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roosterforme · 2 months

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How Old Are You? | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob only gets one birthday every four years. When his wife, Molly, realizes it's almost Leap Day, she throws him a party any nine year old would love. And it's the perfect celebration for a thirty-six year old, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, implied smut, 18+

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC!Molly (this story accompanies The Curveball)

Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob was half asleep in bed, post orgasm, when the weird conversation started. "So technically you're about to turn nine? Even though you'll be thirty-six? Is that right?"

He cracked his eyes open again as he watched his wife stretch her arms above her head, her nipple piercings glinting in the soft candlelight that had their bedroom aglow. She was nibbling on her lip, and he could practically see her mind working.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously. "Why do you have that expression on your face, Mo? Like you're plotting something scary?"

"I've never plotted something scary a day in my life!" she told him before leaning down and gently biting his bicep. "I was merely considering what I should get you for your special day."

"I don't need anything," he replied quickly, remembering the naked cowboy statue wearing glasses that she gifted to him last year.

"Well," she said, drawing out the single syllable. "That's where I think you're wrong, Bobby."

"Molly, I don't even want anything." Then he had an idea that he hoped would throw her off. "How about you get some pretty new barbells or rings and let me play with them?"

She rolled her eyes. "That would be a gift for me."

He shrugged as she draped herself across him. "Kind of for both of us when you really think about it."

Her soft lips found his jaw as she whispered, "But it's not every day you turn nine, Coach Cute Glasses. You deserve an extra special treat."

He shook his head in exasperation and said, "I'll really be thirty six though."

"Not according to the calendar." She kissed him sweetly before climbing over him to get out of the bed. "I'll go check on Charlie and Flora one last time before we go to sleep." Bob watched her slip his discarded undershirt on and smooth it down over her gorgeous body, perhaps a little more filled out now that they had two kids.

He reached for her hand and said, "Mo, we really need to sell the condo and get a bigger place. They can't share that tiny room forever."

Even though she told him all the time that she loved the condo and didn't want to leave it, she was finally starting to come around. "I think I'm ready to admit that you might be right about that, Uncle Bob."

"Really?" he asked, jolting up in bed.

She nodded and hummed. "Yes. Besides, your birthday party would be a lot easier to plan if we had more space to accommodate all the guests."

Bob groaned and flopped back down again, and Molly removed his glasses for him. "I don't need a birthday party," he insisted. "I just want a nice, quiet evening with you and the kids. Maybe your sister, Ev and Bradley, too, but that's it."

"We'll see," she replied before leaving the bedroom with a wicked smirk on her face.

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"Can you get to my sister's house by noon on your birthday? For your party?" Molly asked as she watched Bob feed a mashed up banana to their one year old daughter.

"I thought we ended that discussion with us both accepting the fact that I do not need a birthday party."

"Yeah... it's too late for that," she replied easily as she and Charlie both ate their own dinners. Molly's favorite hobby was keeping her husband on his toes. She figured his life would be sad and boring without her in it, and since he chose to be with her, he must have a deep-seated love for nonsense. She always made sure to bring it out for him, especially for his birthday.

He gave her a stern look. "It's just a small party, right?"

"Sure, Bobby."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh come on," she whined. "This is your first real birthday since we met!"

She knew he would crack. He gave her what she wanted the vast majority of the time anyway, but when she whined for something harmless, it was always hers.

"Fine."

And with that single word, Molly executed the most epic ninth birthday anyone could ever have. She called the vendors. She ordered the piñata. She invited the guests. She procured a balloon arch. And on Bob's birthday, her own sister and brother-in-law were looking at her with shocked expressions from their back deck when she started setting things up at eight in the morning.

"I thought this was going to be a small party?" Bradley asked as he watched her assemble the red and yellow balloon arch.

Molly just laughed. "That's just what I told Bob. I lied. The pony should be arriving soon."

"Pony?" gasped her sister. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did you say a pony is arriving?"

"Yes," Molly said, speaking a little louder now to make her point. "How the hell are we supposed to have a cowboy birthday party without pony rides?"

Then Everett came tearing out onto the back deck, still in his pajamas, shouting, "Someone is bringing a horse around from the driveway!"

"See?" Molly asked as the pony and handler appeared in the backyard. "Ev is excited. He has good taste."

"He's ten!" Bradley snapped as he went running across the yard. "Is this thing going to tear up the grass that I spent months watering so it looked this nice?" But as soon as he saw how excited Everett was to pet the cute animal, Molly knew her brother-in-law would be on her side. It was just her sister glaring at her now.

"Whatever you mess up out here, you need to clean up. That includes the horse poop!"

"It's just a pony," Molly assured her, although the animal was a lot bigger than she expected. And yes, it was actually pooping. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

She was hoping it would be fine.

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When Bob buckled Charlie and Flora back into their car seats in his truck at Myers park, he checked the time. It was almost noon. "Oh god," he groaned as he opened the driver's door. He had no idea what to expect, but the text from Bradley about how he was going to need help filling in the hoof prints in their yard next week had him on edge.

"Birthday party!" Charlie cheered from the backseat as Bob pulled out onto the main road. Molly had been talking about it so much, their son kept saying it over and over.

"That's right," Bob told him calmly. "But I'm pretty sure Mommy went bananas over the entire thing."

"Nana!" Flora crooned before she burst into tears. He should have known better than to mention her favorite food right in front of her like that. So he drove to his sister-in-law and brother-in-law's house with one delighted child and one who was crying hysterically. When he pulled down their block, there was absolutely nowhere to park, and there was a horse trailer parked right in front of the house.

"Oh, no. No no no. Molly, no," he whispered. When he got closer, he saw the massive banner hanging on the porch that said Happy Birthday, Cowboy Bob. He had to squeeze his truck into the driveway behind the familiar blue Bronco while he gaped at the sight before him.

"Horse!" Charlie screeched. He wasn't wrong. There was some sort of pony walking around the backyard with Everett perched on top of the saddle wearing a cowboy hat. "I want the horse!"

