirt fabric balled up in them. You’re not drunk, you know what you’re doing. The alcohol isn’t affecting your judgement, it’s only making your blood warm and helping stoke the heat flickering in your core.

He doesn’t hesitate in touching you, neither of you worried about discovery, hands on your hips soon sliding low and squeezing your arse. You gasp a little as his touch brings you to your tippy-toes. The kiss is broken and has your lips tracing down his jaw, on his neck then shamelessly sucking his earlobe. You can feel how much he likes that digging into your stomach and your body rings with want. 

His hands are under your shirt before the lift stops, doors opening to reveal a man waiting, a suitcase by his side. You push the man off you, struggling not to laugh, especially when a quick glance reveals that William is. Hot in the face, you right yourself as the man drags his case into the small space, your skirt pulled back down and shirt buttoned back up.

“Uh we’re still going up, mate.” William says, snickering. 

“Only one floor.” The man responds bluntly, clearly not wanting any interaction with the two degenerates he’s just uncovered. 

You share a look with William, that has you pressing your lips together to stifle laughter. He looks very dishevelled, you hand’t noticed quite how hard you’d been going at him, his shirt is creased and his hair is a fucking mess. God knows what you look like. 

It seems to take a long time to go up one floor, but the very second the doors open you and William are quick to leave. 

“What a nice chap.” He sniggers and you can finally laugh away some of that embarrassment, how stupid the both of you are, but nothing to be done now. The only compromise you can make now is to keep your hands to yourself until you’re in a more private setting, but that’s easier said than done when your core is tight with need. 

Following his form, you try to take mental note of how to get out of here, so many beige corridors to wind around before you’re standing in front of the room this near stranger has purchased. You watch him put the key in the lock and for just a moment you listen to your mind. It’s not a good idea, it’s unprofessional, inappropriate and a host of other things but you’re warm between your legs and the want to continue what was interrupted outweighs reason. 

He lets you inside before him and you turn to catch his eyes low on your body, making you grin unwillingly. It’s a nice room, as swanky as the bar downstairs, long flowy curtains shrouding huge windows and a load more pillows on the bed than necessary. 

William looks around the room more pragmatically, he wants another drink and there’s got to be something in here, a fancy place like this always has opportunity to spend more money. There’s an odd cabinet a good distance from the foot of the bed, and when he opens it lo and behold an incognito fridge. “You want another drink?” 

You look over to William on his knees looking at what you quickly realise is a minibar, curiosity brings you closer and the prices make you wince. You don’t know how this man has it in him to drink, you’re tipsy enough just standing there. “You trying to impress me or something?” You say laughing, “Surely the room was pricey enough.”

He shrugs and gets to his feet. A black labelled bottle placed on the counter, he can’t decide what he wants to indulge in first because you are looking very tempting.  You see a look of mischief pass over his face before he says, “Well, in for a penny, in for a pound… which you absolutely are, love.” He delivers that with the smarmiest smirk you’ve ever seen, and a disbelieving laugh escapes you, it’s needlessly full-on but embarrassingly it does work in making heat between your legs flicker back bright. 

Still somewhat taken aback you just say, “...You’re shameless.” 

It just makes him chuckle, as the evenings gone on you’ve only gotten easier to fluster. “Oh and you’re so prim and proper?” That’s clearly amused him because his tone is dripping with sarcasm. You maintain your eye contact with the man, trying to curb excitement in your blood, you’re aware he’s gotten much closer to you and the prospect is delicious. “I don’t think so, no with how you accosted me in that lift, there for anyone to see.” 

He doesn’t need to add ‘And someone did see,’ because that grimy feeling has again caught up with you, you look away then, trying not to think about how disgusted that man looked earlier. It sucks because your usual level-headedness has shagged off and you seem to be making a lot of questionable decisions. 

You’re speaking before the embarrassed thoughts are coherent, “Well, I- That’s not something I’d… normally…” You trail off because of the clear enjoyment on his face.

“Come on, are you a police officer or a fucking nun?” He teases, “Looking so ashamed. You do know what we’ve come up here to do, right?” 

The mockery gives you a hit of bravery, and you shrug, “Yeah. I’m just waiting for you to stop talking.” You give the last words heavy exasperation and watch that achingly handsome grin slowly spread on his face. 

He listens to you. 

It’s criminal how eagerly you’re pulling at his clothes, struggling with buttons as dexterity is lost in your fingers to the way your body is reacting to his. There’s little elegance, only your tongue back in his mouth as your shirt is taken off, then your body pulled away from the wall behind you to let him unhook your bra. It’s quick but you still resent how long it’s taking to get what you want. 

He’s playing with your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh before tugging your hardened nipple between his fingers, it pulls a gasp from you. You’re giggling a little as his action makes it harder to concentrate on what you’re doing. You finally manage to pull the shirt from him, leaving it to crumple on the floor. His body feels good against yours, firm and hot, hair on his chest that you rake your fingers through, leading all the way down to his belt. 

