#i start biting the walls n shit you know the deal

[avocadoraisin]

every time i rewatch Saw VI i go feral

alt:

#mark hoffman #saw #saw fanart #saw franchise #sawposting #drawing #i start biting the walls n shit you know the deal #this was my 5th rewatch #i AM keeping track of how many times i rewatch all these things bc i always wonder what my stats are when i get.. like this

[virgincels]

PAWFECT !

ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. hybrids, they’re treated like dogs so power dynamics, spaying, creampie, p in v, smut, daddy kink, fluff, pussy inspection

note. SHUT UP. all nyxs fault all her doing. og4 leon btw it wouldn’t work otherwise!! ignore typos n just bad fic over all I was tweaking .. omg forgive me . honestly just snippets of leon n his puppy girl!! super short

“Baby,” Leon says, it’s the closest to cooing he’ll ever get, “smile for me, baby, c’mon.”

You blank him, rolling over to stare at a small hole in the wall. The refusal to do what he says is a stab in the heart.

“What happened to my good girl?” He hooks his fingers in your mouth, forcing your lips into a grin as he bares your half-formed canines. “There it is, look at that.”

For the first time in your docile existence, you bite Leon. You bite your daddy and he yelps like a little girl—This has one of your ears twitching, the urge to run to his aid is likely strong but you stay put like the stubborn little bitch you are.

The vet said your grudge would last a day or so. That puppies can be temperamental creatures, but they’re soft at heart. A nice way to say that dogs are dumber than a box of rocks - you included. You’re the stupidest of them all and that’s what Leon likes about you.

Your grudge lasts two days, then three, then four, then five—A week long extension. And it’s not just the cold shoulder. It’s the food bowl that sits on the ground covered in a film of dust, out of use. It’s the side of his bed that remains empty as you burrow into your pink doggy bed that you outgrew long ago—There was never any use for the thing, you started to sleep in Leon’s bed the night you came home with him. Man, he used to hate when you whined at the bathroom door while he took a shit, but now Leon would do anything to have that back.

Worst of all, it’s the lack of sex. Leon did this for your good—You like playtime, it’s your favourite part of the day, even better than breakfast or lunch or dinner. You also love being bred, like the warmth, makes you sleepy. No more heat cycles, no more condoms. It’s a win-win. Call him cruel all you want, the shit makes you go insane—He got through, like, twenty rubbers in a day. Think about all those costs, then think about a single procedure, weigh ‘em up and you’ll see what led him to tie your tubes.

Leon makes a call to Rebecca, she comes with a stethoscope and Claire in tow. He’s in for an earful. Hybrid rights activist his ass, you’re his pup and Leon can do what he wants with you. An endless supply of creampies is what his girl dreams about, and he only does what’s best for you—He knows you, when you get over this slump you’ll appreciate all he’s done for you.

“And where does it hurt?” Rebecca’s eyes soften as you place a hand over your heart, blinking up at her with big eyes for added effect.

Oh, baby—Oh, honey— Both of them kneel by your side, scratching behind an ear each, showering you in enough affection to last a century.

“She’s acting,” Leon informs them, only to be met with outrage, “I regret it, swear on my life,” says Leon, who does not.

“You should, look at this sweet girl, what if she wanted to be a mommy.” Claire rubs your tummy, pads of her fingers digging into the pudge, your foot thumps against the floor as your body goes lax. When you look for affection from Leon, he rubs your clit instead of your belly.

“She doesn’t go outside, not gonna be a mommy either way.”

“That’s not the point, Leon, it’s cruel,” she argues, “she’s not a sex doll, are you baby? No, no, you’re not a sex doll, you’re a good girl, yes you are.” He fucking hates the baby voice. If you wanna get knocked up so badly, you should be spoken to like a big girl, but you can’t even make it to the potty on time so how is Leon meant to trust you with a litter?

“It makes it easier to deal with her cycles, I mean, she won’t get them at all now—“ Rebecca’s actual scientific evidence is shut down by a single glare from Claire.

“Get rid of your balls, how would you like that?”

“She likes my balls, can’t do that to her—Anyway, there’s no space for kids,” Leon says shortly, “I’d have to sell ‘em and she’d get all depressed.”

“She should have the choice, Leon, an option at least.” Claire doesn’t know that you can’t pick between dry food and wet food, that you break down when you’re given a choice, even if presented gently.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late.” And hooray to that.

“You’re mean,” she tells him, and he knows, he’s so mean—So selfish. Doing what’s best for his pup is so mean of him. Big Bad Leon crushing your puppy dreams in the palm of his hand like a page out of a diary.

“Mhm, okay, bye now, Claire, you should get going—Thanks for coming, Becca.” Leon escorts them to the door, he gives Claire a gentle push over the threshold and slams it in her face. “So fuckin’ annoying, tellin’ me what to do, and you just let her say that to me baby.”

Your face is indifferent, devoid of the usual warmth you carry in your expression. Dopey bitch. Don’t even know left from right and you think you know what’s best for you?

“So you’re gonna be like that?” Leon asks, and you blink at him, gaze steely. Fine. Two can play that game. He gets his dick out and twiddles it like his thumbs, your mouth waters the moment it comes into your eye line. “Baby, you could’ve held out a little longer.” He laughs quietly when you come to nose at his cock with shining eyes. “Yeah, you’re my greedy little bitch, aren’t you, baby? Yeah, you are.”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He strokes your head tenderly as you mouth at his cock, slicking him up in thick drool from tip to base, icing him like a goddamn cake. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it—Are you listening?” A whine slips from the base of your throat when he redirects your attention to his face.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, baby, you wanna play ball, don’t you?” That gets your tail wagging. “Yes you do, I know you do, c’mere—“ Now he’s doing the fucking baby voice as he deposits a ball at a time into your wet mouth, your teeth scraping the sensitive skin of his sac, tracing your tongue along the seam.

This is forgiveness he supposes - you choking on his balls like you’re trying to swallow them whole. Peace is restored wholly when he fucks you that night. “Daddy can do this now,” Leon tells you as he fills you with enough seed to stock up a sperm bank.

You don’t like Ada because Leon likes her, and you don’t like Ashley because she likes Leon. Girls bring out something feral within you, a strain of rabies that has been dormant in your system, waiting for anger to thaw your veins—You ruled out Claire, Rebecca and Jill as threats the moment you gave them a sniff.

Ada left his apartment with a ladder in her stockings and the indentations of puppy teeth in her ass cheek. She was on top - it was a no brainer to go right for her ass. Leon gets it, he wants to sink his teeth into her the same way. She squealed like he’s never heard before and he thought for a minute he fucked her real good. He didn’t even get to cum, she hopped off and made a beeline for the door and you scampered after her, one of her red heels chewed into a sopping leather mess in your mouth.

(Ada doesn’t like dogs, but she likes Leon.)

Ashley waltzes in. “I’m so good with dogs, Leon! I love them, I used to have this great big Labrador, he was so good, Leon! Like he even sat and rolled over when I asked him too—He reminds me of you, actually.” Then she bends over to pet you on the head, but the close proximity between her and him is not to your liking so you bite the hand that saved his life a couple times, a hand that is worth more than his D.C apartment - furniture included.

“Told you she’s tricky.” Leon lifts you up, tosses you over his shoulder so you’re no harm then he finds himself missing your sweet face so you’re swung back over to be cradled in his arms like the big baby you are.

“Ouch, Leon, she’s really mean.” Ashley soothes the pain by flapping her hand in the air, a fruitless endeavour, the cold air from a nearby open window causes it to sting.

“Nah, she don’t bite that hard, do you, baby?” He pushes a finger into your mouth and you nibble on it with a significantly decreased bite-force. “See? Just teething.”

There’s Sherry, you love Sherry more than she does Leon, you run around her in circles and situate yourself on her tiny lap and lick at every inch of her tiny face. You let Leon give you a good scrub before Sherry comes over, put on a fresh set of clothes that aren’t his old t-shirts with ragged collars from all the teething you do. Heck, he even manages to put you in some cute undies.

They come and go, but you stay. And each time a woman leaves his place, you sit your pussy on his face and scoot around— He asks you: “What the fuck you are doing, baby?” Muffled into the fat of your pussy of course, but you never respond. He brushes it off as you scenting him—Whatever pups do when they’re feeling territorial.

And who is he to complain? Your pussy makes him happy. Leon sucks your clit into his mouth, reaches around to pinch the base of your wagging tail between his index and forefinger, stroking up and down to have your thighs tightening around his head.

You circle your hips into him, drool pooling in your mouth and dribbling down your chin as you chew on your favourite stuffed toy, whimpering into the spit-soaked fabric while Leon works your drippy hole open with his tongue. The tip of his nose grinds into your swollen clit, and you only budge once you’ve waterboarded him with your squirt.

Then you very generously provide him with a clean-up service, lapping at the sticky wetness coating his cheeks and suckling on his nose. That always makes him laugh. More often than not it’s a gradual transition into a play fight, you nip at his fingers and your ears twitch, a playful smile brightening your face.

The two of you roll around and Leon, being the bully he is, pins you to the ground, holding your wriggling body down as he slides his sweats down and slots his cock right into your twitching pussy. He grabs your tail to pull you back on his dick, and you might be one stupid bitch, but you’re cock-smart—You know what he wants and push your ass back against his thighs, wet skin smacking as you pick up the pace, faltering only when Leon takes ahold of your ears and uses them as fucking handlebars.

He can’t help himself, they looked too cute, flopping about all over the place. Looked like fuckin’ Dumbo. It doesn’t hurt you—No, it’s the opposite, you cum so hard you pass out in a heap the minute he lets go.

“Thank you, baby.” Leon pats your head as you shove two pussy-wet fingers into his mouth. “That’s so sweet, baby, can daddy take a look at what you’re doing?”

You smile at him shyly, like you didn’t just force-feed him slick, he catches the shape of your tail wagging low between your thighs, then you roll over onto your belly—Leon gives the fold of your tummy a sweet kiss first, then you turn over, taking your hand out of your panties to let him take care of the rest.

The seat of your panties is basically pasted to your pussy, strings of slick breaking as Leon peels them off. “What’s got you worked up, baby?” He spreads your ass, dipping his nose into your tighter hole as his tongue runs along your slit.

Leon raises his head, he parts your fat lips with his fingers and your cunt clicks when he digs a finger into your tight hole, it pulses around him, begs for more, for something thicker. The hood of your clit is pulled back by his thumb and prodded with his tongue, and your labia is parted by his nose, dragging up and down your soaked pussy. When he’s done messing around, Leon lays his tongue flat on your pussy, licking fat stripes up and down the centre of your cunt, dusting kisses on your throbbing clit until you gush down your thighs.

Man, you don’t even need a heat to get you wet. See, it all worked out in the long run, he’s pretty sure you don’t even remember what went down merely a week earlier.

“Come sit on it, princess,” he hums when you lick into his mouth, sucking on his tongue sloppily, a steady stream of drool slicking up the bottom half of his face. You’ve got a lot of love to give and he’ll take it.

You’re well-trained when it comes to cock and not much else, easing down on Leon’s dick while you brace your hands on his shoulders, pussy tightening when he scratches behind your ears. He plants his feet on the ground, lifting off his heels to fuck up into your plush cunt, squelching every time he bottoms out, cute tits bouncing as you sit pretty on his cock like a pencil topper.

The absence of a knot is always a bother to you. When he cums, you wait expectantly for his cock to swell and stretch you out beautifully, tear your pussy in half—It never comes so you paw at his face to express your disappointment, like you’re telling him to do better.

Maybe there's surgery for it. There’s one for everything these days. From cropping to defanging - a manufactured knot shouldn’t be out of the question. He’d do it for you, he would, even if it was a dodgy procedure in the same alley as coat hanger abortions and junkie meet-ups.

Not really. Leon wouldn’t really. He quite likes his dick how it is, and once you get over the initial anticlimactic flop of his knotless cock, staring out the window like a disillusioned star - you’re back on it less than a minute later.

A lack of understanding for his refractory period causes Leon discomfort as you force yourself down on his soft dick, he sits through it to make up for all the places he falls short. You rut your hips into him, trembling with excitement as he hardens inside of you, cock shaping your insides into something pretty. Then you show him that you love him via a spit shower, which Leon is not too fond of, your pussy on a platter would be ideal, but he doesn’t stop you.

Sometimes you suck his cock till your tongue feels like sandpaper. Sometimes you sob so hard when he leaves for work you throw up and he spends half an hour scrubbing mushy kibble out of the carpet. Sometimes you eat things you aren’t supposed to, and sometimes you are one nasty piece of work, but Leon loves you anyway. ‘Cause you’re his piece of work.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[papercorgiworld]

Quiet a long night

Alternatively: Enzo’s deal with Mattheo

Enzo and Mattheo x reader

You can read this request as a summary, because I don’t want to reveal anything else.

Warning: not really a threesome, but still you get fucked by both Enzo and Mattheo, fingering, oral m and f receiving, submissive reader I guess, piv, overstimulationand maybe orgasm denial… I’m not good at warnings, but I’m sure you get it: 18+

Minimal plot, sorry. I hope it lives up to the expectations. I might have strayed a bit from the essence of the request. Not exactly a threesome, but the next best thing I guess, because I honestly believe Mattheo would go mental if he had to watch the woman he loves with another man. I’m going to be honest, I’m a softy so despite the jealousy this isn’t crazy rough, I mean this is just how I write but I did my best.

A/N: If you check out my little masterlist thingy, you’ll notice I added a little currently working on etc. This is because of some changes in life, which have me worried about how much time I’ll have to write so this way you can check up on what I’m doing.

Feedback is always welcome. Happy readings!