"Okay," Bob told him as he shook his head and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the back of the house with one child in each arm, and thankfully when Flora saw the pony, she stopped crying, perhaps out of fear.

"Bob!" Molly shouted over the classic country music that was playing as she popped out of the enormous rodeo themed bounce house and ran to him. Literally everyone he'd ever seen in his life seemed to be here, and they were all wearing cowboy hats. Everyone from work was here. Like everyone. Cyclone was wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a beer. Bob thought he saw the doctor that Molly worked with who delivered both of their children. His parents and both of his sisters were here. His niece Piper was taking a turn riding the pony. There were indeed hoof prints in the yard.

Then Molly was somehow in his arms along with both kids, and she was kissing his neck as she said, "Happy birthday," in a voice that would have been a lot more appropriate for their bedroom.

"Mo," he said, shaking his head. "There's a pony. It's making Bradley look constipated."

She just rolled her eyes in response. "He'll get over it as soon as I offer to watch Everett for a few days over spring break so he and my sister can go away and do nasty stuff to each other."

Bob just smiled down at her and said, "You told me this would be a small affair."

"I guess I lied. Oops. Come say hi to Phoenix." She dragged him up onto the deck where Natasha took both kids from him with a kiss to his cheek, and then Molly was yanking his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing there in his undershirt with his glasses askew. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was pulling another shirt over his head. It said Birthday Cowboy, and there was a number 9 that looked like it was shaped out of rope.

And that's when everyone started hugging him and running around to get him drinks and chat with him. Mickey was wearing cowboy boots and a cow print vest. Maverick was teaching the kids how to line dance. Bradley's scowl had started to ease up since Everett seemed to be having the time of his life.

"Happy birthday, Uncle Bob," Everett said when he walked over. He hugged Bob and added, "Your birthday party is my favorite birthday party ever, and I can't believe it's in my yard!"

"Thanks, Ev," he replied with a laugh as he watched Molly and Flora dancing with Javy. "It is pretty cool."

"Happy birthday, Bob," his sister-in-law said, handing him a card. "You can open it later. We got you opening day tickets for the Padres. Also, I'm so sorry that my sister is so chaotic, but you should have known what you were getting into when you started dating her."

Bob accepted another kiss on his cheek. "She really can't be stopped once she gets going."

"It's a waste of time to even try. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show."

He did, and the looser he got, the more fun he started to have. He pet the pony while Piper rode around on it. He smashed open a cowboy piñata with one of Everett's baseball bats. He jumped in the bounce house with Charlie and Everett, and Bradley even joined them.

"I'll help you fix your yard next week," Bob promised as Everett did a backflip.

Bradley just laughed and said, "It's hard to be mad about it when Molly just wants everyone to have the time of their life. You're very lucky. Also, I don't know how you deal with her on a daily basis."

Bob laughed, too. "Sometimes I just take it one hour at a time."

"Get ready for cake!" Molly shouted, and it took five people to carry out the biggest sheet cake he'd ever seen in his life. It was cow print and decorated with boots and spurs, and said Happy 9th Birthday, Cowboy Bob!

After he blew out the nine candles he reached for Molly. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I didn't know I needed a ninth birthday party, but I guess I really did."

"You're only a kid once, Bobby," she replied, smiling against his lips.

"You do know I'm actually thirty-six, right?" he asked, pulling her snug against him as her sister started to cut up the cake.

"Not according to the calendar," she responded, patting him gently on the cheek. "Your mom and I had a lovely conversation about how terrible you look for your age."

He tried not to smile, but it was useless. "I'm actually having the best day, Mo."

"I knew it all along."

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Both kids were sound asleep as soon as Molly tucked them into bed. Charlie went on a sugar high and then crashed, and Flora was played with and held by seemingly everyone at the party. They would probably sleep for a solid twelve hours. Which was good, because Molly wanted to give her husband the rest of his birthday presents.

She found him in their bedroom where he was opening up the cards he got with a soft smile on his face. "You have so many friends," she told him, and he turned to look at her. "Everyone loves Bob Floyd."

He actually blushed which made her want to rip all of his clothing to shreds and have her way with him. He shook his head slightly and said, "Everyone loves the amazing Molly Floyd and her beautiful imagination."

"Bobby," she moaned softly, taking the card from his hand and wrapping her arms around him. "Tell me more about how amazing I am."

He laughed and whispered, "You threw me the equivalent of a kids' ninth birthday party, just because you could. My dad participated in the pie eating contest. My mom learned how to line dance. Bradley almost popped a vein in his forehead. It was wonderful."

She sighed in contentment. "In four more years when you turn ten, we'll be in a bigger house, and we can host your party there. But we'll have to wait and see if you're still into cowboys or if your interests change, Kiddo. Now will you please open your present from me? And put on your cowboy hat? I've always wanted to suck a real cowboy's cock."

Bob grinned. "Molly, you suck my cock when I'm wearing my cowboy hat all the time."

"But you've never had assless chaps before."

Bob let out a strangled sound, and when he opened the box that was wrapped in cowboy paper, there were in fact assless chaps inside. "Please, please, please put them on," Molly moaned. "God, I feel like it's my birthday."

As soon as she started whining, he always gave her what she wanted. It was impossible not to. Five minutes later, Bob was standing in the middle of the bedroom wearing the chaps, his birthday shirt, and his old cowboy hat. Molly was panting and biting her knuckle, already obviously raring to go down on him, which just made him harder.

But she took a step toward him and then stopped, a devilish smirk on his face. "Now wait. I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma with you in that shirt. How old are you again?"

"I'm thirty-six," he replied blandly.

"You sure about that, Cowboy Bob?"

"Molly! I'm thirty-six!"

"Okay, okay. Just checking," she said, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. "But let's just remove this anyway."

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I had a blast revisiting these two! I'm so deeply in love with Molly. I hope you enjoyed Bob's birthday celebration. Thanks for reading! And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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faevi · 3 months

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COMFORT. // GOJO.

Scenario: Today was a bad day for you. You couldn’t even get out of bed to take care of yourself. You need comfort. Gojo Satoru, your boyfriend, is eager to be that comfort for you.