His touch is everywhere on you except where you want it most, taking in your curves and again grabbing a handful of your behind. You’re restless, rubbing your legs together for a fraction of the friction your core is demanding, all this fleeting touch is mounting into impatience. William notices and you feel the movement of his hands up to your waistband, where they skirt teasingly around. 

You moan some encouragement into his mouth, tilting your hips for better access. But he pulls away from you, smirking to himself. “Take your skirt off for me, love. I’ve tried but for the life of me I can’t find the zip.” 

Despite your impatience, you can’t help but laugh, clearly pride had kept him silent for a fair while. “Here then.” You say through your amusement, placing a hand flat on his chest and pushing him lightly, guiding him a pace and a half back until he gets the hint to sit on the bed. 

From there he watches you half dressed as far as your waist as you catch hold of the zip on the side of your pencil skirt and pull it down. You step out of it, leaving your shoes under the fabric, a smug expression on your face. He looks good sitting there and a guilty thought flickers through your head at how lucky his wife is. 

That thought is cut short when he says, “Come here.” Not giving you much choice when he catches your wrist and manoeuvres you himself, your panties still on but the wet patch on them somehow more revealing than you imagine being fully nude will be. 

“Damn.” He grins, leaving you standing before him, his hand tracing the waistband of your knickers before sliding between your legs. You let him, spreading your stance for his access. He follows the shape of your pussy over the material, watching how it clings to your heat. Soon after he slides under the fabric and toys with the abundance of slick waiting there.

You moan at the static sensation buzzing in your core, it’s exactly what you wanted but still a lot and you have to steady yourself on his shoulders. He finds your clit and begins to draw patterns over the nerves that soon have your legs weak. He brings your end into your sights before altering the movement, and the whiplash is near devastating. He snickers when a disapproving frown rests on your face, adjusting his position to press his fingers inside you, willing to give you what you want. Fucking his fingers in and out of you he keeps up with the stimulation on your clit, the pace only quickening when your grip tightens on his shoulders. Your peak rises fast and you fall over it, walls fluttering tight around his digits as your climax washes over you, pulling some desperate noise out of you. 

Before your legs are even steady again, you’re desperate for more. So you push him back on the bed, bending down to tackle his belt buckle. The bulge in his trousers is practically taunting you and you’re eager to feel more and think less. 

WIlliam’s voice pulls you from your inept action. “Demanding, aren’t we?” He mocks. 

You look at him as levelly as you can, your pupils big from your fading pleasure. You know the answer before you speak, “Do you want me to stop?” 

He doesn’t say anything, only reaches down to help you take off the belt, pulling the trousers down and holding you steady so he can lean and shove them off. You take hold of his hardness, now only hidden by his underwear, revelling in the soft grunt that leaves him. He’s deliciously thick in your hands and drunk on it you straddle him, now palming him between your legs. Only now do you think about the condoms in your handbag, knowing you should pull away from him and retrieve them. But that rationale is drowned out by your cunt drooling, begging for immediate stimulation. 

Your touch isn’t enough for him, he just wants to feel your warmth wrapped snug around him, so he acts, flicking your hands aside to free his dick. He sits against your stomach, thick and long and almost instantly you’re sliding your slick along him, pussy twitching in anticipation.

His hand on your hip moves you back so he can line himself up with your hole, no more play, no more teasing. He guides you down, a small gasp leaving you as he presses inside. It’s more than you thought and your walls burn with the stretch of taking him; you still yourself for a moment, thighs hovering just above his whilst you try to get used to the fullness of accommodating him. Your respite is cut short when he starts to thrust up into you, sniggering at the surprised moan that escapes you and how your body is almost trying to run away from him. He holds you still, lost in the perfect way your cunt is swallowing him. Soon you’re taking him properly, riding him deep with stuttering breath, pathetic noises leaving you when his cock pressed against the spot inside you that makes you crumble. You’re so focused on your imminent pleasure sparking into life sharpish, you nearly miss the change in the man below you. 

“Fuck- that’s it.” He groans, his hands roaming your body. You’re doing the majority of the work, bouncing on him so fucking perfectly and grinding your bundle of nerves against him. Your fluttering walls are telling but he’s hanging onto his edge by a thread, just enough sense about him to help speed up your climax. 

You jolt when he suddenly begins rubbing your clit, his hand splayed on your abdomen. It’s a lot and you’re holding on to him tighter and tighter, fingernails digging harder and harder into his shoulders until you’re falling into the waves of bliss. Your back arches as you come, each pulse of your climax making you shiver. Your cunt squeezes around him tight and just like that he’s gone. He thrusts into you a few more times, pushing his release deep inside you,  the pace inconsistent as he rides it out. 

Both of you still, and you listen to his quickened breath as your pussy still flutters around him, you’re all over goosebumps but you hardly notice, too focused on the warmth trickling around him and settling between your legs. 