Tears are welling up but you hold them back as you tell Pansy everything that had happened the night before. Sympathetically she listens to your painned voice, while Lorenzo approaches you with a frown on his face as he listens in. “He just walked out and now we’re done. Can you believe it?” Enzo raises his eyebrows and uncrosses his arms to wrap you in his arms. “Mattheo’s an idiot sometimes. He’ll come around. He always does.” You huff through sobs as you break down in Enzo’s arms. “He needs to realize that I am not someone he can toss away whenever he wants to and then come back when it fits him.” Enzo places a soft kiss on your temple, arms still tightly embracing you. You stay in his arms for a while and Pansy who’s been silently watching the both of you chews her lip. “I’m not one to meddle, but if you really want Mattheo to realize that you won’t wait for him every time he gets confused over his daddy and mommy issues, you can always fake date Enzo. I’m sure Mattheo will learn.” With watery eyes you stare at Pansy, but slowly her idea starts to make a lot of sense. When you turn to look at Enzo with teary eyes he really can’t say no. A hesitant breath leaves his lips as he worries about what he’s getting himself into, before speaking up. “What are best friends for if it isn’t for fake dating.” He jokes and you cuddle up to him.

It only took Mattheo two days to lose his patience. He had endured enough of you two and was done watching you with him. You in Enzo’s lap laughing at his goofy acts. Enzo’s hand slowly moving down and resting on your ass. You wrapped in Enzo’s arms while he places a soft kiss on your forehead. Enzo leaning back in the common room just to wrap his arm around you, gently playing with your hair. Your hand on Enzo’s thigh tenderly moving up as he stares at you with adoring eyes. Mattheo was forced to watch it all.

When you and Lorenzo skipped breakfast and stayed in one morning, Mattheo had had enough. With gritted teeth and dark eyes Mattheo walks the hallways of the castle. Berkshire, you worm, you had no right to spend the night with my girl. We’re not together at the moment, but she’s still my one love and you know that, you little shit. Enzo was out of line. “Berkshire!” Enzo snapped his head around to find a fuming Mattheo approaching him. This was bound to happen, honestly Mattheo had held together for longer than Enzo expected him to. “You break it off with my girl, today!” Mattheo pushes Enzo against a wall, but Enzo bites back pushing Mattheo’s hands off of him. “Why would I do that when she’s so much fun?” Lorenzo’s suggestive teasing makes Mattheo’s heart squeeze tight. You were his girl, he needed you back. Mattheo reaches for his wand as his eyes burn with hate and he closes in on Enzo’s face. “You will step back, because I love her and I will have her back. I’ll kill for that brat, so go find someone else.” Mattheo’s voice is ice cold, but he doesn’t cast a curse. Lorenzo relaxes as he watches Mattheo turn away, but as soon as Enzo lets his guard down Mattheo throws a punch, hitting Enzo’s cheek hard, before calmly walking away.

***

Enzo lets himself fall next to you on the couch with a sigh. You immediately spot the bruise on his cheekbone with horrified eyes and gentle fingers, you brush his face. “It isn’t that bad.” Lorenzo whispers and you feel guilt well up. “This was a horrible idea.” Enzo meets your eyes with a comforting smile. He tugs your hand and you move to sit in his lap, brushing your lips over his. “Did he say something?” His eyes fall to his hand resting on your thigh. It takes a moment before Enzo meets your eyes, but when he does you notice how soft they are. “Matt loves you (y/n) and we both know you belong with him… so I guess it’s time we stop fooling around.” You look down to his hand, his thumb drawing soft circles on your thigh, and chew your lip. “What did he say exactly?” You wonder, does Mattheo really love you, does he really want you back? Lorenzo softly brushes his fingers through your hair, adoring your beauty. “It’s what you wanted right? He wants you back and I’m sure that he’s not gonna let go of you ever again.” You wanted Mattheo back so bad, you belonged with him, you were sure of that, but a part of you was going to miss Enzo. “I’ll miss our time together.” You whisper and meet his eyes. A soft smile tugs on Enzo’s lips. “Wish you could have us both?” You hide your face in the crook of his neck, before softly whispering: “Maybe.”.

***

You and Enzo decided to break things off tomorrow. After today’s classes you would have one last date night, which again ended with you underneath him.

You lay on your bed as his hands moved over your thigh, while he kissed and sucked on your neck, leaving small bruises. Your fingers entangle in his hair as you feel his hand slowly move under your dress and up to your panties. “Please, Enzo.” You moan and he traces kisses from your neck to your lips. “Take off that dress for me first.” You push him off of you and while he removes his shirt he watches you with hungry eyes as you reveal your lingerie to him. Instantly he’s back on top of you, his eyes scanning your body. “So fucking beautiful.” His fingers gently trace your bra, hips and thighs, before focussing on your panties. His hand slips underneath the soft fabric of your panties and a finger slides through your folds. “Wet, but not wet enough.” Lorenzo growls and with those words he enters a finger, sinking deep into you, making you moan. Your parted lips are a silent invitation for him to sneak his tongue in and eagerly explore your mouth. Muffled moans fill the room as his finger plays with your clit, making you arch your back and squirm underneath him. He feels your body tense as your orgasm builds up. “Not so quick, princess.” He pulls out his finger, making you whimper before whining. “Enzo.” You whine. Mattheo was right, you're spoiled rotten.

You watch him through hooded eyelids as he traces kisses over your breasts, while his hand sneaks to your back to unclasp your bra. His tongue eagerly moves over your perked nipples and you tug to his hair, whimpering underneath him as sensations build up. While his mouth plays with your nipples his hands are free to move down your panties a little, only separating his mouth from your boobs to carelessly throw your panties on your bedroom room. Enzo places soft kisses over your tummy, announcing his way down. You can feel your core get needy for him as he works his way down teasingly slow. “I beg you, Enz, please-” A soft cry interrupts your plea as his tongue slips between your folds. His hands grip your thigh forcing your legs open so he can press his face hard against your pussy. Soft desperate moans escape you, but it’s not enough for Enzo and his hands move to your boobs kneading them and fingers harshly playing with your sensitive nipples, while mercilessly devouring your cunt.

You cry out Enzo’s name as you buck your hips searching for that last touch to tip you over the edge. He grabs your ass like a brute angling you right so he can give you what you need, his tongue focused on your clit. Your lips part, but no sound comes out as you climax with Enzo’s mouth still working your pussy, thirsty to taste your juices. He finally moves away to watch you panting underneath him, slowly removing his pants and boxers revealing his large member to you. You squirm as you realize that Enzo was far from done with you, which only makes Lorenzo smirk as he jerks himself before crawling over you. He looked godly, fully naked and hovering over you, lustful for you.

He kisses you intensely and despite your already wobbly legs you bravely reach for his cock. You stroke Enzo’s painfully hard cock and he moans into the kiss, while you guide him to your entrance. “You’re so good for me.” Enzo whimpers as he slowly moves inside you, loving the feeling of your walls around him. Once he’s settled deep inside of you, Enzo grabs your hips and flips you in one swift move so you’re now on top of him. A cry leaves your lips at the sudden movement with his dick deep inside of you. “Move for me.” Enzo whispers as he brushes your hair out of your face. You nod with your mouth slightly agape and do as he asked. With your hands on his shoulders you bounce on his dick. You start slowly, but quickly try to pick up the pace. Enzo pants and moans as his eyes move from your blushed face to your pretty tits moving in front of him to your cunt taking him so fucking well. You drop your head and soft cries escape you as you struggle to take his full size, feeling him stretch you hard and deep.

As Enzo feels his orgasm approach he curses himself for making a deal with Mattheo. Your walls clench so good around him, he wants you to cum and he wants to cum, but instead he stops your hips from moving. “Get on your knees and let your mouth work.” Enzo clenches his jaw as you look at him with confused and pleading eyes. Was he punishing you for some reason allowing you to feel him inside of you to then take that away from you with any release. “Enzo, please.” You whine cupping his face and doing your best to move on his dick despite Enzo’s strong grip on your hips. “Do as I say sweetheart.” Reluctant you move up, leaving your pussy clenching around nothing as you still so desperately want to cum. With innocent eyes you watch Enzo as you move to sit between Enzo’s legs. His hand makes its way to your hair, caressing your scalp as you open your mouth to taste his cock covered in both your juices. Your legs are pressed tightly closed as you feel your clit throbbing in need of touch, but you ignore your own desire and focus on pushing Enzo’s hard member deep down your throat. Enzo moves your head just a little more, making you gag a little before allowing you to move up and down. You pause a moment to lick and suck his tip before working his dick deep again. When feels himself get close Enzo firmly grips your hair and thrusts upwards into your mouth, fucking your mouth and spilling deep inside of you. Your eyes get watery as you take his load. Surprised by his own harshness he pulls your flustered face towards his. Brushing a tear away with his thumb. “You’re so pretty. So sweet.”

Enzo pulls you close and wraps his arms around you, while kissing you passionately, before pulling away and leaving you alone and naked on your bed. You watch him confused, desperate and vulnerable. With one word from Enzo the key from the door clicks, unlocking it and it only takes a second for the door to open. Flustered and with still teary eyes you watch Mattheo walk in and instantly your lips part as a soft sound leaves your lips. Mattheo feels himself get hard the second he sees your naked body, glinstering cunt and flushed face, exactly how he wanted you. Feeling vulnerable under Mattheo’s piercing gaze you close your legs and look away in shame. Enzo places a soft hand on your thigh, squeezing gently, while his lips move close to your ear. “You said you wished you could have us both.” Your eyes move from Enzo to Mattheo who slowly removes his tie with his eyes still focussed on you. “So I managed to make a little deal with the devil.” Enzo pulls away from you and licks his lips.

“Can I watch?” Lorenzo asks with a playful smile, but Mattheo doesn’t look at him as he steps closer to your naked sheepish figure. “Get lost Berkshire, I’m the boyfriend, you’re the toy.” Your mouth drops as Enzo just grins at you, pulling up his pants and grabbing his shirt, before leaving. With confused eyes you stare at the door through which Enzo just left. You sit still on the bed, unmoved as Mattheo sits down next to you on the bed, watching you carefully while you avoid his gaze, feeling your heart race with anticipation of what is to come. “Don’t be ungrateful.” Mattheo whispers softly, while stroking your cheek. “Open your legs for me.” You part them only slightly as you feel your wetness pool at his words, stimulating your sensitive overstimulated pussy. “Wider, I’m not Enzo, I need to be deeper inside of you.” He immediately inserts two fingers harshly into you. “Berkshire lived up to his word, preparing your cunt for me. It’s soaked.” You whimper as his fingers stretch you and forcefully circle your clit. “I’m still sensitive.” You whimper barely audible, feeling your whole body fill with sensations at your boyfriend’s touch. “You wanted the both of us, love, so now you’ve got to take the both of us, no complaining.” Mattheo whispers harshly with eyes focused on your teary ones as you softly nod.

Mattheo continues to thrust his fingers inside of you, while wrapping an arm around your figure and pulling you against him. He rests his head against yours, allowing himself to take in your warmth and smell. I missed you, princess. You cling to his shirt as his fingers curl inside of you soaking his hand with your arousal. You let your head rest on his shoulder as you whimper at his touch. You missed his touch and warmth so much. “I love you, Mattheo.” You whisper with a shaky voice and watery eyes. “I love you too and I promise I’m here to stay.” He whispers softly before suddenly pulling his fingers away from your needy pussy. “But don’t ever fuck that toy of yours without my permission again or you’ll regret it.” He grabs your chin and forces you to meet his eyes. Your naked figure is shaky as you nod softly, eyes focussed on his dark ones. “How do you want me?” You ask innocently, knowing that pleasing your boyfriend is the only way he will lead you cum tonight.

“Hands and knees.” He states and gets up to undress, while you move to please him. He watches you with longing eyes, while gently stroking your thigh before harshly grabbing the flesh of your asscheeks. “I’ve been hungry for you for a while, so this really isn’t going to be pretty.” Mattheo warns as he grabs his cock and guides it to your entrance to tease you, only brushing his tip through your folds. You spread your legs a little wider and lower your hips in search of more of his touch, while simultaneously grabbing the sheets tightly and arching your back, preparing for Mattheo’s animalistic side. However, he continues to tease you and watch you squirm for a few moments. Angry with himself that he allowed Enzo to have even a glimpse of how good you could be. He needed to fuck you hard and deep and probably more than once to find peace with what you had allowed Enzo to do to you. Without warning Mattheo thrusts into you, immediately earning a cry from you.

Firmly grabbing onto your hips he pounds into you like you’re a doll. You whimper his name as he hits your sensitive spot at a ridiculous pace. In record time your moans go silent as your mouth hangs open, face pressed onto the mattress as your pussy is forced to take Mattheo’s thick cock fast and deep. His eyes carefully watch you and when notices you’re only seconds away from climaxing he reluctantly pulls out, turning you into a sobbing mess and flipping you over onto your back. “Wide.” He demands and you spread your weak legs as wide as you can, ashamed at your own state and your desperation for your boyfriend’s dick you look away as he hungrily watches you while kneading your breasts, thumb moving over your nipple, before slipping his cock back inside your cunt. Mattheo cups your cheek and forces you to meet his eyes as he pushes himself deep inside of you, watching your lips part for silent moan as he stretches your walls. Softly he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “You belong to me, princess.” He growls and you nod with submissive eyes, before snaking your arms around his neck, while he settles in the crook of your neck. He starts rutting into you again, directly hitting the spot you need him to and finally giving you that much needed orgasm that nearly has you pass out. The blissful ecstasy running through your body helps your overstimulated walls take Mattheo a little longer for him to spill his load into you, something that was only reserved for him since he’s your boyfriend.

Your fingers entangle in your favorite curly hair as Mattheo pants against your shoulder, still keeping his dick inside of you for a few more moments. “I’m sorry for what I did with Enzo.” You whisper and Mattheo places a soft sloppy kiss on your cheek. “It’s okay, princess. I was an ass to you, I deserved it and you deserved a little treat.” You rest your cheek against him, but he moves away a little. “But, I meant what I said earlier. Don’t ever let him touch him with my permission. You’re mine.” You nod knowing he was dead serious, but you can’t help but like the idea that there is a possibility of him granting permission. However, at the moment your body was not in need of another round. “How about a warm lavender bath for the princess?” You nod, eager to lay on your boyfriend’s chest as the warm water relaxes your body. After all, it had been quite a long night.