Word Count: 4,072.

Content / Trigger Warnings: female reader (she/her), implied depression (?), bad mental health basically, not taking care of yourself, gojo basically comforts and takes care of you, lots of crying.

I think that's it! Please (kindly) let me know if I missed something.

Note: No, Coral Island is not out on Switch yet :’ ) I have it on PC and I thought it was on switch but it’s not. Do look out for it, though! Cute comfort farming game. This probably won’t be the last time you’ll see me writing about Gojo comforting, as I like to write things deep from the heart or what I face, y’know? Like I started this when I was having a sad day, so dfjkgdfklg and, I know I’m not the only one. Mental health is important!! Please always take care of yourselves. If thinking about Gojo comforting you helps with easing your mind & heart, then hell yeah.

I know technically this is SFW so minors could read, but my entire account is basically NSFW still and I don’t feel comfy. So….

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!!!

“Baby?”

There’s a gentle knock on the bedroom door, the deep yet soft voice being muffled by it. You’re currently curled up in the king-size bed, pillows plumped up and eyes glancing from the Nintendo Switch screen to the door. Shame washes over you and you sink further beneath the blankets, voice timid.

“I’m in here.”

Satoru didn’t hear it, but he still pushed it open. He doesn’t want to be apart from you. Not when you’re like this. He could sense something wasn’t right in the morning, but you insisted he went to work and that you would be okay. Low energy, you said. You peek up at him, the hood of his hoodie that you’re wearing pulled right over your head, not wanting him to see your puffy eyes and dried-up tears on your cheeks. You haven’t left the bed unless it was to go to the toilet or get water. Really bad, you know that. You should have at least eaten something. Even if it’s just a banana or a bag of chips.

“Welcome home, ‘toru.” You say, voice a little raspy but still holding that sweetness that’s only reserved for Satoru. You feel too drained to greet him like you wish you could. That’s another sign to the white-haired male that it’s one of the low days. Thankfully, they are rare but, they still prompt him to be wrapped up in his concern. He drops his satchel at the side of the dresser before he walks over to the bed, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt. “Thank you, princess. I missed you all day.” He expresses, emphasising the ‘all’ in a sing-song voice that coaxes a smile to appear beneath the hoodie. Good. He’s a little relieved to see it.

Satoru settles on the bed beside you, arm wrapping around your body to pull you in close. He’s low enough on the bed to tuck his chin over your shoulder as you twist a little to adjust yourself for the position of the half embrace. His stunning blue eyes focus on the screen as you continue to play the switch, his long fingers mindlessly stroking along your shoulder. Satoru knows you refuse to pull the hoodie off just yet, so he won’t force you to. He knows that you have been crying and is desperate to comfort you but, he’s not about the ‘forceful’ ways like some may think he would be. Baby steps.

“Coral Island?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and you hum, thumb on the analog stick moving around. It makes you happy that your boyfriend makes sure to remember the games you like. “You’ve made a lot of progress on your farm, baby. It looks cute.” He praises sweetly, keeping his voice soft so as to not disturb too much. You smile at his words, ignoring the way your hands start to tremble and your eyes sting. What did you do to deserve such an attentive and loving man as your boyfriend?

“Though, I’m still a little grumpy that you want to marry, what’s his face… Wakuu. I think I’m a lot cuter, they should put me in the game.” He whines lightheartedly and you can’t help but laugh. “Baby, I think you’d make the game crash from how desperate people would be to date you. You’re too pretty and you’re all mine.” You huff a little, mind lingering a little on the thought of others wanting Satoru. Why did he choose you? He could have anyone he wants in the world.

“I’d hack the game so I reject other players aside from you.” He insists, noticing the tremble in your voice. He looks down at the top of your head, wishing he could see through and know your thoughts. Well, he can usually guess right, at least. He’s pretty good at reading people. Especially you. Calmly, Satoru takes hold of the console and puts it on pause before setting it on his bedside table. You let him do it. “Th-That would be too much work, s-silly.” You stutter out as tears for what feels like the hundredth time spill down your cheeks.

He hums softly, tugging the hood off of your head slowly, giving you time to stop him. You didn’t. Your shoulders shake and you can barely process anything now as you cry; not even when he moves your body so you’re facing him and between his long legs. He pulls you in close enough so his hand can rest on the back of your head and you sob against his chest, apologies babbling out between the heavy cries and obnoxious sniffling. “Nothing is too much work when it involves you, Y/N. Let it out, hm? No more hiding from me. Just let it all out and let me be here for you.” He whispers, the other hand rubbing soothing circles against your back.

Your legs that were tucked beneath you, slide until you’re laying against him with your legs extending out next to his, face still buried against his toned chest, fingers curling into the shirt that is becoming wet with the continuous stream of your tears. Your chest hurts so much. The tightness lingers, even as you cry your heart out. No wonder it feels impossible to breathe. You swear you could feel each teardrop as it rolls down your cheeks. Gross. It’s so gross. Small hiccups escape as you struggle to breathe properly between your heavy sobs, feeling his hand stroking along your hair as he holds onto you so lovingly. You couldn’t help but feel guilty that he has to comfort you through this. You thought that after hours of festering in your misery, you’d pick yourself back up before he got home.

He shouldn’t have to do this. It’s not the first time that he has had to help you and you just feel so bad about it. Sure, it may not be common. It may not happen all the time. Not happen weekly or even monthly but, it must be so stressful to deal with. Mental health can be so exhausting and every time this creeps up on you; you just wish you were someone who stinks of positivity 24/7. Always smiling. No dull clouds in your life, so no chance to spread it to those you love. Satoru deserves better than you.