~

You don’t stop there. You get next to no sleep, spending the rest of the night clutching the headboard, then with your face buried in the dishevelled sheets. Later with your leg hooked over the hips of this man, dirty words dripping from your lips pushing him to give you more. Hours spent having easily some of the best sex you’ve ever had. Until the two of you have no more to give. 

It’s still dark, but a look at your watch tells you the day’s not far from arriving and so, you move. Taking yourself from the disordered bed and into the cool of the room. Your clothes are strewn all over and you begin to gather them one by one, aware you’re under the scrutiny of the man you’re leaving behind. 

You’re halfway through putting them back on when William decides he should probably do the same. You watch from the corner of your eye as he stands up unashamedly naked and even after you’ve had your share you still appreciate the sight, which you then realise he was probably doing to you before getting up.  

He moves to pick up his underwear, wincing through his teeth at the action, making you turn towards him with pinched brows. You see him raise his arm up and run his hand along his shoulders, his expression difficult to read. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask with uncertainty, a part of you thinking that there’s no way he’s as sore as you are, you feel like you’ve spent hours on the bucking broncos. 

“Wait-” He sounds confused but when he turns to walk over to a mirror on the wall your eyes go wide with understanding. You’ve left your mark on him alright: long scratches on his shoulders and back, each bringing back a memory of the night’s activity. 

When he sees, his instant reaction is to laugh but fucking hell, it’s pretty bad. How the hell hadn’t he noticed? 

You have a hand over your mouth, partially in shock, partially to hide the incredulous laughter begging to be shown. “Oh god, I’m sorry.” You say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your giggling to yourself, “I didn’t-”

“That is…” He cuts you off unintentionally, chuckling in disbelief as he looks from the mirror to you, then back again, “unambiguous… What the fuck am I supposed to tell my wife?” 

You snort. “I don’t know. Shit. I didn’t think I��� did that.” You hadn’t even thought about it, about how all traces of you on this man are liable to destroy a marriage, though to be fair, you’re not often a homewrecker. 

“Well, it was definitely you, sweetheart. Shit.” You’re lucky that he’s found this amusing and not gone the other way, but his marriage is dead on the rocks anyway, if Clara showed any interest in taking his shirt off he’d be looking around for a hidden camera.

…

You and William part ways soon after, part of you wanting to see him again, the rest knowing that that’s probably not a good idea. But the morning seems to be running away with itself and you don’t have time to think about it, it’s already nearly 7am and you've got to be at the station by 9. 

That doesn’t stop you from reliving the night over and over during your commute though.

As good a time as you’ve had you can’t shake the feeling that it was perhaps too good to be true.

If you made it to the end, thank you sm, you guys reading my stuff is my motivation to keep being excessively horny x

[cantstops1mping]

Flowers, Kisses, and Oranges

૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

// 🤍 – fluff //

746 words

{ao3}

§down bad!reader x Remus Lupin, gn!reader x Remus Lupin, picnic date§

[pet names (dove, love), picnic date]

«When Remus is asleep you decide you should surprise him with something; something cute, that he’d love!»

Hey everyone! this is my first actual fic (oneshot) I worked really hard on it and hope you all enjoy!!! I wanted to get this out sooner but, being in uni is so hard. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა

It's safe to say you're deeply in love with Remus; Remus John Lupin; moony; your moony. You love giving Remus compliments, flowers, little nick-nacks you find; you make him cards, bracelets, necklaces, and other gifts. Just because you can. Just because you love him.

You woke up before Remus in the morning to get the day ready; to make it perfect for Remus. Remus liked to sleep in on the weekends so you’ll have enough time to get 'The perfect date' ready. 

And why? Solely because you can.

You got up as quietly as you could. You tried not to make a single sound as you got ready for the day, so Remus wouldn't wake up. You tiptoed into the kitchen to make yourself breakfast and to make some sandwiches for the date. Turkey, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and a combination of condiments, stuffed between two slices of bread. You made a few more and gathered the sandwiches you made with some strawberries, oranges, and peaches and put them in a picnic basket. You filled the basket with more stuff; a sheet, napkins, some water bottles and lastly orange juice boxes. You closed the basket then right before you got out of the door you looked at yourself in the mirror ‘Perfect!’ you thought. you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door.

…

‘Beautiful’ you thought, getting out of your car. You breathed in the fresh garden air. The scent of flowers hitting you. The garden was filled with beautiful flowers, tall trees, tiny insects, and at the center was this huge pond. You decided to set up next to the pond, finding a tree close to it to provide shade. After, laying the plaid, orange, sheet down, you put the picnic basket in the center. 

You got up smiling, thinking of how much Remus would love it.

You remembered that you need to pick up some- 

Brrrrrr… Brrrrrr… Brrrrrr… 

Your phone rings. Looking down at your phone you see the caller ID being moony! You answer; “Moony, get ready! I have a surprise planned for you! You're going to love it!” You say excitedly, not letting Remus get a word out.

“Calm down” he giggles out. “Have you been getting this surprise ready for me all day?” He asks.