Bonus?

Relaxed and cleaned, you enjoy the intimacy of sitting together surrounded by the water. You feel yourself dozing off as Mattheo runs the washing cloth over your skin softly while you lay on his chest. He kisses your cheek and you hum at his touch, making him chuckle softly. “I’m glad the smell of Enzo is finally gone.” Your eyes flutter open again as the tone of his voice warns you. “Get up. One last fuck. Then you can rest.” Mattheo’s voice is demanding and you get up reaching for a nearby towel. He follows swiftly and lets his eyes wander shamelessly. The plan was to at least get you to the bedroom, but when Mattheo catches you staring at his hardening member through the mirror he smirks, before pulling your body against his. With your back pressed against his chest, his hand snakes between your legs making him groan and you moan. “Be good for me and maybe I’ll let that toy of yours fuck you again someday.”

Word count: 3414

Picture source Mattheo

Picture source Enzo

#slytherin #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #papercorgiworldwritings

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (16/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: You know what's coming - they don't call me queen of slow burn for nothing.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, swear words

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: thank you all for your kind words on my engagement! and I'm sorry for this part! love ya. feedback is appreciated!

Charles is so close to you that you can breathe him in. His warm breath gently brushes your face, you feel the pressure of his big hands on your back and the thought that friends shouldn't look at each other like that makes your heart beat faster. 

Because Charles is looking at you just like that. As if you weren't friends, as if the connection between you was more intimate than a friendship could ever be. As if he's willing to cross the invisible line that separates his lips from yours. 

Your hands, resting against his hard chest, feel the strong heartbeat beneath and your fingers lightly claw into the fabric of the thick sweater as a sign for him to please be bold. 

Take this step with me, it's supposed to say. Take this step and come to me. 

And Charles even seems to understand. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth, and you're so close you can almost feel his tongue against your mouth as he licks his lips. 

And then his hands disappear from your back as he takes a big step backward. Your touch slips from his chest, his scent disappears from your nose, and a distance is created between you that you can not only physically see, but also emotionally feel. 

When you look up into his face - a little confused - his features are harder than they were just seconds ago. 

"Let's go," he says coldly, tucking his hands, which a moment ago had you pressed against him, into the pockets of his sweater. "I need some sleep before I leave tomorrow, and like you said, we also need to grab a bite to eat and head back home." He turns away from you, takes the few steps to the door, and leaves the store without looking at you again. 

Puzzled and admittedly repulsed, you look after the man. 

He had been so close to you just a moment ago - and all of a sudden there is an uncrossable ocean between you. What has happened that he is now withdrawing like this? Did you do something wrong? Forced yourself on him? Crossed a line? 

No, after all, he sought your closeness first, pulled you closer to him, and whispered all those affectionate words to you that fogged your head and made little butterflies flutter around in your stomach. 

But maybe that's exactly the mistake. Maybe you've completely misread the situation. Maybe he behaves similarly with his other friends. While you can't imagine how he would pull Pierre into such an embrace, every friendship is different, after all. 

And lastly, you don't know how Charles behaves with his female friends either. The thought of him hugging other girls like that, too, and whispering such flirtations in their ears, makes your stomach tighten involuntarily. A nasty feeling that you didn't even feel when Raphael was flirting with other girls in front of you back then. 

You suppress the nausea rising in you and follow Charles, who is waiting for you in front of the store, typing on his cell phone. You lock the door behind you and toss the key into the mailbox, which hangs hidden by ivy vines on the wall of the house next to it. Without looking at your roommate, you start moving. "Well, let's go."

The icy Nice night wind blows in your face and ruffles your hair as you walk back to the car, but Charles doesn't seem to mind in the least. "What do you want to eat?" he asks nonchalantly, still staring at his phone. He seems so far away, as if the moment just now didn't even happen.

You shrug, unsure how to handle the situation. "I don't care. You go ahead and pick something."

"We don't have a lot of options at this point," he counters as your car enters your field of vision. "It's really late and a lot of restaurants have already closed." He continues typing away on his phone as he unlocks the Renault. "According to Google, I think there's a bistro nearby where the sandwiches are supposed to be good. Would you be okay with that?"

"Like I said, I don't care," you reply to him, getting into the car.

"What kind of sandwich do you want?" he asks after plopping down in the driver's seat. "I guess they have one with lettuce, chicken, and avocado." He raises an eyebrow. "I think I'll order that." He tucks his phone away and starts the car before letting it roll out of the parking lot. 

"I'll settle for a plain ham and cheese sandwich," you say, looking out the window. 

The fact that Charles is pretending you didn't almost kiss just now unsettles you so much that you can barely look at him. And the fact that you wanted to kiss him - actually wanted to kiss him - almost makes you disappear into your seat in shame. 

Because, as it seems, he doesn't want to. He draws the line between friendship and something more much more clearly than you do. And he doesn't seem to shift it to suit him. To him, you're his friend, his roommate, a means to an end until he can move into his other apartment. 

You are his friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. 

"Here we are," Charles breaks through your train of thought. He's already parked the car and points to the bistro on the street corner in front of you. A young man is tidying up the few chairs that are in front of the building and wiping down the tables with a rag. "I'll just get us something to eat. Do you need anything else?"

You look over at him with raised eyebrows. "I don't think we can get anything to eat there anymore."

"Why not?"

Confused, you look at him and point to the young man. "Because he's closing up store?"

Charles shrugs. "Just let me try it. It'll work," he smiles, and when you don't reply, he gets out. He jogs the few feet to the bistro and greets the man with a handshake, then points to the place. A little confused, but very pleased, the employee escorts your roommate into the building. 

How could you be so stupid? How could you think Charles would want something more from you than friendship? After all, it's Charles - funny, caring, and so handsome that it partially takes your breath away and he sneaks into your dreams. Why would someone like Charles - someone who could really have any woman on the planet - want more from you when you couldn't even keep someone like Raphael?

You've known each other for three fucking days. What makes you think he could even feel anything else for you after such a short time? How delusional do you have to be to even have a thought like that?

You're on the verge of jumping out of the car and walking home. 

How are you supposed to look him in the face now? Charles is not stupid, he would immediately notice that something is wrong. And you can't lie to him either, because he would see right through you. You don't want to face your feelings either, because that would mean that you have feelings for him that go beyond your friendship - and you are not ready for that pain. 

When Charles steps out of the bistro onto the street with two bags in his hand, you feel sick. Your appetite is abruptly gone, and just the thought of eating something makes you scrunch up your nose. How are you going to be able to eat anything after what happened?

Pull yourself together, you tell yourself. That's not a solution either. 

The only reasonable solution is obvious. The line that you've been pushing back and forth more than frequently over the past few days must stand nailed between you from now on. And it must be drawn up so that you can't cross it as you please. You have to protect yourself, protect your heart - especially after the thing with Raphael - and that's the only way without banning Charles from your life. 

Because that's the last thing you want. And you'll do anything to stop that from happening. 

"Here," Charles says as he rejoins you, handing you a bag. "I wasn't sure which ham you liked, so I just picked the one that looked the best." He places his own bag on the center console before steering the old Renault onto Nice's streets. 

Silence settles between you as you drive home. While Charles takes a bite of his sandwich in the meantime, you pick apart the bread with your fingers. 

To build this wall that is supposed to protect your heart, you need distance, which is definitely not possible in your small apartment. And the fact that you share a bed doesn't make matters any better, of course. For sure, it would be smarter if you reinstate your old deal - one of you sleeps in the bed, the other on the couch. 

But how are you supposed to set that up after you just agreed on the new arrangement at noon today? Snubbing Charles would be too obvious. He'd notice something was wrong, and he'd definitely be able to conclude that it had something to do with your almost-kiss. 

The fact that he will be out of the country for the next few days could be an advantage. The physical distance and the fact that you won't be spending every single second of the day together could build the wall between you up brick by brick. After that, you could claim that you are used to sleeping alone again - humans are creatures of habit, after all. And by then you will have shared the bed only twice. 

That shouldn't really be so obvious - right?

"Don't you like it?" asks Charles as you cross the border to Monaco. His gaze lingers briefly on your sandwich, which by now looks a bit messy. 

" Um, yes I do," you answer quietly and bite off a piece of it. Under other circumstances, the sandwich would actually taste delicious, but now it seems to have no taste at all. You chew on it a bit before choking down the dry lump of bread. "Thanks for getting us something to eat."

Your roommate smiles at you. "I'm sure my nutritionist would scold me if he saw me eating an entire sandwich in the middle of the night." He looks at the rest of his meal. "Even though it has lettuce and avocado on it." He tucks the last corner of his sandwich between his teeth, then grins at you with his mouth open. 

You roll your eyes. "You're disgusting."

His grin widens even more. "You love me," he teases you with his mouth full before swallowing. 

You don't even think to respond. 

The rest of the ride is quiet, and even when you arrive home, you remain silent. The silence is not uncomfortable, but the tension between you is still palpable. As you stand side by side in the bathroom brushing your teeth, you avoid Charles' gaze in the mirror, which you can clearly feel on you. 

The silence, however, gives you the opportunity to prepare yourself for what is about to come. It will be the last time you share a bed with Charles - which sounds like something you've been doing for years. The fact that your friendship feels like this doesn't make it any easier. 

If Charles comes home from Italy and you tell him you prefer the couch, he will surely feel put out. And rejecting your closest friend in such a way may not feel right, but keeping you safe is a priority. One thing you had to learn from Raphael. 

When you enter the bedroom in sleeping clothes, Charles is already in bed. He's lying on his side, facing the center, and apparently the man doesn't own pajamas, because his bare chest glows warmly in the light of the bedside lamp. He scrolls around on his phone, his upper arm resting on his side so that his biceps look even beefier. 

"I set an alarm, hope that's okay with you," he says as you lie down on your side of the bed and slip under the covers. "I have to get out on time, and then we can have a proper goodbye."

You plug your phone into the charger and then place it next to your pillow. "It's all good. We'll be fine." You pull your blanket up to your chin and snuggle in deep, trying to block out the fact that Charles is lying shirtless next to you. 

The brunette sets his phone aside, then flicks off the bedside lamp. As the room is in darkness, it feels like he's lying skin to skin next to you. You can feel his closeness, his warmth, and you would love to build a wall of pillows between you to bring the imaginary boundary into the physical world. 

You turn onto your back and stare at the ceiling, hearing Charles move under his covers as well, and hold your breath as you feel him rest his hand on your bedding. It's like he's reaching out for your hand. 

"I was with my ex yesterday," he says quietly, as if he doesn't dare say it out loud. 

You try to suppress the tugging in your chest. You have no right to feel this way when at the same time you wish there were countless pillows between you. You have no right to it when you're trying to protect your heart. You have no right to feel this way about your friend. 

"With Annika?" Your voice mirrors his, quiet, calm, hesitant. 

You hear his pillow ruffle. He nods. "She's the reason you and I share the apartment. She's living in my first apartment right now. Well, I'm still letting her live there." 

You purse your lips. "Your buddy from yesterday - he said he heard about you two and that he was sorry." You fight the urge to reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. Him revealing himself to you is something you didn't expect.

"Yeah, that was Nico." He takes a deep breath. "Annika cheated on me."

Confused, you turn in his direction, even though you can't see him. "And then you still let her live there?"

He turns as well, facing you. "I wasn't a good boyfriend during the years we were a couple. My job was always my priority, I couldn't give her what she needed. She tried - really tried - but I never really got into it and -" He rubs his palm over his forehead. 

"- and then she cheated on you." You feel like wrapping him in your arms. "Are you letting her stay in the apartment because you feel guilty?" 

"I - I don't know - maybe -" His breath catches and you can clearly hear him struggling with himself. "Maybe if I had paid more attention to her, this wouldn't have happened. If I had taken more time to be with her. If -"

"Stop," you interrupt him harshly, "We're not going to continue this spiral of thought. There's no point going through the ifs, ands, and buts because you can't change it now. You can't change the fact that she cheated on you, and you can't turn back time to make it better. The only thing you can do is do better next time."

The thought of Charles eventually having a new girlfriend and making a real effort with her makes you feel sick. You don't like it, this fucking jealousy that's spreading through you, creeping through your veins like battery acid and leaving a sickening taste in your mouth. 

You try to mask it, even as tears spring to your eyes. "I don't know how exhausting your job in the car industry is, but maybe you can find someone who can walk the road with you. Who can travel with you when your job requires it. Who will stay by your side and support you when things get tough and stressful." Your voice trembles, and you hope Charles can't hear it. 

"Do you think there's someone like that for me? Who's willing to give up that much for me?" he asks, scooting a little closer to you. 

The voice in your head almost screams at you - "me, me, me" - but of course you can't repeat that out loud, so you nod. 

In fact, you'd be willing to give up everything for him, even though it's not much, of course. You have no job, no responsibilities except for the apartment, whose rent you don't have to pay, and you'd give anything to explore the world. 

But Charles is your roommate, your friend. You want someone for him who can make him happy. Even if it's not you. 

"Of course," you answer quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I believe that there is a person out there for everyone. A soulmate to share everything with. Someone who's there for you and with whom you don't have to pretend to be somebody else."

"Hmm." You feel Charles' breath on your face. Only then do you realize how close he is to you. "So there's someone for you, too. Someone who will make time for you, won't let you down, and will take care of you. And most importantly, someone who doesn't fuck other women."

You have to smile. "The latter would be enough for me. But even that seems impossible. After all, look at us. We've both been cheated on."