Satoru frankly doesn’t give a fuck about your opinion when it comes to that matter. It sounds harsh but, it’s true. In his eyes, you are exactly what he deserves because you are everything that he wants in a partner. He’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear. It’s not exhausting to him. Not at all. Nothing about you exhausts him. Satoru does feel concern when these particular days blossom but, isn’t that normal? Lovers are meant to be there for one another. Through the good and the bad. No one is perfect and, he knows. He knows that you’ve had partners who would snap with anger the second you showed a glimpse of insecurities or sadness. They would tell you that you’re making them miserable for having a sad day every so often. That it’s all your fault and that you’re exhausting. Even though, truth be told; these days aren’t that often. It’s just being human. Some may experience it more than others but, Satoru doesn’t think it means they should be treated harshly. Maybe with more kindness.

Besides, anger and guilt-tripping always cause more bad days because you learned to try and bury it all. To never let it out. Then it just grows like a nasty virus in your system, slowly bringing you to the point of feeling overwhelmed and unable to contain it. It surprised him that you used to apologise profusely at the beginning of your relationship. You had bad relationships that just added to your insecurities and made you feel like complete shit. All you need is reassurance and comfort. It took some time at first but, Satoru thinks that you’ve ‘improved’ in the sense that you have fewer sad days because of feeling like a terrible partner. You have insecurities like everyone else but, you knew deep down of his love for you and felt reassured by it. Especially since Satoru never expressed anger towards you. Just patience and love. The white-haired male of course wishes that you never felt anything bad. It’s natural for a lover to want that for their other half but, he’s not going to curse those bad days and make you feel worse. Together, you’ll get through it. That’s how he sees it and if it takes time to slowly ease your mind into that direction; Satoru will go that way and hold your hand.

His large hand continues to stroke along your back, resting back against the various pillows and watches quietly as you sob heavily into his chest, heart quietly clenching at the sight. He wishes he could take the pain away completely. You feel as if your lungs now rattle from how hard you cry, tears both spilling down your clammy cheeks and soaking into his white shirt. Your fingers stay curled up in his shirt, face rubbing pitifully against his chest. It feels so warm and strong. One of the infinite reasons as to why you love this white-haired man. His strength never wavers when he embraces you. You always feel safe, even as you cry. Still, guilt naturally lingers for being a burden.

“I-I’m so sorry, Satoru..” You manage to whine out breathlessly, voice becoming high-pitched, tongue unintentionally licking up the salty tears that lingered on your chapped lips. You have been lacking in self-care today. Satoru hums thoughtfully, hand coming up to push the strands of white hair out of his crystal blue eyes. “Don’t apologise, Y/N. You haven’t done anything wrong. You know that these days will never be a burden to me.” He reassures, voice low and calm. It soothes your soul with ease. Sniffling, you decide to sit up between his spread legs, though one hand refusing to let go of his now wet shirt. Your head stays tilted downwards but it doesn’t stop your boyfriend from leaning in to scatter light kisses across your visage, not bothered by the tears. He knows it will prompt a smile to appear and that’s one baby step in the right direction. You do end up smiling very briefly as his soft tiers ghost against your cheeks, mildly amused by the quiet ‘mwahs’ he leaves with each kiss.

It’s funny, really. Before you met Satoru, during knowing Satoru and being his friend, even now as you’re in love with the tall male and dating him; people always painted him as a man who frankly does not fucking care about people or that he’s utterly oblivious. They see when he’s loud and playful. Yes, sometimes a little immature (deliberate) and cocky but; they refuse to see this side of him, even if it’s directly on a silver platter for them to be exposed to it. Though, you selfishly think of how happy you are to be the only one who gets to see the loving and romantic side of Satoru. Satoru cares. He cares so much for the ones around him. He’s subtle in changing his ways for certain people. Whether it’s to let someone else take the last seat or tiny praises laced in between playful advice. He can be serious or calm when the time calls for it.

You hate that people continue to paint him as a selfish man who thrives off of his own cockiness and talents. Satoru, your boyfriend — Is a human being created with all kinds of shades of colours and each colour deserves to be loved. Cherished. His hands caress along your bare thighs, head tilting as he inspects your face, thankful that you’re not trying to hide anymore. Not through a hoodie or burying against his chest. He does think it’s cute when you do that. He can’t deny it. You’re finally managing to calm down, the tears slowly stopping and not trailing down your cheeks any further. Did thinking about Satoru as a person calm you down once more? It’s not the first time. Ha… You really are lucky to have him. You watch as his lips already begin to curl to form a small grin. It’s infectious because you feel the corners of yours twitch and you have to press your lips firmly together to stop it from happening. Maybe it’s a punishment to yourself. You can’t smile completely yet.

“Look at you, my little love.” Satoru says, large hands coming up to tenderly cup your cheeks, thumbs a bit firm when they rub away the tears. “All out of tears now. It’s all thanks to me for being the best boyfriend with a magical touch, hm?” Satoru jokes lightly to coax that soft giggle out of you and his heart eases at the pretty sound. Your heart practically swells at the pet name he calls you. In the early days when Satoru learned that you’re weak when it comes to pet names, he instantly started to use them. It’s like he uses it as a weapon. Only sometimes. Jokingly. All the time it still feels natural and wrapped in love. You didn’t know that he’s discovered that he adores using them when it comes to you. Especially when your eyes light up in his direction.

“You are the best boyfriend..” You manage to say, voice strained from crying so much. Snot threatens to drip out and it must make you look so unattractive. He doesn’t care. You’ll always be pretty in his eyes. Satoru smiles warmly at your words, playfully shaking his head. “Alright, this is about you. So don’t try to put the focus on me and think this can just slip away… Unless you want it to. I won’t force it.” He sighs, plucking a tissue from the box on the bedside table. You can sense it. He might become a bit agitated if you don’t express your thoughts, even if he’ll politely agree to move on and clearly treat you lovingly… You can already understand why he’d be annoyed. Locking it all up isn’t healthy and he’s been encouraging you for so long to be open with him. He’s not like past lovers so don’t treat him as such. It is true. He’s nothing like them. He may not be perfect if he’d secretly become annoyed but, he’s human. Just like you. On trivial matters, he’d usually whine as his form of complaint but, this is no trivial matter. It’s serious to him; your wellbeing.