“Yes! Now go get ready! I'm coming to pick you up in 20 minutes.” You whine.

“Ok, Ok.” He chuckles as he hangs up the phone.

You get into your car and dash to the nearest flower store. The store had so many flowers you felt like you were in an enchanted forest. You picked out a bouquet of Remus' favorite flowers; orange lilies. Along with the flowers, you also picked out a beaded necklace for him to wear.

After quickly paying for everything, you drove back to your and Remus' house and rang the doorbell. As soon as he opened the door, his eyes widened at the sight of the flowers in your hand. 

“These are for you, my love,” you smiled, handing him the bouquet. He took the flowers, a look of pure joy on his face.

“You didn't have to do this, dove,” he whispered in your ear as he kissed your cheek, his voice filled with emotion. “But thank you. I love them.”

The two of you drove to the garden together. As you approached the picnic spot, Remus gasped in surprise at the sight before him. The blanket, the picnic basket, the flowers; everything was perfect.

“This is amazing, dove,” he said, his eyes shining with love. “You always know how to make me the happiest.”

…

You spent the day sitting by the pond, eating sandwiches, feeding each other fruit, and laughing together. The sun shone down on the both of you, casting a warm glow over the scene. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.

As the sun began to set, you packed up the picnic and held Remus close as you both watched the colors of the sky change. You knew in that moment that you were truly in love with this man, and you couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

“I love you, Remus,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he replied, turning to capture your lips in a gentle, loving kiss. And in that moment, surrounded by nature and each other's love, you knew that you had found your perfect match in Remus John Lupin.

© cantstops1mping 2024; please do not copy, steal, repost, modify, translate, or recommend on any other platform without giving me credit or without my permission!

[wordy-little-witch]

Random thoughts here, gonna add stuff for trigger warnings

Tw being trans pregnancy, I guess could he considered mpreg? Buggy identifies more masc but is AFAB. Nothing necessarily explicit

I just. Mm. Babies. Baby fever, lowkey. Can't have kids of my own, but I can day dream about my blorbos.

Buggy is trans, he's on T, but surgeries are wonky at best, uninteresting and frankly a liability. He'd be down for a good deal of time, something he isn't all too crazy about. When the dysphoria gets bad, he just chop-chops his chest and uses a packer ((his packer being, of course, a drawstring back of muggy balls, and opportunities for Many Jokes)).

Due to an event in his youth, pre Devil Fruit, he was told he's likely infertile ((Got stabbed a few times and a good chunk of his reproductive system is more scar tissue than actual organ tissue)). Between that, the difficulty for conception when a parent has a Devil Fruit, and his testosterone, he's decently certain it's not an option.

Of course, Buggy D Clown, the genius jester and Flashy Fool of the Seas, is a living embodiment of doing the impossible.

It starts with a sudden nausea when he smells his usual drink of choice. Alcohol was once something he adored, maybe in a little excess, but he was a pirate and pirates party. It's a given. Shanks' alcoholism was born from their shared past, and Buggy wasn't all too different on that front.

But suddenly, during lunch, when he went to take a sip of his rum, he caught a whiff of it and had to lean back and force down a gag. He exchanged it for a water, something not TOO unusual, as sometimes he'd have things he wanted to work on with a clear head, like in his workshop. Nobody really batted an eye.

Then he declined it at dinner. Then the next day. Then he was eying Crocodile's plate and his extra tomatoes, something he NEVER does, given his general dislike of the fruit. But now...? Mm.... it looks.. really good...........

Crocodile, thinking this is an opportunity to tease the other, offers a bite, expecting a dramatic recoil and complaint. But Buggy just absolutely beams at him, takes the bite, and damn near swoons. The logia user glances over to the swordsman, both uncertain but willing to roll with it. Not too big of a deal.

Then suddenly Buggy is more emotional than usual, something nobody was expecting. He's usually pretty expressive, all of his emotional responses keyed up to at least eleven. It's only noticed as off because he's crying a lot more, and hiding it far less. He happy cries, sad cries, angry cries. And it's like a switch is flipped. Something will happen and the clown is suddenly bawling. The first few times it happens with the crew, they all panic, but it's happy tears, infectious ones at that and so the men wind up crying too, offering embraces and spinning hugs of emotional care.

Crocodile and Mihawk share Looks.

Then Buggy is getting sick. Like. Throwing up almost every meal time, sick. The only things he can keep down are water, orange juice, and toast with honey or applesauce.

The two dark haired men finally put their foot down and demand the other go to a doctor. They expect a fight, expect tears or anger or yelling or something, but Buggy just nods, blinking slowly from his place curled into Mihawk's side, in one of Crocodile's shirts. He seems exhausted, shadows under his eyes from the newly worsened insomnia.

His easy acquiescence alarms them the most.

The next day, Buggy is seen, and there's a few tests and observations done, culminating into the doctor pursing her lips and ordering a urine sample.

Buggy, pale, head on Croc's chest while Mihawk toys absently with his hair, dozes off in the office while they wait on the results. An hour, and a nap, later, she returns with papers and a tentative air.