Charles shrugs. "But if that hadn't happened, we wouldn't be living together now. We wouldn't even know each other, we wouldn't be friends." He exhales. "The fact that we both got cheated on really sucks, of course - but we found each other through it. And I wouldn't trade that for anything in this world."

Something tugs at your heart. You place another brick on the imaginary wall between you. 

"I don't want to go to Italy."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

Charles exhales a breath. "You said you were just going to sit here and wait for me to come home." He sounds concerned. 

"I was kidding," you try to lighten the situation. "I'm going to work, of course." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue. "And I still have Kika and Pierre." You pause. "And Lando."

You can feel your friend stiffen beside you at the mention of the Brit. "I thought you're happy with the tiramisu you had here on site?" His voice sounds colder and more bitter than it did a few seconds ago. 

"I am." You turn away from him, onto your back, to put distance between you. "But there are other desserts to try, aren't there? Or sandwiches. Pasta. Or something else. I've got to get these few days over somehow."

Unlike you, Charles notes that the meals you listed are all things you've already eaten together. That you would want to possibly top those few memories you have with him with Lando leaves a sickening taste in his mouth.

"Well, if you have to work and you're meeting with Kika and Pierre and we're facetiming in between, you might not have that much time to try other dessert. Or sandwiches. Pasta. Or something else," he repeats your words. 

"We'll see. If there really is someone suitable out there for me, I'm definitely not going to find him on our couch." When Charles doesn't answer, you declare the conversation to be over. You close your eyes, snuggle deeper into your blanket, and try to block out the fact that the person you want - the one who might be right for you - is lying shirtless next to you. 

You already have, Charles answers you in his mind, taking a deep breath. Your scent still clings to his bedclothes from noon today, his skin tingling as he breathes it in. Me. Me. Me.

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc cute #Charles Leclerc deal #charles leclerc x yn #Charles Leclerc fluff

[krashoutluv]

Imagine if, to save on the water bill/ they're just tired/etc, Jason (AK or comic really) and his S/o take an innocent shower together for the first time, yet the entire time Jason's trying his hardest to stay respectful and not stare, but at the same time wants to admire his S/o because he just loves how much they look. And possibly gets the shampoo in his eyes while distracted.

bear with me as ive been sick since wednesday and ive been writing this throughout my sick days. #fighting4mylife

Showering with Ak!Jason (SFW FIC)

ig their naked but its not ak!jay being horny just like in love so maybe nsfw nothing sexual happens mostly indirect tension soo??😭😭 ((tw: writing might suck))

JASON came home a little early from a bar. He went there for information on Penguins weapon deals. Jason would say something like, ‘it got a little messy,’ but a little messy to Jason was being covered in mud, blood, and clothes drenched from the rain that started on his way back. It was around 12 AM when he came back way earlier then his usual so you were hoping in the shower getting ready to go to sleep, not expecting him. You two saw each other just as you were walking into the bathroom.

“You look like shit—“ You turned your head into the bathroom so he couldn’t see your face; trying to bite back a cackle because of the words that slipped from your mouth,, “—I mean you can go first.” you looked back over at him,

“Well aren’t you the sweetest thing.“ He started taking off his gloves. “Go ahead.” He huffed.

“No seriously its fine, ill grab you a towel-“

“— The more you talk the longer it takes for the both of us.” He sighed, pulling off his jacket and folding it in a neat little square.

“Right, sorry.” You turn into the bathroom and pause. It was pretty obvious he was tired and wanted to get comfier then his muddied clothes let him; Thats when the thought hit you. “Unless.” You felt your face burn. You weren’t sure if Jason be comfortable with it, but it wasn’t sexual and it’d save you money from your water bill.

“Unless?” Jason questioned flatly, his back was turned to you and he was taking off his bloodied boots.

You slowly turned towards him, “You’d like to.. join me.” you had tried to sound as casual as possible. He paused completely, only getting half of his boot off before freezing. He looked back at you, like he wasn’t sure if he heard you properly. “LIKE—“ You raised your voice a little too loud on accident,”—Like, not like, you know. THAT. But like.” he took off his boot and started walking over to you as you rambled about how you didn’t mean it sexually it’d just be easier n’ y’know obviously he didn’t have to— You didn’t even notice the brick wall of a man making its way over to you until Jason stood in front of you.

”Yeah. Sure.” He replied flatly, your eyes meet his face, he was staring at your face completely stone cold. Maybe if you didn’t turn around to move to the door handle, maybe, just maybe you would’ve seen how his cheeks and ears were lightly dusted with red. But you didn’t.

You awkwardly shuffled to the side to let him in, closing the door behind you two. Back facing each other as you two undressed, you weren’t wearing a full outfit so you took everything off faster then him, yikes, awkward. You didnt wanna just stand there so you slipped past him with your head down at the floor to get the shower water running. Running your hand through the burning water just to push away the sound of him unbuckling his belt in the deepest part of your mind. “Uh, first-aid under the, uhm, fuckin- sink.” You stammered, still facing the shower waiting for the water to now cool down.

“You can get in first, i’ll patch myself up.” You did a little thumbs up behind your back, as if he saw, and made your way in, closing the curtain behind you. But he was totally lying. He should’ve patched himself up after you two had gotten out so he didn’t worry about anything washing into his cleaned wounds. But he needed to buy himself time to calm his nerves. You were so fuckin’ pretty, your skin brushed his as you passed him earlier and—its crazy how the Red Hood is single-handedly fighting for his life more now then when he was dealing with twelve grown men earlier.

After taking a purposeful three minutes longer then his usual, he stands up. He almost backs out as soon as he reaches for the shower curtains, he inhales then exhales, brushing his finger tips against the thin veil of cloth that just separates you two. “I’m, uh,-“ his voice cracks “-comin in now..”

“Hold on,” You quickly stepped out of the water stream, and leaned onto the back wall of the shower. “Alright, front of the shower where like, the, uh- water is, is all yours.” Jason cleared his voice just before he stepped in, being sure to keep his back turned to you. He let the water run over his marred skin, trying to ignore every scar on his back burning. After letting the water wash off the pieces of dirt that it could, or him finally succumbing to the sensation of getting the soap to scrub at his mangled flesh;

Jason turned his head to grab the soap— FUCK, he whipped his head back around into the showers stream. Scrubbing his face to try to wash the burning image of you out of his mind. The mixture of water and light highlighting your skin like an portrait. You’re staring down towards your feet playing with the water droplets on your crossed arms- fuck he needed to stop thinking about it. Jason pulled his head out of the water, croaking out ”Soap.” Yes, yes, wise words I know.

The next thing he knew, right by his shoulder was your hand holding out the soap. “Here, hope I’m holding it in the right spot.” You softly chuckled to yourself. He turned enough to see you covering your eyes with your other hand out of his peripheral vision. God he needed to stop looking. He took it from you and skimmed his face against the water before he grunted out a thanks.

He was questioning himself as he washed his blemished skin. He wasn’t a creep, he wasn’t staring at you because it was sexual. So what was he doing? What was this feeling? Why did he want to look at you anyways? Why did it remind him of the way he looks at marble statues? Was it because of the way your fingers dented your arms skin while you glide water droplets along your skin? Was it the way your head slightly tilted? Was it the was your body was effortlessly posed? Like you knew, like you were ready for every detail of your body was going to be eternalized into marble? Was it because of the urge to trace every part of your skin? Maybe to just get a feeling of what your sculptor felt? Was he being a fuckin creep?

He wasn’t sure, something he suddenly did become sure of was the fact you were probably cold as shit and he needed to hurry the fuck up.

guys idk how to feel abt this fic tbh

rq / inbox is closed

sorry i got like 12 i needa get done

#arkham knight x gn!reader #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x gn!reader #red hood x reader #arkham knight x reader #skullkidwithsunglasses #krash responds to u

[thenewausten]

PART 2 OF GHOST PLACE PLEASE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Thanks for the request!

Ghostface!Quackity [Part 2]

Part 1: here!

TW: smut 🔞

You were at the University with some of your friends and they were talking about the Ghostface and his last attack on Sunday after he left your house. "I bet he's a 'fuckin weirdo, like, a nerd or 'somethin." One of your friends would say and laugh. "Probably a freaky, man." Your best friend would say. "Or a virgin."

"Yeah!" She answers and laughs. "What do you think, Y/N?" She asks to you and you shrug. "I don't know, uh..."

"Oh, c'mon! He's a sociopath, you have to say 'somethin mean about him." Your friend says and you laugh. "Fine, he's an asshole." You say, feeling a little guilty. The boy treated you so good in the two times you saw each other, you didn't want to say anything mean about him. Your friends celebrate and laugh when you say it. "Yeah, Ghostface is an asshole!" They say it out loud and laugh, you smile to them, a little bit uncomfortable.

The day went well at University and as soon as you got home, you decided to take a bath. You took advantage of your parents not being on the house to put some music on Alexa and decided to watch a horror movie after.

You watch the popcorn pop in the pan as the phone rings, you grab it. "Hello?" You ask. "Hello, princesa." You hear his voice from the phone and smile. "Hi." You whisper. "What are you doing, Y/N?" He knows what you're doing because he's watching you. "Uh, popcorn?!" You answer, with a smile on your face. "Uhm, why?" He asks you. "Gonna watch a movie." You say, turning off the fire and grabbing a bowl to put the popcorn. "How was your day at the University, love?"

"It was good, I guess. I mean, normal, you know?!" You answer, the boy stays in silence for a while. "Hello???" You ask, putting the pan at the sink so you can deal with it later. "So, I heard you say that I'm an asshole, mi vida." You shiver with his voice on your ear and turn around to see that 'fuckin mask. "How did you get in?!" You ask, so confused, more than scared of him. "Well, I'm a murderer, princesa, I have my tricks." He grabs the knife, he's not longer with the phone on his hand, the knife on your thigh, roaming through your body. "I didn't mean to say it. My friends made me do it, Alex." The boy told you his name yesterday after you beg for it, and, of course, because he wanted to hear you moaning it. "Oh, yeah?! They made you do it, uh?" He approaches you and you nod, the knife on your neck. "Please, Alex."

"It's okay, hermosa." The boy pins you against the counter with his own body, the knife passing slowly against your throat. "I won't kill you." He takes off the knife of your throat and puts it aside, holding your chin so strongly that you whine. "But I'm watching you, princesa. Say that I'm an asshole again and I'll kill all of your 'fuckin friends in front of you. I don't want to make you suffer, corazón, so don't you 'fuckin ask for it, okay?" The authoritarianism in his voice makes you shiver and clench your thighs together. "I'm sorry, 'Lex." You whisper. "I didn't mean to..." He ignores you and slides three of his gloved fingers inside of your mouth, just like he did at the first night. "I said it's okay, amor. Don't need to talk too much." You nod, the boy pushes his fingers against your mouth. "Suck it just like you did with my cock yesterday." He says and you obey. Alex pulls down your pajama shorts with your soaked panties, taking his fingers out of your mouth and sticking them in your entrance. You moan with the feeling of the texture of the glove against your walls. "Shit." You whimper as soon as Alex starts to move his fingers on your pussy. "It's so good, uh?!" You grab his clothes. "Please, more!" You beg and he smiles behind the mask. "Whatever you want, amor." He whispers and pushes his fingers against your core harder than before, you throw your head on his shoulder. "Fuck, Alex!" You moan, biting his flesh as he thrusts his fingers into you. "I'm so close! Please, don't stop!" You ask him, the boy holds you against the counter and kneel in front of you. He lifts the mask just to suck on your clit, his lips so softly against your pussy as his fingers fuck you 'till you can't take it anymore, coming and moaning his name as you do it. You look at Alex as he takes his gloved fingers inside of you, his mouth on your entrance right after that, making you moan and squirm. "You have such a delightful cunt, Y/N." He whispers as his tongue enters your hole, making you whine and grab the edge of the counter. Alex grabs your right leg and puts it on his shoulder, having a better vision of your core. "So beautiful." He whispers, his tongue on your clit again, sucking it harshly, making you moan and whimper. "Slow down, Alex, it's too sensitive!" You ask him and the boy doesn't seem to care. "You can take it, mi vida. Accept what I give to you." He says and you whine, closing your eyes as you moan his name. "Want you to cum on my mouth, amor." He says and you nod, getting closer as Alex devours your pussy, your legs start to shake and involuntarily close as you cum again, the masked boy licking all of your wetness and 'givin little kisses all over your pussy. "Let's go upstairs, I'm not done with you yet." He says as he gets up and you obey, following the Ghostface upstairs.

He opens the first door. "Here." He says. "That's not my bedroom, Alex, it's my paren..." You start and he pushes you to get into the bedroom. "Alex! I won't fuck on my parent's bedroom." You protest and he laughs. "Jesus, how much moral you have, Y/N." He mocks you. "It's not my fault if you don't have any!" You say, Alex smirks and closes the door behind him, he locks it and grabs the key. "Don't be a 'fuckin hypocritical, corazón. You're 'fuckin me, uh? Or you forgot who am I?" He approaches you as he hides the key on his clothes, the boy grabs his knife and points it to you. "Fuck you, Alex. Open the door." He approaches you even more, his knife on your waist as he pushes you to the bed. "Alex..." You start. "Shh, obey me, take your little shirt, baby." You do what he says. "That's it, amor. Don't disobey me, uh?" Alex positions the handle of his knife in your entrance. "Alex, what are yo..." He pushes it onto your hole, watching your reaction. "I won't hurt you, mi vida. Don't worry about it." He whispers and you nod, he thrusts the handle of his knife deep in your cunt and you moan. "Fuck." You whisper and Alex smiles. "Look at you, baby..." He starts. "Getting this little pussy of yours fucked by my knife." You moan his name, making him laugh. "Such a good girl, uh?" He asks. "C'mon, princess." He makes you lay down on the bed, climbing onto you. "You're soaking my knife, amor. Are you that wet?!" He mocks as he watches the knife fucks your cunt. "Does it feels good?!" He asks and you nod desperately. "Yeah?! Does it?!" He asks again. "Yes, Alex, please!" You moan and his lips touches your nipple. "Fuck!" You hold the boy's hair. "Don't stop, Alex!"