“I won’t hide anything from you, Satoru.” You promise, nose scrunching up a little as he wipes it before carelessly tossing the tissue towards the small bin. Naturally, it lands in. He’s Gojo Satoru, after all. You shift to sit cross-legged between his open legs, slightly apologetic that he has to spread his long legs so wide. Satoru isn’t bothered by it. You bring a sleeve up to wipe at your eyes, chewing on your bottom lip. How do you even speak? It feels like the words are lodged in your throat. “It’s just a bad mental day. There’s nothing really behind it. One of those days, I’m sorry..” You trail off and you glance up to see him looking intently at you, arms comfortably crossed against his chest. Satoru isn’t blocking you out and you know that. He tends to position himself like this when he’s listening.

Still, he’s waiting for that one thing. Even with his eyes clouded with warmth for you, you know what he wants to hear. The tiny bit of truth. “Bad mental day, but… I feel guilty. I wanted to hide this from you so I— So I wouldn’t be a burden. Wouldn’t make you tired of me and I’m scared! I’m scared that if... if the bad days happen more, you’ll..” You don’t want to say it out loud. It feels like a knife is lodged in your throat. It might come true.

“Leave you?” Satoru finishes your sentence of worry. Hearing it out loud brings on a wave of nausea and your head falls down, fingers gripping the sheets. The white-haired male’s heart aches to see you so sad and vulnerable. Terrified. Maybe a normal person would feel hurt and offended by their lover having such fears. Complain about their lover having no trust in them. Satoru knows to not see it like that after dating you for a long time. People have thoughts that they can’t control. They’re like intrusive little gremlins ready to happily feast on the brain. Again, what heals is comfort and giving that reassurance. He repeats that to himself as a reminder. To never doubt. Not that he ever would but, it’s better to be safe. Tears threaten to spill again as the guilt bubbles up inside of you for admitting the scary thought. You don’t want to lose Satoru. Not ever.

Satoru sighs softly. You sense it’s not an annoyed sigh. You're sure if you ask, your boyfriend would jokingly say he’s just exhaling air. “Why do you have to sit cross-legged? It makes it hard for me to cling!” Satoru whines, large hands reaching forward to encourage your legs to uncross before he tugs you forward, strong arms wrapping around you once more, gripping firmly as if to show he’s not leaving. You gently nuzzle his shoulder as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m never leaving you. You’re stuck with me for life. Y/N, it’s okay to have bad days. Whether multiple in a row or sporadically. I don’t care about— Well, I mean. I do care. I’ll always care. I just want you to try to remember that you’ll never be a burden. This is never a burden.” Satoru says, keeping his voice soft against your ear.

You pull back a little to look up at him and his hand comes up to cup your cheek, shifting his hand to smooth his fingers across your hair, keeping you in place. “I want to be here with you on your darkest days and so you’ll never be left alone there. As cheesy as it sounds, I’ll be that glimmer of light for you. Just like you are for me. You have no reason to ever feel guilty about moments like these.” He finishes with his arms draped around your figure. A small smile manages to appear, cheek squishing against his shoulder. It doesn’t take much talking from Satoru to bring you comfort. He always knows what to say.

You’re just glad he’s finally home from work. You’ve been feeling so lonely without him. Carefully, you nuzzle against his shoulder before pulling away to look up at him, meeting his crystal blue eyes. It’s then that you notice he still has his sunglasses on, pushed back against his fluffy white hair. You pinch the bridge of the glasses and slide them off to set aside on the bedside table, not wanting to ever block the pair of gorgeous eyes you get lost in daily. “I love you.” You say softly, tilting your head to press a kiss against his wrist as his large hand pauses against your hair.

You watch him slowly form a grin at hearing the words, hand coming down to gently cup your chin. Satoru admires you in silence for a while. Even with a puffy face from crying and lack of sleep, you’ll always look beautiful to him. All his, too. No one else can have you. “I love you, too.” He says, voice filled with loving warmth before he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, not bothered by how chapped they feel. He’ll never pass on the opportunity of kissing you. You both pull away from each other and you can’t help but slump against him, feeling exhausted. It’s funny how you slept through the day between crying sessions and you’re still so tired.

The sight practically kicks a certain side in Satoru to wake up and so he sits up, arms caging you in as he looks down at you between his legs. “Alright, princess. I know you haven’t eaten. How about we order in? Whatever you like. I don’t want to force anything on you but you have to eat, at least.” He says, hand reaching for his phone that’s tucked in his pocket. You puff your cheeks out and look at him. His eyebrows are furrowing out of concern and his lips pouting. It’s hard to say no to him and, well, he is right. Again. “Okay, ramen.” You say, planting a kiss on his cheek. Relief washes over the tall white-haired male, thumb rapid against the screen as he orders your preferred ramen, along with his and a few entrees before he places it down.

“Do you have some energy to shower?” He asks, pausing for a moment before his hands come up in defence, eyes comically wide. “Swear you don’t stink, princess. I just want to take care of you and usually showers make you feel better. If you’re too tired, you can share a shower with me?” He offers with a hopeful glint in his eye. Satoru knows he’s being a little selfish because he enjoys showers with you. You roll your eyes at your boyfriend quickly getting all defensive, somewhat endeared by the fact that he emphasises that you don’t stink. Only Satoru would do that. You really do love him. Every single fibre of his being. His entire existence.

With your heart swelled up with love, you dramatically throw your arms over his shoulder before wrapping them around his neck, smiling. “Only if you carry me. I’m a princess, right?” You giggle softly and instantly, Satoru plants a kiss on your lips. He really can’t resist you. “Typical princess behaviour. You’re lucky I’m such a simp.” He grunts out as he lifts you in his arms with ease, large hands cupping your ass cheeks to hold you up as you wrap your legs around him. You raise an eyebrow at hearing his words, amused to hear the older male use fangirl terms.

It’s the exact thought that prompts your realisation. You don’t feel sad anymore. Not currently, anyway. You look at his gorgeous visage as he carries you to the bathroom, not a single thought of worry about dropping you. Satoru is too strong to do that. You bite back a smile and cling tightly onto your boyfriend as you think to yourself that being around him is healing and good for your heart. You’re determined to do the same for him whenever he feels any sort of negative emotion. No matter what, you’ll love him hard and take care of him like he does for you.