"Well... it's not a virus," she begins with. "Your hormone levels are elevated, specifically your progesterone and your chondrionic gonadotropin levels..."

Buggy stiffens, eyes wide. "I'm...?"

She sighs, smiling softly. "Congratulations, Chairman. You're in your first trimester of pregnancy, by the levels we can see here."

Buggy gapes. Crocodile is still as a statue. Mihawk had a thousand yard stare.

There is a soft sound, and suddenly Crocodile has vanished, now but a pile of sand on the floor and partially on Buggy. Mihawk looks faint himself. Buggy just glances between them numbly. "Oh."

"Mm. Quite."

Then, the world's greatest swordsman joins his logia partner in a tangle of limbs on the floor. Buggy stares for a moment. The doctor stares for a moment. Buggy flushes an angry red.

"Those motherfuckers couldn't even stay conscious long enough to get me back?!"

The doc tries to hide her laughter. "In their defense," she choked out, "they were quite worried about you and suddenly received such news. That said, I do have some smelling salts. Here..."

Buggy does not let either of them live it down, for obvious reasons, and they do have to announce it to the Guild because Buggy is now not allowed to have alcohol, can't do his typical tricks, and will need to cut back on a lot of the physical activities he does daily, let alone the topic of fighting. He's nervous about it, because it will involve both announcing a pregnancy as well as coming out. He's made damned sure his crew is inclusive for all sorts of people, regardless of love, color, age or body. But welcoming your fellow man (non gendered), is not necessarily the same as answering to a person like himself.

The reception is largely warm, though. The crew is over the moon, they don't even follow up with a "how does that happen, you're a man", they just immediately are screaming their congratulations and vows to step up and help as they can. Buggy winds up crying again, and Mihawk just wordlessly hands him a water bottle. Hydration is important, especially with all the tears.

His pregnancy is fairly typical, and the morning sickness passes fairly quickly, though the cravings get absolutely hog wild, and EVERYONE is suffering. Buggy tries not to be too needy but he can't control the responses and everyone else is hurting for him when he's so upset. He ends up absolutely obsessed with lemon-lavender ice cream, and the Guild keeps it on hand by the buckets full in the freezer.

When Buggy starts showing, Mihawk finds he has a new favorite place to nuzzle, finding the tiny little whirls of Haki within the clown's abdomen to be mesmerizing. He often finds himself cuddling in, Listening and Sensing, even talking softly to the little life growing within his lover, singing lullabies.

Crocodile near constantly has a hand or hook pressed over the growing swell. If Buggy is within arms reach, his touch is there, protective and mildly stunned. The paternity of the baby is unknown, but none of them particularly care. The baby will be theirs collectively regardless. That baby will be Crocodile's as much as it is Mihawks, as it is Buggy's. That baby is his, too. And he will protect this one ((the way he couldn't protect another, so long ago)).

Alvida, Galdino, Mohji and Cabaji are very hands on with everything. Al never wanted kids, but she is absolutely delighted to be the cool aunt, and the fella are excited to be uncles. It's Daz's quiet excitement that throws everyone for a loop. He's second only to Crocodile and Mihawk when it comes to pampering or spoiling Buggy. He still carries himself as a stoic stone faced man, but he is the one who brings the snacks, who offers a hand when Buggy gets to a size where standing is mildly more difficult, when it's time to convince the blue haired man to take it easy or rest. When asked, he will cite that he is merely doing his duties, but everyone could see when Buggy took Daz's hand and placed it on his bump when the baby was big enough to kick and haveit be felt by others. They saw the way the blade man's eyes widened, the shimmer there, the microexpression of wonder, of care, of brewing love. That baby would be safer than anyone else in the entirety of the grandline, of that nobody had a single doubt.

Shanks could not visit, but he made frequent calls and sent countless gifts, all of which made Buggy blubber like a child or rage like a harpy. Nothing was discarded, though, and in the nursery they set up is a small little bear with a red heart embroidered on the chest.

Rayleigh showing up unannounced was not anticipated. Nor was how Buggy remained blank faced despite the tears on his cheeks. The older man just smiled sadly, wiping away the tears, and handed over a small box. "Shakky and I worked together on this. It only felt right to pass this on. To new generations."

Inside is a stuffed cat, the fabric soft, yellow and worn. It was sun-bleached in some areas, little nose embroidered with red and eyes in blue. Buggy takes one look at the cat and crushes it to his chest, nearly doubled over as he let's out a heart broken keen, falling to his knees. Crocodile and Mihawk are quick to rush to his sides, but Rayleigh is closer and faster, falling down, wrapping around the other, queezing him tightly, softly, teary eyed himself.

"I know," he chokes, hugging his boy tighter, "I know, Blue, I miss him too, baby boy...."

Buggy clings to Rayleigh, holding the cat toy tenderly as he wails.

Ray stays for a few days before Buggy just tells him to pick a damned tent and hang out, damn it, his kid should get to meet at least one grandparent.