"Gonna cum in my knife, Y/N?! That's how much you care about who I'm, baby?" The boy holds your chin and makes you look at his mask. "That's how much you're a 'fuckin hypocritical, right?!" You whine, grabbing his wrist. "Alex!" You moan his name and he groans, disappointed. "That's not the answer, hermosa. Want me to stop?"

"No, please. You're right, Alex! Don't stop!" You say, tears on your eyes as you moan loudly. The boy makes you cum for the third time tonight. "So pretty." He whispers as he takes the knife out of your entrance and cleans it on the sheets of your parent's bed. You smile at him and sit on the bed, leaning on your elbows. "Can I ask you 'somethin?" You ask him and he nods, climbing onto you, his mask millimeters from your face. "Can you kiss me?!" You ask, his mouth is the only part of his face you see, you notice a little scar on his upper lip. "I can't kiss you with my mask on." He whispers. "Take it off." You say and he laughs. "I can't."

"Why not?! You don't trust me, 'Lex?!" You ask him. "It's not that, amor." He says and you sit properly. "You don't want to kiss me, then?!" Alex gives to your naked body a good look, looking at your eyes again. "Really?!" He asks. "Of course I want, princess." You smile and approach his mask. "Please, Alex. I want to see your face." You try to reach his mouth, but the stupid mask stops you. "Argh." You groan in frustration and he laughs. "Please, 'Lex. I want to kiss you."

"I don't want to kill you if you accidentally tell to your friends my identity, corazón." He whispers. "I won't do it." You protest. "I don't want you to get hurt, don't you see that I 'fuckin like you?!" Tears scape from your eyes and Alex pulls you closer. "You like me, uh?" He asks, a smirk on his lips. "So much." You whisper. "Gonna show you my face, baby. Promise me you won't tell anyone?!" He says and you nod. "I promise, Alex."

The boy gets up and starts with his gloves, then, his black cape. You see his normal clothes: black button-up shirt, black pants and black combat boots. God, he's hot. You watch him take a lot of small knife's from the pockets of his pants. "Jesus, Alex." You whisper. "I'm a murderer, hermosa. Don't forget that." He answers and takes the Ghostface mask. Fuck. "You're so handsome." You whisper and the boy approaches you with a smile on his face. "Thanks." You grab his shirt, 'makin him almost fall on top of you. "Careful, hermosa." He whispers. "Sorry, 'Lex." You kiss his lips and smile to him. "I already saw you at University." You whisper, one of the boy's hand grabbing your waist, the other roams freely through your body. "Yeah, I know it." He whispers. "I always thought you were hot." You confess to him and he laughs. "I noticed all the looks, you know?!" He says, a smirk on his lips. "I always wanted you to be my girl, Y/N." He whispers. "I'm yours, Alex."

"Are you?!" He asks. "I am." You whisper and connect your lips with his in a very intense kiss, your hands work on Alex's shirt to unbutton it as his own hands works on his pants. "C'mon, princess. Get on all fours for me, uh?" He gives you a order and you obey. "You're mine." He whispers as he slaps your ass. "Fu- Fuck." You whine and the boy smiles, his hardened cock already on your entrance. "Gonna fuck the shit out of you at your parents bedroom, corazón." He mocks. "Or you still don't want that, baby?" Alex provokes you. "I... I want it, 'Lex" You whisper, desperate for him to thrust into your cunt. "Yeah?! Of course you want it, amor." He says as he pushes onto you, making the both of you moan from the pleasure. "Always so good to be fucked, baby." He says as he starts to thrust his hips against your ass, the feeling's so good that you grab the sheets of the bed with your hands, squeezing it.

One more time, Alex's making the headboard hits the wall as he fucks your pussy, his hands on your hips, holding you strongly and marking your skin with his digits. Your moans fill the room with his groans and whines, the boy slaps your ass for the second time as his dick goes deeply on your soaked cunt. "Alex, please!" You beg him. "Hold on a little, hermosa." He says as a command, his thrusts becoming slouchier. "I can't!" You whine and cum, your whole body tingles as your orgasm reaches yourself, Alex holds you in place as your legs shake. "Jesus, Y/N! Gonna cum inside of you, amor." He moans, the feeling of your walls so tightly and wet around his cock makes him lose himself. "Fuck." He moans and thrusts his hips 'till he fills your pussy up with his cum. "You're such a good girl for me, baby." He whispers as he approaches your face. "Say again that you're mine, princess." He orders. "I'm yours, Alex." You whispers, the boy gives you a peck on the lips. "That's it, mi vida." The boy fixes his clothes. "Can you stay?!" You ask. "Of course, amor. Let me take care of you, uh?!" You nod as his arms grabs your waist and hold you in bridal style.

After Alex makes you a bath, he cleans the mess you both made on your parents bedroom and wait for you downstairs. "Let's watch a horror movie, pleasee?!" You approach him as he nods. "Sure, amor."

You sit on the sofa together, all the lights are turned off and you both eat the popcorn you made earlier, watching a movie about a masked guy that kills people at his University.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy the writing! :)

Requests are open!

#quackity #qsmp #qsmp brazil #quackity imagines #qsmp brasil #alex quackity #quackity x reader #quackity imagine #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #quackity smut #quackity fluff #quackity fanfic #quackity headcannons #quackity scenario #quackityhq #ghostface

[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

#mark lee x reader #nct mark #mark lee #mark lee fluff #mark x reader #nct fics #nct scenarios #nct #nct x reader #mark scenarios #mark lee scenarios #nct mark lee #mark x you #lee mark #mark fluff #nct dream #nct 127 #nct u

[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Reader: Public Toilets

G/N. Brainrotted too much. How about this @steamedeggs ??

"I hate this," Lineman laments out loud, scrubbing the wall tiles.

"At least you're not Jerry," Brad twitches his head in the No.2's direction. Likely trying to clean up some... No.2 and vigorously disinfecting a toilet. Only his backside visible and poking out of a cubicle.

"Remember when we used to protect the street," Jason mutters, bitter and biting, "And fought Workers. Now we're cleaning this goddamn-"

He takes off his rubber gloves and flings them into the sink he was scouring mere moments ago,

It lands with a splat.

"-Public toilet!" He throws back to the Big Deal boys "I need some fresh air," before striding out.

"Jerry," Lineman whines, "why are we doing this?"

The sploshing of a plunger hard at work stops. "Jake's orders."

.

.

"Here?"

You said you'll consider it. Consider it. 

To be honest, when Jake first floated the idea, you were staunchly in the 'no' camp. Then you took one look at his big brown eyes and thought 'well, never say never.' Of course him being topless, tattoos and muscles on full show when he asked didn't hurt.

'Consider it' turned to 'maybe' turned to being dragged here a few days later.

"See what you think?" Jake says, fidgeting.

And he never fidgets. His own excitement spilling out already at the thought of you-

Of him-

Of you both-

Quick and rough and filthy. Somewhere dirty and sordid, the exact opposite of him. Of your relationship.

He doesn't know where the idea took hold. But it apparently did one day and never let go.

And you. Not so much a germaphobe, but with a healthy disregard for getting down and dirty, where people, the general public, use to relieve themselves.

Jake knew you would never go for it without some... preparation.

"Jake, I know you have this fantasy but-"

The smell of bleach cuts off your next words as soon as you open the door.

Wow.

Holy shit.

It's sparkling.

This is the cleanest public bathroom you have ever seen. Probably the cleanest space you have ever stepped foot in.

You peer through each cubicle. Swipe your finger on a sink. Inspect the spotless mirrors.

"So?" Jake asks with a grin, leaning down to kiss you. Sweet and tentative at first, then he groans, lewd and indecent, when you bite his lip.

Your fate is sealed.

You’re powerless to resist the way Jake starts panting into your mouth, hands roaming, pressing his body against yours, fingers trailing beneath your waistband.

It's not a 'consider it', not a 'never say never'. It's a definite 'fuck yes'.

#this man still makes me unwell #lookism #lookism manhwa #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #jake kim x reader #jake kim #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #wannaeatramyeon

[milkywaydrabbles]

A/N: I don't think I'll ever stop thinking about Fratboy! Gojo this is actually my downfall for ever opening my mouth. Part three of the series that wasn't supposed to exist.

Part one | part two

"Stop fucking with me Gojo!" You yelled, pushing him away from you. "And get out of my room!" You couldn't believe the nerve of his guy. He had the audacity to tease you about a drunken kiss (mistake!) And how was pretending like he promised you something as ridiculous as that? Please! He just wanted more ammunition to tease you to no end, and you've had it. "That trick might work on some of the other girls but not me, fuck off." Scoffed, trying to shove him out your room but the lanky mother fucker was stronger than he looked. He grabbed your wrist, tugging you a hair's length away from his face. "Now why would you think I'm fucking with you?" He questioned, smile still plastered on his face. "You think I don't know how bad you want me?" He was so fucking full of himself. (he was hot but you would deny it until the day you died.) 

"I don't want you Gojo, shut up and get out." You huffed, waiting for him to leave. You couldn't push him out obviously. He chuckled, still not letting go of your wrist. "What if I want you?" Wait, what?

You must have said that out loud. "come on, baby. You're such a smart girl and yet you are so dense. Why do you think I always try to find you?" Your breathing hitched, looking away from his piercing blue eyes. "Because you're a fucking dick." Your voice was small, with no bite at all. His smile dropped a little, looking more sheepish and genuine now. "Yeah, Suguru always says that too. But I'm serious, come on pretty girl look at me." Pretty girl. You liked the way that sounded. Fuck. You glanced over at him, trying so hard not to turn your head but he wouldn't have any of that. His free hand grabbed at your jaw and turned you fully to him. "I know you just think I'm just some idiot frat guy." Sounds harsh when he said it, but he was right. You did think that. "But just give me a chance, yeah?" 

You head was spinning, you didn't know what the fuck was going on. Gojo Satoru, the self titled campus hot guy, in your room and admitting to... Well, you didn't know. Having a crush? On you? It was too much, he was too in your space. "Gojo, I don't think—" "Satoru" ... "What?" He sighed, letting go of you fully and looking down at your feet. "I want you to call me by my name. Satoru. Please baby, just let me hear it." He was pulling out all the stops wasn't he?

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. "Satoru, please" you begged "please stop fucking with me, I can't deal with this right now" you were so tired, and your walls were cracking. But you just couldn't believe him after being so cruel to you all semester. "Let me show you how serious I am then" and before you could question him or even look at him his lips were on you. A hand caressed the back of your head while the other rested on your waist. He moved slowly, deliberate, taking his time with the kiss. You were at a loss, not sure how you should react. It did feel nice. And it felt genuine. But you still weren't sure. He sighed, pulling back from you after you didn't react. "Fuck, I'm sorry this a mistake —" he started pulling away from you before you grabbed his face in both your hands. "Wait, Satoru" you started, and his lashes fluttered. "Say my name again, pretty girl." He basically pleaded with you, scared to raise his voice higher than a whisper. "Satoru... you can't fuck with me right now." He was getting frustrated, brows furrowing. "Baby please I'm not. You got me fucking begging out here." He laughed at himself, moving back to you with his hands where they were. "Just give me a chance."

And your lips were on him. You were nervous, that he was going to pull back and laugh in your face. Scared that he was going to go behind your back and talk shit to his fraternity brothers. Scared that he would go straight back to bullying you the way he had all semester. Or worse. Scared that he's just using you for a quick lay. You almost wanted to pull back at the thought alone. But the way he caressed you, the way he kissed you back with so much affection it was hard he would try this hard just for a quick laugh, or a quick fuck. He pulled you closer by your waist, deepening the kiss and nipping at your lower lip, silently asking for permission. You let him, opening your mouth just a bit to let Satoru slide his tongue into your mouth, moaning as he did so. The kiss got messier, spit pooling at the corners of your mouths.

"Fuck baby" he panted when he separated just enough to breathe. "Kissing you is better than I ever imagined" you whimpered, lips glossy. "You're so embarrassing." he chuckled at your words, nipping at your lower lip again. 

"Don't be shy with me pretty girl. Come on, let me hear you sing for me."

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #milk writes #i think of him and just hear dial up tones in my brain

[venusloveslobotomies]

Kyle and Kenny x reader meeting

(all characters aged up to 18-20)

Kyle:

“Oh! God… fuck!” You haphazardly wiped your keyboard before the water could seep further in. Bebe snorted and you smacked her, trying not to laugh.

“Girl, what is going on with you? You’ve been all distracted since lab this morning?”

“I knowww.” You groaned, “I keep thinking about how much work that class is going to be.” Wendy rolled her eyes playfully.

“We all know that it’s because Kyle’s in that class and your hoping to be his partner.” She sang at you, taking another bite of her salad.

“No… no. Why would you think that?” You closed your laptop, looking away.

“Y/N, it’s ok! Kyle’s actually really nice. Just a bit standoffish to girls. He’s got trust issues, thanks to Eric.” Wendy tried to reason.

“Yeah, no shit. He won’t even look at me.”

“He’s just insecure! I bet if you asked him out-“

“Absolutely not!” You interrupted Wendy, “I can’t even talk to him normally! How am I supposed to ask him out? I’ve never been good at talking to guys! Let alone someone who’s actually smart and attractive, like Kyle.” Your comments were met with silence, actually, more like barely-held-down laughter, “What?” Bebe stared pointedly to your left. You mentally cursed yourself a million times before glancing carefully where Bebe had indicated. Stan and Kyle stood there, bags and books in hand. Stan was smirking at Kyle and Kyle had looked up and away from you.

“Kyle, you should be Y/N’s lab partner! She’s really smart! And nice!” Wendy quipped, quickly breaking the tense silence.