“You’re choking me—“ He rasps out, face scrunching up dramatically before you loosen your arms and smile sheepishly. “Sorry.” You say with a quick peck to his lips. He happily accepts it. Satoru sets you down on the bathroom counter, one hand already unbuttoning his dress shirt to reveal his beautifully toned body. You watch as he adjusts the taps for the shower, seeking the level of warmth that you like and notices you watching him with a dreamy look and smirks in your direction. “What are you thinking, baby?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. You shrug innocently.

“Just that I love you and would do anything for you. Want to always take care of you and make you happy.” You find yourself blabbering out and eyes locking with his. His smirk fades into a smile, endeared by your words. It’s rather comforting to hear. To know that you are here for him just as he is here for you. Satoru extends his hand out for you to take. “You already do that and more. I love you, too. Come on, let’s undress and shower before our comfort food arrives.” He says, wiggling his long fingers to entice you to take hold. You simply smile before taking hold of his hand to pull yourself off of the counter.

Right. It is time to shower with the love of your life.

Life is really good when you have Gojo Satoru as your lover.

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koshkamartell · 8 months

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No One But Me

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That night sleep alluded you. You tossed and turned in your bed, unable to silence your racing mind or quell the niggling tension that made your palms itch and your legs restless. You willed yourself not to think of Joel or the sensation of his fingers inside you or the roughness of his whiskey soaked voice growling in your ear. You were frustrated and annoyed that he had managed to uncover the bottled up emotions and desires you had buried inside yourself. You were even more irritated that he did it so easily. Why did he still have such a hold on you? How could he make you surrender to his touch and words, how could he totally destroy your prerogative with such little effort? Maybe he was right; maybe he did know you better than anyone else. The conviction of his spiteful words reverberated in your mind and you had to physically shake your head to rid yourself of the taunting thought.

You eventually found sleep but when you woke up the next morning there was an anxious gnawing in your belly and a heavy weight inside your chest cavity where your heart sat. Your whole being felt depleted and drained while simultaneously on edge. You fucked yourself with your fingers to relief the pressure, to chase the unfulfilled high Joel had left you with last night. You came while imagining his broad body pressing heavily on-top of you as he jackhammered in and out of your pussy; an explosive orgasm that left you panting and your thighs trembling. Afterwards you stood in the shower scrubbing yourself clean and cursing yourself for still feeling so attracted to Joel.

Today you were beginning your first shift at the library alongside Oscar. You were excited for the change in your schedule and a different work environment. You couldn't disappear from Jackson but you could make your presence scarce, totally alter the predictability of your routine. The quiet library would be the perfect place for you to continue working while you obscured yourself from Joel's sight. Judging from your first meeting Oscar seemed to be a nice person, and hopefully he would enjoy your company and you two would work together well.

You dressed in your prettiest blouse and your clean pair of jeans and combed your hair. You didn't linger to look in the mirror for too long, fearful of the shame that you were sure would be reflecting in your eyes. You weren't feeling hungry but forced yourself to eat a banana for breakfast along with a cup of peppermint tea. Since that night at Joel's you hadn't felt true hunger at all. Your body hadn't craved the need for food, atleast your mind hadn't registered any craving, too occupied with repressing the pain of your break up from Joel to acknowledge anything other than emotional suffering. When you stepped out of your front door you took in a deep breath of the fresh morning air before securing the door shut and heading off toward the centre of town.

******

You slipped through the library door, the bell above it giving a soft tinkle, and peered around for any sign of Oscar. You saw that the counter stood unattended and there were stacks and stacks of books piled on the floor beside it, probably from the most recent expedition, you guessed. It felt strange to not see Maude in her usual place and in that instant you missed her greatly. But things change, you reminded yourself. And you need to accept change right now. You swallowed the lump of sadness and dubiety that tangled in your throat and stepped towards the rows of book shelves, bobbing your head to peek over them.

"Oscar?" You called out timidly.

"I'm here, just give me a sec," his voice chimed from the storeroom behind the counter. You turned back toward where the soft trill of his voice had called from and stood still, waiting for his appearance. Oscar promptly emerged from the storeroom and wandered out from behind the counter, his head bowed in concentration at something in his hands. It was evident from his gait that one of his ankles were injured, one of his legs limping slightly with each step. When his head tilted up and he spotted you standing awkwardly by the book shelves, a smiled spread across his face. The warmth in his expression was so genuine, like he was actually happy to see you, and it made your stomach clinch momentarily. You gave him a small shy smile in return and lowered your gaze. He was carrying a tin of paint by a handle with one hand and a painting brush in the other.

"Good morning," Oscar greeted you. "When Maria told me I'd have someone working with me, I thought it might be you."

He wandered over to you and stooped down to set the pail on the ground. He stood up to his full height and for the first time, you were consciously able to see him whole, not half hidden behind a counter. He was considerably shorter than Joel but taller than you. He was not broad or discernibly muscular, but you could sense he was strong from the way his sweater clung to his upper arms. His black hair was combed neatly in place except for a lone corkscrew curl that fell onto his forehead endearingly. You recalled Kate's description in your head randomly, nerdy but cute. "How are you today?"

Oscar gazed at you and you realised that his eyes were so dark brown that they almost appeared black. You're sure this would be unsettling on anyone else, but with Oscar it was not. There was nothing dangerous or malicious within them, only a curious twinkle that allowed you to meet his gaze without feeling self conscious; a huge contrast to Joel's cold stare that could make you tremble on the spot and want to look away. You inwardly chided yourself for comparing the two men, a habit you did not want to indulge in. You cleared your throat.

"I'm okay," you answered with a shrug and half a smile. "How about you?"

Oscar bunched the sleeves of his navy sweater to his elbows and then put his hands on his hips. "I'm okay, too." He said with a little nod. "I was planning on doing some painting today." He indicated to the brush in his hand. "Would you like to help me with that? Or you could sort the books? You can choose what you wanna do."