Ray doesn't cry but it is a close thing.

The pregnancy is an ordeal all across the board, from reopening wounds to general, typical difficulties, it's a wild ride start to finish and beyond.

There's more than one night of pure domesticity. One where Buggy and Mihawk are shooting baby names back and forth in the kitchen while Crocodile writes them down in the Yes, No or Maybe column. One where Croc and Mihawk are pouring over research for the baby. One where Buggy is in an oversized shirt, feet up on the tummy of a particularly big and spoiled 'wani, singing sea shanties softly as he tinkers with some harmless little trinkets, using his tummy as a table. One where Crocodile, pressed into Buggy's back, confesses to his past and breaks to pieces under dimmed lights in the clown's calloused hands to no judgement, only understanding, only compassion. Nights where Mihawk is wired so tightly by his own past that he sits upright in their bed, a sentinel of protection because he refuses to lose them the way he lost everything before.

You have to drain the infection, the bacteria, for a wound to truly heal.

It's difficult. It's painful. It's worth it.

The 9 months, the 26 hours of labor and the little bundle of life at the end was absolutely worth it.

Especially when newly named Bronwyn D. Crown ((their little Winnie)), with her midnight blue hair and pink little nose, her strawberry marks on fair skin, the curls of her locks and the shade of her lashes around sapphire eyes, is born into the world screaming her displeasure and only settles once clean, once swaddled, once brought back to her parents. She is small, smaller than expected, but every ounce of her body is the foundations of a fighter - she got her baba's temper, that much is certain.

Winnie is the apple of everyone's eye. Cute and small and bold and boasting a nose so much like Buggy's, almost everyone is taken with her. Rayleigh especially is wrapped around her finger within less than thirty minutes together. Shanks is absolutely in love even without seeing her first hand - he meets her the first time when she is two, and he cries because she threw an elephant toy at his head and cackled.

It's not easy. But by the Seas and Skies, it's absolutely worth it.

[myers-meadow]

An orange and a knife (Halsin x Tav)

Title: An orange and a knife

Pairing: Halsin x (named) Tav

Summary: You share an orange together. Twice. Or: Your adoration of Halsin grows by the day, but acceptance of those feelings is a whole different beast entirely. One night, they burst to the surface, and you can hide them no longer. Maybe you won't have to.

Warnings: none, all ages; pining, yearning, complicated feelings, happy end. First person pov. An exploration of emotions and how I wouldn't be able to take living close to Halsin as I'd just implode from adoration.

Wordcount: 1459

Please reblog or comment if you enjoyed! Have fun reading! <3 Dividers by@saradika-graphics.

I sank down on the log by the fire, plate and knife in one hand, a big orange in the other. Gale had it left over from somewhere and I gladly took it off his hands. Most of the companions had already retired to their tents, to read, to meditate, to sort out food for the next morning and the journey ahead. Karlach and Halsin were left, wrapped in conversation and I sat my ass down next to Halsin, who immediately scooted over once he spotted me coming. 

"Ay girl, did you borrow that dagger from Astarion?" Karlach joked, pointing to the overly large knife in my hand. They all knew I wasn't a fighter, and I didn't tend to carry weapons, so her guess wasn't a bad one.

"No, actually," I said, going along with the joke. "Wyll lent it to me."

She and Halsin laughed. I laid the plate down on my lap, holding the orange as i sliced off the ends. Halsin leaned back, turning towards me, to allow me to join conversation. Before I came, they'd been discussing Karlach's new ability to touch people, and from the looks of things, they got along swimmingly. My heart swelled at Karlach's joy as Dammon installed the new part earlier that day. Absentmindedly, I cut the orange in thick slices, then cut them in the lenght to eat from the rind.

"You want some?" I held out the plate to them both, leaning against Halsin's arm to reach Karlach, fingers dripping with juice.

"Thanks, soldier!"

Halsin laughed, in that way he sometimes did, somewhat quietly, when he had a joke to himself, or was just too polite to say what was on his mind, but he took a piece anyway. I didn't comment on it, too busy with my first piece, having looked forward to the orange as dessert ever since Gale mentioned the fruit in the morning, hoping no one else got their hands on it before me, fingers sticky, teeth digging in the soft, stringy flesh, sweetness filling my mouth. Moments like these were what kept me sane throughout all this. I realised I was sucking away on my third slice, before coming to my senses and passing the plate along again.

"Have more, please." My cheeks grew hot, hoping I hadn't ruined the romantic tension between them. "Please don't mind me."

Halsin sucked off his fingers and I tried not to look at it for too long, afraid my hunger would show - just as these two were getting along so well. "We were talking about what Karlach wants to do now that she can touch others again."

"And all thanks to you!" she beamed, reaching over for another slice.

"Dammon is a treasure," I said and handed the last piece to Halsin, moving to stand again to clean the plate and knife. "It's getting late, I'll leave you two to it, goodnight, loves! Have fun!"