“Uhm, what? Oh! Yeah, sure. If… uhh… she wants to.” You stared down at your water bottle, feeling the awkwardness in your teeth. You could feel the girls looking at you before Wendy responded,

“She would love to.”

Kenny:

You leaned against the wall, watching Craig blow smoke into Tolkien’s face, making him cough while the rest of you laughed.

“Goddamn… Fuck off.” Tolkien coughed at Craig.

“You should’ve driven us to KFC, man.” Craig shrugged.

“Your lunch is almost over anyways, we’ll go after Y/N’s last class.”

“Sweet!” You smiled excitedly.

“So… Y/N…” Tolkien looked at you mischievously.

“Soooo what?” You responded, taking a drag of Craig’s joint.

“I heard Mccormick wants to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” Craig snorted and Tolkien smacked his arm before continuing, “Stan told Wendy and Wendy told Bebe, who told Clyde, that he’s wants to talk to you in your English class.” You furrowed your brows at him and sighed.

“Well, I guess I’ll find out. Doesn’t he, like, hoe around a bit?”

“That’s what it seems like, but he’s a good dude. Much nicer than Cartman. I honestly don’t know why they hang out.” Craig huffed. You nodded and shrugged as you checked the time. 12:49. English class. You guessed you would find out what the hell was going on in about ten minutes.

“Ok, I gotta roll. See you guys at 4? Tolkien’s car.” They all made various sounds of assent as you wandered through campus to your class.

As you sat down next to Jimmy and pulled out your notes, you heard someone pull out the chair to your right. Looking up, you realised it was Kenny… with is hood down for once.

“Hey…” He sat down and began tapping his foot nervously.

“What’s up?” You asked, leaning back in your chair.

“Well, I missed yesterday’s class and I need some help catching up. Can you, like. Uhh… maybe help me out? I just missed, like, all of the stuff about the essay topics and requirements.” He seemed to be looking everywhere but at you. And you knew damn well that stuff was all on the Powerpoints.

“Sure, why not. My place, tomorrow? Just bring me coffee and its a deal.” You figured you may as well take what he said at face value. He seemed to have lost his laid-back and confident facade.

“Awesome! Uhh. Just let me know what time.” He gave you a bright smile and pulled out his notebook as the teacher started the lesson.

pls pls be nice, i havent ever written for south park before but i want to get back into writing <3

#south park #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #kyle broflovski x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #south park x reader #south park hcs

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Can you write one where Y/n passes out during a bad argument with Overhaul? She gets too overheated and then bam hits the ground.

Despite the many flaws the man had you still loved him with all of your heart, and you knew he loved you as well despite of your own flaws. He showed that through actions, not words.

But God dammit, sometimes you wished he wasn't such a fucking arrogant jerk sometimes.

If by any means, Kai Chisaki was the most stubborn man you ever met. When he put something inside that thick skulls of his; nothing, I meant NOTHING can make him change his mind sometimes. Especially if he thinks is the best decision.

Which lead you both right here on this argument. You just didn't saw the damn reason why he insisted on selling drugs even though he didn't liked or Pops approved of it.

But no. He continued. So that's why you slammed the door of where he was as soon as you got to know he was back from another deal.

"Kai I swear to God we talked about this!" You seethed as he just continued to clean his hands.

"Good afternoon to you too angel." He spoke monotonously but you got the slight bit of annoyance coming from his voice.

"I swear why do you keep doing this?" You sighed while rubbing rubbing your temples, a way to try to ease yourself "is not the first not the second time someone had to scold you for doing shit like these!"

His eyes squinted close a bit as his eyebrows frowned, that comment struck a nerve on him and you knew it.

"By doing "shit" like this, I start to earn more money and more respect ti the Shie Hassaikai." He spoke nonchantly but still glaring at you as you crossed your arms "Don't act like you know better than I do with these sort of business."

Oh that asshole.

"Excuse me?!"

"It seems like you understood what I said just fine." He growled while standing up to look down at you.

So basically from just a few dry comments the argument turned from 8 to 80 pretty quickly. While usually your discussions were always quiet and controlled, this one was not that type... you raised your voice, then he started to raise his voice too.

You didn't knew how much time you both were screaming against each other. Both were exhausted and stressed, you from his doings and worry about him while Chisaki was stressed due to his constant works and the feeling of being useless to thr boss he wanted to show his gratitude ever since he was little.

"You're insufferable." He growled while turning his back to you as you started to laugh at him.

"Oh yeah says the hypocrite now." You bite back but now you started to feel a bit... hot.. hot in the chest...

"Can you shut your damn mouth for just one second?!" He hissed running his gloved hand down his face "I am the one who is going to be leader soon, I KNOW what I am doing."

"You know is not right neither of Pops wishes." You muttered, having to put your hand on the wall to stabilize yourself... the feeling was getting stronger, it was like you were suffocating....

"HOW CAN YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT SOMETHING IS MOT RIGHT EVEN YOU DONT KNOW A DAMN THING ABOUT THIS?!" He finally shouted loud enough "STOP TRYING TO STEP OVER ME. YOURE NOTHING-"

"Kai stop-" you whimpered as he got closer as he huffed... why was your vision getting blurry?

"Oh now you want me to stop?" He hissed and rolled his eyes as you stumbled over a bit "Now playing the victim? I swear-"

Thud

He stopped talking immediately and froze on his place as you fell abruptly on the ground... hyperventilating.

Shit.

"(Y/n) stop joking about this-" he growled while kneeling down, despite his harsh words his middle and index finger were already on your pulse as his eyes widened a bit, a few holes starting to appear on his forearm "(Y/n) I swear-"

You swore you tried to answer but you felt like you were being choked as your boyfriend just seemed to get more anxious at seeing this.

"Hey hey HEY DO NOT DARE TO CLOSE YOUR EYES-" he was shouting again... but you were too tired to even flinch.

Everything turned black.

.

.

You cracked your eyes open... it seemed like you had slept for hours due to the foreign sensation.

You groaned while moving your hand to rub your head... probably the area where you hitted when you fell on the ground earlier.

Pekking a but you almost gasped at looking the time it was on the clock. Apparently it had been three hours since you were knocked out.

"God." You groaned... not knowing what to think or even do first ag this situation until you heard the door opening and seeing the face of basically in law.

"Oh dear you're finally awake." The old man spoke in shock as he left the cup of tea he was drinking on the nightstand "How are you feeling?"

"A bit dizzy." You grumbled "Asides from that I'm fine ... I guess."

Pops nodded before sighing and immediately bowing his head afterwards.

"I deeply apologize. As soon as I heard Chisaki's shouting I should have know something was wrong."

"Just him being stubborn as always..." You rolled your eyes at the thought of your boyfriend "Where even is he?"

"Basically beating himself up for making you faint. But he would rather die than say that out loud." The man sighed and you nodded, about to get up until his wrinkled hand pushed your shoulder gently back "if you want to speak to him I will call him to come here. You need to rest a bit." He said as a manner of fact tone as you blinked.

But I slept for three hours... you thought before sighing and grabbing your phone..... to be honest you couldn't even open one app before you shrieked at the door being slammed open, your very much distressed and full of hives boyfriend just arrived...

You stared back at him and it was a awkward staring contest between the two of you before you saw his Adam apple bob up and down a bit before he took a few hesitant steps towards your shared bed.

"... you look like you were on a actual match with rappa... without your quirk." You muttered and he frowned even more, not daring to move closer to you before he took off his black mask.

"That's the first thing you're going to say after all this?" He muttered, his lips jotted onto a pout that if you weren't annoyed with you would have kissed.

"What do you want me to say? Thanks for giving me a panic attack?" You answered bitterly and you regretted a bit after seeing the slight flinch his shoulders showed.

"... I... I never meant to... to bring you that feeling." He muttered, not quite looking at you anymore.

"You do a lot of things without actually thinking of the consequences."

It was quiet again before a defeated sigh left his lips...

Funny that it has been ages that you both had gone through the awkward stage... but now, it seemed like a huge wall was between you guys.

Sighing, you looked at him.

"Kai I know how the hassaikai is important to you... but not always what you do is the best, which is okay. All of us make mistakes." Your lips wobbled "And I can't just stay quiet when I see what you're doing is wrong and bringing you harm as well." Your voice cracked at the last sentence...

"I may not know the true concept of the hassaikai or how to deal with entirely but...." a sob escaped your lips "But I do understand you... or at least I think I do. And I just know this isn't making you go anywhere or doing you any good."

A deep sigh left him as you sniffled, hesitantly you watched his body move enough so he could sit with his back turned towards you, spreading his legs as he supported his arms on them as he hung his head low... still not close enough to touch you.

"... you do know." He muttered lowly after a while "You do know a lot about the hassaikai and most importantly about... myself."

You sniffled and wiped your tears away with the back of your hand.

"I never meant to hurt you with my decisions... I just think is a more quicker and efficient method sometimes. ... " he frowned while looking down at his feet. "And is just so easy if we do this instead of going through this path the old man wants-"

"But is worthy it? Losing your own humanity for something like this?" You interrupted him, and while knowing he hated when someone did this, you saw how he actually stopped to think about it.

"... I don't mind losing my humanity... I don't even think I have much to be honest." You were about to argue back until your breath catched when you felt his hand blindly searching yours, and when he finally found it, he grasped it tightly... but not enough to hurt.

"But..." he whispered "If that means is bringing you harm... or that I might lose you due to my actions... then..." his jaw clenched while he glared at the ground "Is... It isn't worth it."

Your eyes watered at his words before a dopey smile appeared on your lips as you started to get up to hug him tightly from the back.

"What are-"

"I love you..." You whispered on his ear before pecking his cheek countless times as he stood there, not understanding where did this come from.

"I made you faint woman; what are you even saying?" He muttered while turning to meet your eyes until his golden eyes widened and body tensed up when you cupped his bare cheek and kissed him.

After just a few seconds he hesitantly closed his eyes and finally relaxed enough to welcome your lips on his.... his gloved hands not helping themselves as one grasped the back of your neck to pull you close as the other circled around your waist.

You broke it first and admired his slightly pink cheeks...

"Despite not agreeing... you would stop something crazy like that... for me?" You tried to confirm what he had said with a smile as he finally understood why you were so happy about. Cheeks burning even more than before as he averted his eyes away from you, only answering it with a click of his tongue.

You shaked your head with a gigggle at him before he shut you up with another more deeper kiss.

Yes he was stubborn. But as he said, if that meant losing you...

It wasn't worth it.

.

Kai chisaki heard the scold of his life from pops that night as you tried to convince the elder everything was okay later

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul #bnha villains #bnha x reader #bnha villains x reader #kai chisaki x reader #zuffer writings #i still think if chisaki had someone who truly loved him he would immediately rethink his choices #change my mind

[daisygirlwrites]

Olive Branch

Part 2 to Rough Start

Part 3 - Little Things

Summary: Ghost starts mending the patches of your guys relationship

Warnings: None really

Pairing(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem! Reader (Platonic)

Note: No use of (Y/N), called Rook/Rookie since this is before Crash getting her callsign

a/n: holy shit sorry this is so freaking late ;-; but here y'all go, part 2 of rough start! again, so sorry that this is late, life got too busy again >:0 there will be one more part after this but it'll be a proper headcanon style with memes as well. thank you guys so much for being patient with me <3

taglist: @bobfloydsgf @itsscromp @stilllivindue2spite @greenkiki @isimpforfictionalppl @appl3-0rchard @luna-moons

After that mission, Price gives the team a couple days off to recuperate. It also serves as a break between you and Ghost. Neither of you talk the next day, then again, you rarely talk outside of missions and training.

You try to start conversations with him, asking him questions only to respond with a short answer or nothing at all. Hell, he would straight up tell you “Piss off.”

Doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in your eyes when he tells you that though

This time, both of you actively avoid each other

Soap thought it’d be a good idea to be the middleman between you guys but Price reminded him that “Both of them are adults, they should try and deal with it themselves.”

However, Price was kind of being a hypocrite because he wants to sit both of you down and stay there until you talk about your feelings. Ultimately though, he leaves both of you alone

Ghost knows that he’s at fault here and if you were anyone else, he would own up to it. But whenever he sees you, all he could think about is that you’re his replacement. That he’s passed being useful. That he’ll be abandoned because of someone better

What pisses him off more is that you’re nice to him. With the limited interactions you both have together, you’re always thinking of everyone else. At first, he thought you were a kiss ass, trying to get an advantage with everyone liking you. But then again, you didn’t have to take care of Soap and Gaz when you dropped them off to their room after a night out. You didn’t have to get them water and painkillers so they wouldn’t have to in the morning. You didn’t have to always help out Price before and after meetings. You didn’t have to always look at him with hope in your eyes

Yet he looks at you with resentment because to him, you are the young and naïve soldier who didn’t “struggle” on her way up to rank. You weren’t worthy of the name ‘Little Ghost’. That last thought made him snap out of it for a moment. 

Price finds him on the rooftop. Balaclava pulled up to his nose, smoking a second cigarette and eyes distant, deep in thought. The door opening was enough to alert him but he didn't turn to face his captain until he too was resting on the railing.  

“What’s the Rookie got on you?” Price starts. Ghost sighs, not wanting to have this conversation but he can’t walk away from it either. So he stays quiet for a while, contemplating on what to say. He could lie but with Price, it’ll go nowhere. Instead, he just says what came to mind: “Always did better in school than my brother,” he starts off, “Made mum proud.” He takes another inhale of his smoke. “Tom hated it. Would call me names and shove me.” Simon was quiet again, eyes looking down, biting down on his cheek as if he were trying to stop himself from speaking the next words.  Price studies him, Simon's eyes are intense as if he’s in a battle. Eventually, his broad shoulders lowered in defeat and he confessed quietly. “I guess this is what he was feeling.” It was silent again. Price didn’t know what to say after that, so instead, he pats his Lieutenant’s shoulder. He walks back towards the door but before he leaves, he informs Ghost, “Rook’s at the range.” 