Oscar was so accommodating, so considerate, qualities you hadn't really witnessed in any man in your life but Tommy, Joel's younger brother. Truthfully you avoided interaction with too many people, especially men, so you didn't have much experience being alone with a man. But you had witnessed the savagery of men in the outside world in your younger years, before you were found and rescued by Jackson residents, and that barbarity that scarred something inside your heart and soul. It had conditioned you to be docile and compliant around others, to crave feeling protected and secure and wanted. You had learned to crush your opinions and needs in favour of self preservation, mechanisms that you still did regardless of the lack of threat and harm in Jackson. To have Oscar ask something as simple as your choice in a task at your workplace startled you.

"Oh," you squeaked. You looked over at the stacks of books by the counter and mumbled. "Uhm, well...I'm really curious to see what new books we have."

Oscar gave a small laugh. "Yes, I thought as much. Well, I'll get started on painting and you can do the cataloguing. Sound good?"

You nodded and couldn't help the smile that spread on your face. "Yes. Where are you gonna start painting?"

"Well, I think that front door needs a new coat of lacquer," he said while he scratched his chin, his fingers on his beard making a rasping sound. "But all I have today is the paint, so I'm going to do the walls here out the front." He motioned to the walls along the back of the front counter.

"That would be nice," you nodded. Oscar bent down, picked up the paint tin and held it at eye level to study the label.

"What'd you think of this? 'Light Summer Blue'," he announced with a grin. He looked at you and raised his eyebrows playfully.

You chuckled. "Lovely. It will surely lighten up the place. Maude kept the library pretty...."

"Dull?" Oscar offered. His head turned around, surveying your surroundings. "Depressing?"

"Orderly." You finished. "Functional. She wasn't really concerned with creating a bright atmosphere."

Oscar hummed and faced back to you. "Well, I reckon once you and I get started on this place, it'll look like a whole new library."

"Okay, then, let's do it."

******

You and Oscar spent the next three hours working diligently on your individual tasks while talking together, asking each other questions and learning bits and pieces of your journeys in this world. You discovered that Oscar was in his early 40s and had lost his wife in the beginning of the apocalypse. He had survived in a QZ for a few years, then in the wild with different groups of survivors, until eventually stumbling into Jackson. He had now been in commune for five years.

It was so easy to converse with him. Conversation flowed between you without awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. You still felt nervous at times, self conscious of appearing too sensitive or emotional, only offering details to trivial topics that didn't require you to discuss any kind of trauma. It was light. Oscar was respectful and did not press for more information than you gave, instead asking you general questions about yourself. Occasionally some of them stumped you. It was foreign to you that someone cared enough to want to get to know you, to ask you so much about your likes and dislikes.

"My favourite time of year?" You repeated Oscar's question with a shy smile. "Well, that has to be spring. I love seeing the flowers blossom. Jackson looks really pretty in springtime."

You finished scrawling the name of the book laid out in front of you on the counter on a scrap of paper. You had recorded the details of more than twenty five books, and had categorised them according to their subjects. You dropped the pencil on the paper and flexed your fingers to ease the cramp that had began to ache your hand.

You looked up at Oscar. He stood on the opposite side of the counter, his back to you while he moved the paint brush in long strokes over the wall. The blue paint was a beautiful contrast to the ugly, dull brown colour that had covered the library interior for as long as you knew. It was almost hypnotic to watch the way Oscar's brush coated over the wall with the pretty new shade, as if cleansing the place. "How about you?"

"I always liked Christmas time," he said quietly.

You thought the soft inflection in his voice almost sounded sad. You stilled, silent as you watched him, wishing you could see his face in that instant and perhaps gauge some sort of reading on him in that moment. Your mind was scrambling to think of another question to ask, but before you could say anything Oscar sighed and took a step back from the wall to survey his handiwork. "Well, it's getting there. I tell you what, all this work has made me hungry."

You glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was just after noon. Lunch would be being served in the cafeteria now. Oscar laid the paint brush on-top of the lid of the paint can and finally turned around to face you. Your eyes flicked to his face and you were briefly surprised by the hopeful, shy twinkle in his dark brown eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Uh...I was thinking...Would you like to go...to the mess hall and get some lunch with me?"

You weren't hungry at all, but you were enjoying your time with Oscar and didn't want it to end.

"That would be nice," you responded softly.

Oscar exhaled a small breathy chuckle, as if he were relieved by your answer. You noticed the flash of his straight teeth and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes whenever he laughed, attributes that you found highlighted his already striking appearance.

"Great, let's go," Oscar grinned.

******

Oscar locked the library door behind you and tucked the key in his pants pocket before you began the leisurely walk side by side up the mainstreet towards the mess hall. You were conscious not to walk too quickly out of consideration for his injured ankle, but you could tell Oscar was trying his best to maintain a steady pace.

"Sorry, I'm still a bit slow," he mumbled apologetically. "It's almost all healed up."

"There's no need to apologise." You gave a little wave of dismissal. "It's nice not rushing. Especially on such a beautiful day."

And you were right. Rays of sunshine poured through clusters of dull white clouds while a gentle breeze caused the yellowing leaves on the ground to dance along the street. Birds tweeted sweet symphonies from the tops of the trees and the aroma of baked goods floated in the air.

The town centre was always vibrant with a flurry of activity. As you walked, you and Oscar watched the various community members going about their day; children kicking a worn ball around the street, some women on their way to the market with woven baskets tucked under their arms, a group of patrolmen stalking towards the stables, others milling around the shop fronts that lined the street. Witnessing the daily adventures of the residents of Jackson filled you with a sense of belonging and affection for the town you called home.

When you reached the mess hall Oscar hurried to grab the door handle and open the door for you to step through first. The gesture made you smile, and you thanked him before you entered the cafeteria. Oscar followed behind you and leaned over your shoulder to speak closer to your ear.

"Judging from the smell coming from the kitchen, I bet today's lunch is pumpkin soup. Smells a hell of alot better than the tuna casserole last week."