The next night, Halsin tended to my wounds before I could seek out Shadowheart. Gale was cooking something delicious-smelling back at the heart of camp, and most retreated to do their own thing before dinner. We sat at Halsin's tent at the edge of the light. It was a relief to be back around him, surrounded by his warmth, his smell, the herbs he dries in his tent, the small pots of salves and potions he keeps on hand.

"Let me come with you, tomorrow," he said, voice soft, the healing spell sizzling out, the last of the blue glow fading. "You've been taking hits like you're Karlach, but you're a spellcaster. You should stay back more, like Astarion."

"I try, I just always happen to be-" a gasp left my lips as Halsin rubbed the bruise on my leg with a warm hand, to see if he was done yet, "right there in the middle of it."

He slid my skirt up to see how bad it was, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake, but not from cold. He dipped his fingers in one of his healing salves. "The cultists really don't like you much."

I covered his hand with mine. "I'd be glad to have you by my side tomorrow."

After a particularly rough day of adventuring later that week, my dear companions elected to have me stay at camp. Karlach was overjoyed to join Wyll, Shadowheart and Astarion anyway, so it was a win-win for many. Camp was rather quiet. The hours passed agonisingly slowly, especially as most companions seemed to have their own routines, and no need for company. Sometime before midday I found myself by Halsin's tent. He went out the day before to forage for herbs, and was hanging it all to dry, tying them into bundles with lenghts of string. Movements practiced, it was hypnotising to watch him. Large hands that still had such nimble fingers.

"Did you come here just to stare at me?" His voice startled me. From the way he eyed me, it felt like he was aware of my amorous intentions.

I hummed. "I've never spent the entire day at camp before."

"That doesn't answer my question." His tone was light.

"I'd like to stare, if you'll allow me," I said, eventually. He smiled. His hazel eyes glowed. 

"You're welcome to stay, as long as you have desire for my company."

So I stayed, enjoying the easy conversation, the sun on my face, and fell deeper and deeper in love with him.

No matter how much I tried resisting my feelings, every time I caught a glance of Halsin across camp, a terrible wave of adoration washed over me. The amount of times that Gale got upset when my attention slipped was more than I'd like to admit. With the adoration, came the jealousy. It was foreign to me before, but when Karlach would nestle close to Halsin, the pangs of it were heavy in my stomach.

One night, Halsin sank down next to me, orange and knife in hand, my heart leapt at the sight of him.

"Here, you like oranges, right?"

"You remembered."

"And I remember how terribly awkward you cut it. Here, let me show you an easier way." Halsin angled towards me so much that our knees were touching, and I could see only him, the rest of camp reduced to vague shapes in the dark, the fire behind him illuminating his hair, laying harsh shadows on his face. Beauty. He laughed softly in much the same way as back then, when we shared the orange for the first time. "It'd help if you'd actually pay attention to what I'm doing."

I hummed, but did as he said. Instead of cutting slices, he divided the whole orange into parts, to eat from the rind in a much more effective manner. The knife dripped with juice when he wasn't even halfway done. I ate as he cut, as he didn't bring a plate to put them on. With sweetened lips, I thanked him. "You're right, this makes a lot of sense. Thank you."

He smiled warmly and I almost had to avoid his eyes with the overwhelm of emotion. "Gladly. Frankly, I've never seen anyone cut fruit that clumsily."

I laughed. "Well, I just love to surprise people."

We shared the rest of the orange, in this comfortable bubble of this shared experience. As I was done with my pieces, and Halsin took his last bite before discarding the peel, the juice glistening in the firelight - in an impulse I reached up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Immediately, regret drowned out all other thoughts.

"Fuck, Halsin, I'm sorry-"

Seeing my panicked expression, and not caring for how sticky his hands were, he cupped my cheek and kissed me fervently. The sweet citrus mixed with the tobacco he smoked earlier that evening, warm, heady, delicious. Tingles set me alight as though hit by a lightning arrow. In the distance, somewhere, Karlach cheered, and the others didn't remain silent either. It didn't really process - there was only the sensation of his lips against mine, lingering even after he pulled back. Halsin rested his forehead against mine. Somehow my fist was balled into his shirt, and I let go slowly, smoothing out the fabric.

"You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he breathed, his voice quiet and heavy with emotion.

"Since the moment-" I swallowed thickly, refusing to look at him still, "we met, amidst the goblin guts."

A laugh rumbled from his chest. He pulled me into him for the best hug of my life and happily I sank into him, heart fluttering lighter than ever before. "Then we have a lot to catch up on."

[the-anime-enthusiast]

today is Iida's birthday !!!! maybe some drabbles/headcannons about what it would be like to celebrate with him :3?