He finds you in the indoor range, leaning back against the wall as you lazily throw a knife into a wooden board hanging in front of you. Ghost watches you do this a few more times, intrigued with how effortless it looks but also how your stance was incorrect. However, that’s not what he wants to tell you.

You cease your movements, looking around until you see his large frame by the door. There was a beat of silence before you called out to him, “Gonna tell me that my form’s bad?” 

Ghost shakes his head and walks over to you, also leaning against the wall. He looks at the wooden board, little knives sticking out and clustering in the middle. He pushes away any feelings of jealousy before he speaks. “I’m not here for that.”

You let out a snort, “Well, that’s a first.” You can feel him roll his eyes at you but he continues.

“You’re right.” “About what?” “I do envy you.” He watches you shake your head, “I don’t understand. It’s obvious that you’re more skilled and more respected. It’s just…” You look him in the eye, “It’s just dumb."

The soft hum of the fluorescent light is the only sound you hear in the range. You move over to the booth that had the hanging target and push a button on the side, the board slowly lowering down. Once it was on the table, you take your knives out and push the button again, the wood board hanging but empty. Going back to your spot on the wall, you place the knives onto a side table, one of them already in your hand. Putting the blade between your fingers, you hand it over to the man beside you. “An olive branch.”

Ghost was taken aback but he didn't say anything. He grabs the handle, feeling the weight of the knife before straightening up and throwing it towards the target. It sinks in, making a satisfying thunk. Both of you take turns before all of the knives are in the target again.

He faces you, head and eyes down. This man looms over you and yet, he stands unsure, nervous even. Taking a deep breath, his eyes move to yours.

With his mask on, you almost missed it. “I’m sorry.” He whispers to you. And even with your mask on, your face was easy to read. He watches your eyebrows shoot up and mouth drop down but just for a second. You compose yourself before nodding, “I accept your apology.” Wanting to leave it at that, Ghost turns around and starts heading for the door. “Wait!” He stops and turns his head. "I look up to you sir,” You start off, “I am not a replacement for you, never will be. You are in a whole different league and it would be a miracle for me to be even close to it.” Making eye contact with him, you begged, “Please don’t forget that."

 He gives you a nod and before he leaves, he steps towards you, bringing his arm up. You feel his hand resting on top of your head and before you can move to look up at him, he ruffles your hair. Bangs falling in front of your eyes, you push it back in time to see his figure leave and his shadow following behind him.

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

The tension between you and Ghost has somewhat lightened. Training was finally something you looked forward to. There was no more shouting and though his mean comments and name calling remain, you felt comfortable to take jabs at him too. 

After missions, he still gives you pointers but doesn’t insult you while he does so. During this time, Ghost realizes that he doesn’t mind teaching, especially when it comes to something he’s good at and to someone that can keep up. And as always, you take his feedback seriously

Price feels relieved, seeing how the two of you are finally getting along. He was seriously thinking of handcuffing you guys, yes it’s juvenile but so were you and Ghost.

Even bar nights were enjoyable, it was nice to have someone to talk to or play darts with instead of sitting awkwardly, playing on your phone while you waited for everyone to finish drinking. 

The team hated it when you and Ghost teamed up for darts, having no chance of victory when you worked together. But, in the times you played against each other, it was fun for the team to make and place bets. Always a close game for you two.

Knife throwing was another activity that helped you guys bond. Just chatting about anything that came to mind while both of you mindlessly throw blades against the wooden targets. You do this during missions too, though not as often. While the team waits for the heli, you’d look for a tree or a log nearby to make it your temporary target. You’d get the knife stuck half of the time and would shyly ask Ghost to get it back. He does without fail and flicks your helmet every time. 

He finds out that you two have a lot more in common than he thought. For one, your dad’s a shit person as well. After Gaz mistakenly calls Price “Dad”, Price jokingly asks you if you see him as a father figure too.

“You have done more for me in the last five months than my real father has in the last twenty three years. So yeah, I don’t oppose calling you ‘dad’.” “Holy shit, Rook. That bad?” Gaz was surprised. “Treated me, my sister and my mom like shit and when they died, he married his secretary and started another family with her. “ Ghost doesn’t add anything to the conversation but he can’t help and feel empathy for her. Even though you hide your feelings well behind smiles and jokes, there’s always a flash of hurt in your eyes.

Like everyone in the military, you have a fucked up sleep schedule. Nightmares waking you up before your alarm does. Opting to start your day very early, you’d get up, put some pants and a hoodie on before heading down to the common area and kitchen. It’s not a surprise to find Ghost there too, usually making a cup of tea and a book in hand.

Rubbing your eyes, you turn the corner into the kitchen and to your lack of shock, Ghost is there. Already sitting at one of the tables, cup in hand, not looking up from his book.

In your tired state, you fail to see that there was another cup on the table. One with cartoon birds on it, tea already made to your liking. He glances up from his book to watch you stare at the cupboard, confused on where your mug went. He lets out a silent chuckle before he calls you over

Taking the seat in front of him, he lightly nudges your mug towards you. Without your mask on, you give him a tired smile. Bringing the cup up to your lips, you give a light blow before taking a sip. It was less sweeter than you’d like but that’s not something to complain about. Instead, you give him a nod of approval.

Setting your cup down, you keep a hold on it to warm your hands. “Thank you,” You tell him.

Looking up from his book again, he makes eye contact with you “That’s my olive branch to you.”

#daisygirlwrites #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod headcanons #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john price x reader #john price

[gothidecorem]

Not Alone

A Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x reader comfort one shot

1362 words

A/N: I’ve been dealing with waaayyyy too much the past few days and needed to get my emotions out somehow. The way I see it: big bad horrible Navy man dies, I need sweet ray of sunshine Navy man to swoop in. I used the gif of his dress whites because besides the fact that he’s adorable in them, the only time we see him in his blues is…

I also included the scrapbook pics I mentioned at the end of the story.

TW: mentions of abuse, allusions to sexual abuse, generational trauma, grief. Most of the story is under the cut.

About face

“He will truly be missed”

Present arms

“Your grandfather was a great man”

…military honors…

“He sure loved to be in the cockpit of a P30”

Fire

It was all starting to become too much. The pavilion was feeling 100 times smaller with each passing second. Everyone had something nice to say about him which made you wonder if you had fallen into an alternate reality. In your reality, he was none of these things. He was a horrible man.

“He was a father who cared deeply, and could be strict at times.” You mean when he threw your mother to the floor in front of her siblings? When he would… No, bite your tongue, now’s not the time.

“He showed up to all of the boys’ football games, when he could.” Of course you were hearing this second hand but as far as you knew, he didn’t show up for jack shit. Maybe he went to your cousins’ games but otherwise he was too self-centered.

Hearing all of these things massively contradicted everything you had known about the man. It contradicted all of the trauma he caused for your mom and aunt. If anything, this man should have won an Oscar for how well he hid all of the smarmy shit he’s done in his life. One of your cousins was beside himself because he didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t have a relationship with the man either and he didn’t know how to process it. But with him being 13 years younger and not quite old enough to learn all of the family trauma, you try your best to console him but feel like you fell flat when he needed you.

The entire situation was suffocating and you needed some air. Finding a spot on the far side of one of the cremation walls, you collapse. Just needing to somehow catch your breath. Taking in your surroundings to ground yourself; counting the trees, counting the birds, closing your eyes and pretending you just don’t exist for a few moments. That was, until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, your eyes locked onto another set that were all too familiar.

“I was wondering where you ran off to.” Tom said, sitting down next to you.

“Careful, don’t mess up your uniform.” You say, wiping away some tears.

“I’m more worried about you right now.” He says, giving you a look. Having known Ice as long as you have, he knows most of the story about why you don’t have a relationship with your grandfather. You could even see him trying not to make a face during the ceremony.

“Aside from the lies and finding my pictures in his photo album yesterday, I’m-“

“I’m sorry, you what?” the world seemed to slow when you heard the tone change in his voice from concern to anger.

“My pictures. He had pictures of me from when I was 3, 6, and 7 or 8 in his scrapbook. I couldn’t even explain the feelings that have been swirling around in my head since then.” Other than the fact it made you want to vomit.

“Do you know how he got them?”

“No. Neither mom nor I know how because she sure as shit didn’t send them to him. He even had a newspaper clipping from my grandparent’s anniversary announcement. I mean, I get at one point they were in laws but it doesn’t make it any less disturbing.”

“On the bright side, it’s all over. You don’t have to worry about running into him anymore, having to hide your daughter from him anymore, it’s done.” He says, standing up. After brushing his uniform off, he offers you a hand, helping you up from the ground. “Speaking of which, where is she?”

“She’s off, running around with the cousins.” As soon as you say that, the 4 kiddos came racing around the corner.

“What’s eating at you?” Tom asks, looking down at you noticing the far off look on your face again.

“The same question that’s been playing over and over again in my mind since I was about her age…” you say, pointing at your daughter.

“You’re not disposable. I promise. You’re worth more than you realize.”

“It definitely doesn’t seem that way. My grandfather used & abused my mother and treated her like scum therefore I didn’t have a grandfather. My dad thought that life was better 3 hours away and he finally had sons instead of a daughter, so I’m more or less an afterthought. My ex thought making up some whack job story about how he was kidnapped by men with guns was the proper way to get out of the relationship instead of talking to me about what was going on in his head. Both of them also deciding their relationships with my daughter wasn’t important either. No one ever stays, they always leave.” At this point you were on the verge of tears and holding them back was about to not be an option. Before you could even muster another thought, a strong set of arms pulled you in tight.

“Look at me.” Tom said, pulling an arm away so he could lift your chin up to look at him. “You are not responsible for any of their actions. None of that is your fault. You can’t blame yourself for them not knowing what they had and lost. Not everyone leaves. I’m still here for you and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You say that, but the other shoe is always waiting to drop.” Before you could say anything else, your full name was flying from his mouth.

“I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.” He emphasized every word. At this time, Ron rounded the corner.

“Hey, I was wondering where you two ran off to.” He said, then noticing the tight squeeze Ice currently had you in. He gave you both a knowing look.

“And besides being stuck with me, you’re stuck with this one as well.” Tom said, smirking.

“I’m like glitter. Just when you think I’m gone, POOF, there I am.” That garnered a giggle from you.

“I love you both, I truly do.” You say, side hugging the both of them.

“One of us, maybe a bit more than the other.” Tom joked, placing a kiss on your cheek. Ron scoffed, playfully.

“I can’t believe you’d question my love for her. I’d protect her like she was my own-” Tom, living up to his callsign, shot Ron an icy glare. Ron, living up to his, tipped his hat and slid his way out of the conversation.

“Is this your way of asking me out, Kazansky?” You ask, playfully, but blushing at the same time.

“Not the time or place, darling. But, if you’d be up for it, maybe I’ll officially ask when we’re out of here.”

“While I enjoy the thought, there’s a little someone you might need to get permission from first.”

“TOM!” you hear your little girl yell at the top of her lungs, just now realizing he was here. She ran over and practically jumped into his arms.

“Hey kiddo! You probably didn’t recognize me in full uniform, did ya?” he asks as she grabs his hat and places it on her head.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” You say, as he readjusts your daughter to sit better on his hip and using his other arm to wrap it around your waist.

“Mom, I’m starving.” Your 5 year old says.

“Since it’s a long drive home, yes, we can stop and get food.”

“Sounds like you’re taking me up on that offer.” Tom whispers in your ear.

“Zip it, Kazansky.” You say playfully, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“GET A ROOM!” You hear Slider yell across the parking lot. Whipping your head around to say something, you look back and see that Maverick & Goose have already taken care of it for you, simultaneously smacking him in the stomach.

You didn’t know what the future held, which terrified you. But in the present? You had your daughter, you had Ice, you had your friends, and that’s all that mattered.

The scrapbook pics I found:

It’s been a couple days and the feeling still makes me massively uneasy. But, as stated, he’s gone. I don’t have to worry about him anymore.

#tom kazansky x reader #tom kazansky fic #val kilmer #iceman #iceman x reader #top gun #top gun 1986 #gothic writes

[fiapartridge]

Will choking blurb pls and THXXX

GIRLLLLLL OMGGJRJE ALSO IMAGINE THIS IS LIKE IN COLLEGE OKAY AND I WENT SO OVERBOARD BUT (didn’t even know i switched povs during this but i’m too tired to correct it sooo just deal w it LOL)

they would be having the most amazing ass post game sex like i’m literally dying just thinking about it

like imagine he wins and ur waiting outside the locker room and he’s all showered and clean and in his suit and he’s around his friends and u whisper in his ear “got a prize for you tonight”

and hes smirking bc his ass knows hes gonna get fucked tn “yeah? what’s that?”

and she shrugs “guess you’ll just have to find out”

but the guys want to go out and celebrate the win and will is protesting that shit because mans wants to see his prize, but ryan’s got his arm slung around him like “c’mon man don’t be a debby downer. come with us”

and he’s like “rather be coming on something else”

AND RYANS TOTALY OBLIVIOUS “what was that?”

and wills like “nothing let’s go”

so the guys and their gfs go to a bar and all will can think about is u and just going home and fucking u into oblivion and every single time he sees you get up or feel u staring at him, his pants tighten until he’s had enough and is like “y/n and i are gonna go”

and all the boys know what’s up because will has been staring at u the entire night like he’s ready to fuck u on that bar counter in front of everyone so everyone’s like see ya will

AND WILL LITERALLY DRAGS U OUT OF THAT BAR AND IS MAKING OUT WITH U ON THE WALK BACK TO HIS APARTMENT LIKE U GUYS WILL LITERALLY TAKE BREAKS ON THE WALK BACK JUST SO HE COULD PUSH U UP AGAINST A WALL AND MAKE OUT WITH YOU

but girl once u get one foot in that apartment, shit goes down

ur slamming him against the door, biting his bottom lip and he’s smirking and sweaty and it’s literally the hottest thing ever

and he’s like “gonna give me my prize now?”

AND GIRLLLL HES SO CAUGHT OFF GUARD WHEN U START KNEELING DOWN IN FRONT OF HIM AND UNZIPPING HIS PANTS AND TAKING HIM IN UR MOUTH

LIKE HIS HANDS LITERALLY FLY TO UR HAIR AND HIS ORHER HAND IS GRIPPIF THE DOOR KNOB FOR DEAR LIFE SO HIS LEGS DONT GIVE OUT

he is a moaning mess.

and that’s his first orgasm

and he’s literally still breathing so hard when you take his hand and drag him to his bedroom

u push him onto the mattress and he’s lazily trying to like take off ur clothes but u push him farther into the mattress sayinf shit like “tonight’s your night, baby. just wanna make you feel good” WHILE U BITE HIS EAR LOBE AND HES LITERALLY SO HARDDDHSHSH

and he’s watching you slowly take off ur clothes in front of him like it’s some type of show and u climb on top of him, ur hands resting on his chest

and your mouth is so close to his and he’s trying to get u on his cock but u whisper into his mouth “tell me what you want, baby”

and he’s breathing so hard and he’s like “you baby i want you. fuck, i want you so bad”

and ur like “gotta be more specific”

“fuck, i want to be inside you. i wanna feel you so bad.”

and she starts smirking, moving herself on top of his cock and sinking down and he releases the most guttural groan ever LIKE HE WAS SAVING THAT SHIT THE ENTIRE NIGHT

and at first it starts out all slow and shit but he’s literally so fucking impatient and starts to throw his arms on her hips and fucking up into her so she grabs his throat and bounces equally as hard and fast AND GIRL HE IS MOANING LIKE CRAZY

his hand lands on hers on his throat and HES GRIPPINF TIGHTER?’cmcncmdmdndn

and he’s praising her likeeeee “so good, baby. so fucking tight” AND UGJ WHEN SHE SPITS IN HIS MOUTH ITS OVER ITS SO OVER FOR HIM

HES MOANING HES LIKE “fuck, im gonna cum” AND SHE CLIMBS OFF HIM AND SUCKS HIM DRYYEUJWJEJENN

it’s the hottest thing ever.

#fiapartridge unhinged #will smith #will smith hockey

[sillygoose067]

Over the 7 Seas

Ch. 38

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Thank god it was Saturday because there was no way you were getting out of bed today. 

You blink your bleary eyes open, following how the sunlight filters through the room and falls upon the wall you’re facing. There’s a furnace against your back, a strong arm wrapped around your middle, pulling you close to a defined chest. Memories from last night flood through, and you feel giddy with love. You lace your fingers through Charles’s around your waist, giggling and kicking your feet. 

The arm around you tightens and there’s a husky voice near your ear. “Love, unless you want a repeat of last night right now, I suggest you stop moving so much.”

You flush, freezing in place. Biting your lip, you twist in his arms, turning to face your beautiful boyfriend. You beam brightly, and he thinks, in this moment, you’re more beautiful than the morning sunlight. 

“Good morning!”, you whisper loudly.

“Good morning, my love”. You blush again.

“I like it when you call me that”, you tell him meekly, not meeting Charles’ eyes, knowing that there really wouldn’t be anything you wouldn’t do for him if you did.

“What? My love?”, he teases in a lilting voice, the huskiness of it making your insides tingle. 

“Mhm”, you nod. There’s a comfortable silence while the two of you bask in each other's comfort. He pulls you closer to him, sliding a leg between yours, and you nuzzle closer to his chest, reveling in the warmth of his love.

“Do you have any plans today?”

“Nah, I wanted to stay inside with you for once. I know that I’m nearly never home.”

You press your lips to his jaw in thanks. “Thank you for last night.”

Charles faces you fully, propping his head up on a fist. “Thank you for last night. I’m honored that you felt safe enough with me to give that piece of you away”. He twirls a strand of your hair. You watch as he brings it to his lips and kisses your hair.

“Why do you do that?”, you ask curiously.

“I promised myself I would worship every part of you.”

“I’m having a hard time deciding if that’s cute or creepy.”

He pokes your stomach. “Deal with it.”

You move to roll away, but he tugs you back to him. “Charles”, you whine. “I need to go shower! I feel all gross and sticky”. You make a face. 

“Okay”. And then he’s getting off the bed, lunging towards you and scooping you into his arms, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs, and you. “Charles!”, you shriek. “Put me down this instant! I said I needed to shower!”

“I know, baby. That’s why we’re going to the shower. You should thank me for giving you a free chauffeur service right now.”

“You cheeky little–”. He smacks your ass. Silence. “Oh god baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just happened…”

You’re stuck in stupor and in his arms. Why did that… feel good? Oh god, your cheeks were red, you could feel your face warming up. Charles notices this too, and a grin creeps onto his face. 

“Y/n, did you like that?”

You look away, not wanting to meet his teasing gaze. “...No”

“I think you did. No worries, I’ll keep that in mind for when I fuck you.” Your thighs clench. 

You’re so caught up in your boyfriend’s teasing that you fail to notice that he’s transported you to the bathroom. He starts up the shower. “Do you want me to leave? I can go get breakfast started…”

Shyly, you drop the sheets and pull him into the shower. “You already saw everything last night, might as well save some time by freshening up together”, you shrug. Too late to turn back now. “And we both know you’re a hazard in the kitchen”.

You bend down to grab the body wash and loofah. Charles gasps behind you. “Holy shit…”

“What?”

“There’s a red handprint on your ass– It’s kind of hot. But I didn’t even hit you that hard?”

You blush. “Oh, um. I turn red pretty easily”.

“Hmmm”, his eyes follow the water traveling down your body. 

…

Charles insists he wants to wash you, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him no. You wince as he moves lower to cleanse between your thighs. 

“Sorry sweetheart, I know it’s sore right now but we need to make sure that you’re cleaned up well so that you don’t get any infections”. You bite your lip to stifle another pained sound and grasp his shoulder for balance as he’s bent before you, propping a leg on his knee. “It won’t hurt as much from now on. Maybe I was too rough with you…” He sounded so sincere and genuinely apologetic for hurting you. 

You run your fingers through his soaked hair. “No you weren’t, Charles. It was– You were perfect. I expected that I would be a little sore anyway”.

He kisses your now, freshly scrubbed thigh, rising to his feet and reaching for the shampoo. You take the body wash and loofa from him to return the favor.

You let the water rush over you, watching as Charles massages some shampoo into his curls. You turn him around to get his back, and once the soapy suds have been washed away, you rest your head between his shoulder blades, placing light kisses here and there. The two of you stand under the showerhead, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. 

…

Charles gets out first after closing the tap, leaving to get you a towel. “Up”. You raise your arms like a little kid and your boyfriend wraps you up like a burrito. You giggle. He pecks your forehead and you lean into him. “C’mon, let’s get you dried and dressed, Cheri”.

You take turns toweling off each other's hair and putting on lotion. Once you’re done and dried, you scurry off to find something to wear from your shared closet, Charles sauntering behind you. You pull on a pair of fresh bra and panties, and he comes up behind you, wrapping you in his arms and resting his chin on your head. 

“What should I wear…”, you mumble to yourself. It’s not like there was a lot to choose from, but you still had trouble picking something to wear from time to time. An arm moves from your waist and reaches out to the closet, pulling out one of Charles’ T-shirts. “I think you should wear this, Cheri”, you hear from his place near your head. Your boyfriend kisses your cheek and pats your hip, moving to grab a pair of boxers and sweats and leaving you to accept your fate. You just shrug as you pull on the T-shirt and forgo pants. You were staying home anyway. Home. The thought that this was now your home warmed your heart.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #fluff #smut #f1 #formula 1

[insideliascrazyhead]

White Rascal Headcanons

Rocky

-not just protective but crazily possessive

-can´t cook and normally lives off takeout

-reads those old,lonely woman,romatic novels

-has all the laundry hacks to keep all that sutff white,tells nobody

„Do it for the woman!“,Rocky,Honey, I thought they´re gonna jump over that railing and choke you out

-dissects his oreo cookies before eating them,cookie,then the cream and then the other remaining cookie

-sings loudly and horrible under the shower

-knows how to dance tango and salsa

-makes phenominal cocktails but forgets that not everyone handles liquor as good as he does so they´re damn strong

-never bleaches his own hair in fear it falls out.being bold is one of his greatest fears

-always act in the heat of the moment

-every hole that get´s punched into the wall in Club Heaven by an angry man get´s framed and titles „Fragile Masculinity“

-after kicking out Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura he did kinda miss them in the end especially after Kizzy told him,they went to get the Rude Boys to help them fight (also Tetsu Instagram stalks them)

Koo

-sarcastic king

-brings out the craziest stories

-biggest crush on our dear Rocky

-as Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura always wear eyeliner he calls them the panda crew

-is a great cook

-likes to do crosswords but instead of the right answers he takes insults

-loves to read crimis and thriller,always knows who the killer is, that creeps the shit out of Kizzy

-does nailart and skincare

-can speak 4 langueges

-curses like a sailor and knows how to curse in 7

-loves to travel

-don´t speak to him before his 2nd cup of coffee or death to everyone and then himself

Kizzy

-bites until your bloody

-stabs as a warning

-has a taxedermy squirrel called Nibbles

-is acttually friends with Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura

-finds their crazyness entertaining as fuck and has a betting pool running with Kaito and Koo on everything

-not jealous at all,just possessive

-has a lot of those romantic nicknames for Kaito in private

-hopelessly romantic

-will absolutly throat punch someone just because she feels like it

-loves horror movies and normally laughs during them

-in her emo phase

Kaito

-stress baker

-will bring Kizzy little trinkets that remind him of her and she collects them

-cool as a cucumber on the outside but a squirrel in traffic on the inside

-had a stressball once to deal with that and ended up stabbing it

-hates horror movies but watches them for Kizzy,so that he isn´t uncomfortable Kizzy just starts shit talking the killers until he laughs

-total sweetheart

-has a cat called cupcake

-loves parfumes

-Aizawa,Bito,Enari and Shimura are Housen´s former Four Heavenly Kings and how Odajima teached Monji in X cross,those four did it with Odajima,Shidaken, Jinkawa and Sawamura,they regulary check up on Housen

Aizawa

-heavily codepentedt on each other,live together too.It´s chaos.

-when Kizzy once visited and saw all that she turned to Kaito and said in a sad tone,I think kicking them out was a mistake,they´re gonna acidentally kill themselfes.

-a feral murder gremlin on the run

-nearly got killed by Rocky once for saying I don´t like woman. Rocky overheard it and kept hitting him with his cane,angrily calling him a misogynist,Aizawa took the cane and hit back telling him he´s not a misogynist.He´s gay and called Rocky an old bitter man.Guess who cleaned the bathrooms from then on in Club Heaven

-killing is his first solution whenever there´s an issue

-their punk band got famous,not teenage girls scream their lungs bloody and faint famous,but sex,drugs and rock n roll famous

-pyromaniac,loves explosives

-has at least 3 different kinda weapons on him at all times,sleeps with a knife under his pillow

-sleeps with tv on and a horror movie running

-loves to shoot the others with a nerf gun,got boring now it´s a paintball gun instead

-memory of a goldfish

-they´re all so sick off the color white that their flat looks like a rainbow vomited.Kinda like a secondhand shop for weird shit.A leg lamp,a random mannequin torso with clows mask over it,Bito´s pink baseball bat,leopard rug,a chair that looks like a colorful hand etc.

Bito

-dramatic as fuck (when wrecking Itokan this is the man searching fucking backround music),probably could give Jamuo a run for money

-they´re all crazy and put Yasu-Kiyo to shame

-i once dreamt he´s Shidaken´s older brother.Now they´re related

-also got Shidaken´s kink for crazy people

-sleeps with a pink baseball bat next to his bed and it´s called his toothfairy

-creative.He paints,normally while blasting punk loud enough to make ears bleed

-bought a tattoo gun now those dumbasses tattoo each other

-invented beerflakes: Fruitloops and beer,normally topped with candy

-he and Shimura got a sugar mommy each after getting kicked out to earn some cash

-the four of them once got arrested for prostitution during their White Rascal times,funnily enough they didn´t do it

-bisexual and polyamorous

Enari

-accidental pyromaniac,accidental fire everywhere,for example while cooking.

-A literal kitchen hazard

-can sleep literally anywhere,this man slept on a speaker at Club Heaven while it blasted music once

-the most chaotic one

-shower toughts only,no sense just vibes

-get´s up early every morning and not even any coffee like a animal

-loves to prank and humiliate his friends

-constantly snacking,always hungry

-always mismatched socks

-loves anime

-all four of them use those 4 in 1 showergel,shampoo and motoroil thingys,even dishsoap when they´re out of the first one

Shimura

-would twerk to orchestra music

-probably sniffs paint

-no regard of personal safety in daily life;raw cookie dough?fuck yeah!Red light?So what?What else?Wait till it´s green?

-funnily enough academically the smartest

-loves to read philosophical shit and drama

-faints at the sight of needles

-thinks hotsauce won´t freeze cause it´s hot

-can drink like a fucking tank

-can poledance,the dancers at Club Heaven showed him and Bito how

-is into hot rich milfs so the sugar mommy thing was right up his alley

-King of what we call in the country I´m from,the „Brother,trust me“mix.That´s a random mixxed cocktail,that normally contains at least 90 % of the glass filled with different kinda hard liquor and normally your friends don´t really hesitate to drink that,so everyone get´s the nastiest hangover

#high and low #white rascals #rocky #kizzy #kaito #koo #aizawa #bito #enari #shimura #high and low headcanons