TENYAS BDAY‼️‼️

headcannons and drabbles 😜

for everyone else who has requested stuff and I haven't replied, I'm so sorry 😭 I just moved 4 states away from home by myself and I've been busy ASFFF but I'm finally starting to get some free time again so pls be patient with me, I appreciate it 🙏

GIFT IDEAS 🎁

Okay so this first one is oddly specific, but every time I go on my own personal Tenya Iida bend, I alwaaayyyss think of this. My fav "perfect gift for him" idea is a pair of glasses (stick with my now), but not just any pair, a pair with his hero name

"Ingenium"

engraved in the side‼️ It may seem kinda dumb cause hes got like, idk a bagillion pairs of glasses, but these are perfect for special occasions and we all know he prefers the finer things in life so I think he's love this 😌😌 (possibly sheds tears bc he loves his brother like it's nobody's business and he feels the weight of this gift in his soul, ong)

My favorite gag gift ideas all come down to one thing, oranges. (ifykyk but de I will still explain) So, as a lot of Tenya fans know, his quirk uses oranges/orange juice as the fuel for his engines (no I'm not lying, it's random ik, his family has so many random traditions and small details thrown into the show, I love them sm 💞)

Like many people, I love gag gifts, and I would have a field day with this. I'm talking sunglasses shaped like oranges, bottles upon bottles of assorted orange juice, Sunny D merch, the whole nine yards. While this HC is made to be a gag gift, I think he would actually lose his shit over this, like best gift he's ever received type shit. He'd keep a specific shelf on his bookshelf for all things orange you get him (like a shrine or sm shi 💀) It def weirds ppl out when they don't know the story behind the shelf, but he loves it 😌👍

Another gag gift idea I love 😋 (okay so rq)

fun fact Abt me: I'm in mechanics and I js know bro would eat up auto mechanics related gag gifts Soo much 😭😭

Like cleaner for his mufflers, car oil (strictly for shits and giggles) js dumb shit like that 😭 Again, definitely has a stash/shrine for all this stuff, everytime you tell him he can get rid of it

"it was just a joke tenya, you know you don't have to keep it right?"

"well dear, it could come in handy one day! You never know ☺️"

Spending the Day Together 💞

Bros prim and proper, if your lucky, you wake up before him. It's no secret that appreciates the finer things in life (and the small things, atp he appreciates literally everything. Tenya is an angel sent from heaven and don't you forget it ✋) But if you decide to wake this man up to some bomb ass breakfast, I'm talking bacon, eggs, possibly pancakes, and ofc a big ass glass of orange juice he WILL tear up. I know deep in my soul he's an emotional (or at least dramatic) gift reciever.

I feel like his birthday would actually be a pretty average day, other than the morning and night. He ofc wants to have breakfast with you, whether it's cooking or the two of you going out, but he makes a NIIGHT out of his birthday. Y'all are doing it all don't even play ✋ Anything he could think of that you would also enjoy, is going on the list. (ofc there's a list, this is Teny Iida were talking Abt 🙄🙄)

There happens to be a festival near by? ✅

Oh your in a town known for it's street foods? Take a wild guess where your going. ✅

Open Business Shack street strip? You're walking that thing about 50 times. ✅

Art Museums. Movies. Live Music. Wining and Dining. Walks in a Park. Walks on the beach. Hero conventions. Literally any event near or on his birthday y'all are going to. You can try to plan all you want for him but he's got things mapped out before you ever thought possible. Something to be grateful for though, he doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind planning all of these things for HIS birthday because making you happy in the process is more than enough for him to get by (selfless baddie).

At the End of the Day 🌆

As much as I'd like to think, and we'd all like to think, that Tenya gets in a good amount of alone time with you at the end of his birthday, it just doesn't happen (ikik trust the process 😔)

After a long day of walking around the town, eating great food, spending way to much money on entrance fees to museums, gift shops, and that great food I mentioned, bros pooped (sry guys I'm js a girl and idk how else to word that with equal humor to that phrase 😔)

The second you walk through that door bags are crashing into the ground, shoes are being thrown across the room (not rly tho cuz u leave ur shoes by the front door 👍), clothes are being scattered across the living and bedroom. All bro wants to do is crash into his bed. He barely has time to out his night cap on 😔😔

It's slightly mundane but sweet because trust me ✋ After a day like the one he has planned y'all's bed sounds like heaven. I mean you can swear you hear the angels themselves singing to you once y'all slink into bed together, and honestly he wouldn't have it any other way. Spending an amazing day with his amazing partner, then getting into an even more amazing bed with said partner at the end of his lil adventure 💞

this is kinda on the short side, but it's late ash where I'm at and I'm tired asff BUT I FINALLY WROTE SMT AGAIN 😍😍 (praise God life was getting so boring) I hope y'all enjoy! I haven't been an iida girlie for awhile now but y'all are bringing it back 😜 (not to mention that one scene from the anime where it's class 1-A vs Deku and bros looking extra yummy) (slay) (pls don't come for me I'm 18 and have been watching this show since I was 12)(I'm also asexual so I'm not being weird I swear)(ik some of my reposts say otherwise but guys good writing is good writing what can I say 😭🙏)

Hope y'all have a wonderful night!

Lots of love 💞

BYYYEE ‼️‼️