You giggled at him and weaved inbetween the tables toward the bench you usually sat at with your friends. The hall was a little less than half full and primarily occupied by small groups of workers taking their lunch break. You sat down but Oscar stayed standing.

"I'll go get some lunch for us," he said with a smile. "You want some juice or something?"

"Oh, I'm actually not really hungry," you mumbled sheepishly, feeling your cheeks blush. Oscar's eyebrows creased into a frown at your confession. "I just...I didn't want to stop hanging out..."

"Oh, no, that won't do," Oscar shook his head. "You can't just sit there while I eat. Come on. Just have a little bit with me. Please?"

It was difficult to deny Oscar's request when his tone of voice was so tender, when the orbs of his eyes looked at you pleadingly behind the delicate rims of his round glasses. Without saying anything, you let out a small sigh of defeat and Oscar's face lit up in triumph.

"Attagirl," he grinned. "Okay, be right back."

Oscar made his way through the clusters of tables towards the kitchen area. You watched him walk away, unable to suppress the shy smile that had curled on your lips. You hadn't made a new friend for a very long time but the warmth between you and Oscar inspired a joyful hope inside your heart, a desire for more experiences and different opportunities, including new friendships.

A minute later Oscar returned from the lunch line carrying a tray with two bowls of pumpkin soup, two spoons, two rolls of bread, and a cup of orange juice. He walked slowly back to your table, concentrating on balancing the tray in his hands. You found the small crease of his eyebrows and the way he bit his bottom lip as he focused to be adorable. When he approached the table and set the tray down carefully infront of you he sighed with relief.

"Here we go. Sorry it isn't tuna casserole." Oscar said with feigned disappointment.

You snickered and looked at the bowls of soup on the tray, little swirls of steam rising from the surface of the warm liquid. It smelt delicious.

"Looks like you were right - pumpkin soup."

You sat opposite each other and made small conversation, words flowing between you easily, just like at the library. You found yourself unconsciously dipping your bread roll in the rich soup and biting into it, mirroring Oscar's actions. The soup was nourishing and tasty and you savoured it's flavour and texture unabashed, humming in appreciation every so often. You couldn't recall the last time you savoured a meal like this. You knew Oscar was pleased to see your pleasure, to see you relishing the food together, but he didn't mention it. You were thankful for that.

Suddenly a voice was calling out Oscar's name from across the cafeteria, interrupting a story he was telling you mid sentence. You both looked up to the man who was trying to get Oscar's attention and saw it was Troy, one of Jackson's main patrolmen. He had just entered into the mess hall and stood there grinning at Oscar.

"When are you comin' back to work, Baryshnikov?" Troy said good naturedly before heaving out a booming laugh. Oscar chuckled and shook his head.

"Not until Tommy takes that damn rifle off your hands, you maniac!" Oscar shouted back.

The lighthearted teasing made you giggle. You watched the interaction with amusement, enjoying the chance to see what Oscar was like when he socialised with others. However your relaxed demeanour was completely shattered when Joel swaggered in through the door and came to stand next to Troy, his features arranged into his usual scowl. Your breath caught in your throat and you froze, unable to look away.

Unexpectedly running into Joel was now something you dreaded, especially after he ambushed you last night. And here in this moment you were in the company of another man, a scenario you had never been in before. What would Joel think?

Joel's dark puppy dog eyes swept over the cafeteria stoically. Then he spotted you. You chewed your bottom lip as his eyes then flickered over to Oscar. You could immediately recognise the moment when realisation hit him, the reality that you were sitting alone with Oscar, another man, and eating lunch together. You noticed Joel's body language shift immediately, signs that were perhaps imperceptible to anyone but you; the subtle intense shift in his eyes, the irritated tick of his jaw, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Oscar greeted Joel with a smile, oblivious to the rage stirring inside him. Joel gave him a nod of acknowledgement in return. Troy slapped a hand on Joel's shoulder and jerked his head towards the kitchen.

"Let's get some grub before patrol," you could see Troy saying.

Joel turned to him and said something in return, then spun around and stalked back to the hall door. You watched him silently, your hands now shaking in your lap. Before pushing the door open and leaving, Joel paused and stared at you for a few seconds, a piercing coldness swimming in his orbs. You felt the panic pool in your stomach. Then he walked out.

#joel miller dark #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller dark fic #oscar isaac

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afictionaladventure16 · 11 months

Note

Could you do meeting stepdad! Pedro for the first time? Please and thank you!😭💗

To Build a Home (Pedro Pascal x Teen!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/N: I feel like this one was too short but I've been having writers block and this is the best I could do! I hope you enjoy it!! <3

Word Count: 2,880

Summary: Your mother decides it is time for you to meet her boyfriend of six months, you are defensive at first, but you think you could get used to the idea of having this one around more often.

This is fine.

Everything about this situation is okay.

No need to panic. You thought to yourself. Watching your mother frantically cook in the kitchen as if her life depended on it. You have never seen your mother this frantic since the day your grandmother decided to do a surprise visit.

“Mom?” you quietly said, walking around the counter.

“Honey, can you grab me some garlic, it should be next to the bananas… bananas… shit! I forgot to make dessert!” She groaned to herself as she handled the hot pan in front of her.

You sighed, grabbing the garlic and setting it down on the counter beside her, “Mom,” you said a little louder.

“What, honey?” She quickly gave you a glance before taking notice of the garlic you had placed on the counter. She grabbed it, taking it over to the cutting board.

“Can you look at me for a moment?” You asked desperately.

She sighed, putting down everything before turning to give you her full attention. “Si, Cariño?”

“I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.” You regretted the words as soon as they had left your mother, seeing the reaction on your mother's face. How her eyes watered and her mouth frowned.

“But, Cariño, you told me you were ready. We had a whole discussion– I don’t understand.”

You sighed, “I know, I–I think I’m nervous ‘s all.”

“Nervous? Sweetie, how do you think we feel?” You shrugged, “Pedro has been messaging me all week about how he wants to cancel because he’s nervous.” She sighed, “Honey, you’re not the only one that is feeling this way.”

“So, we should cancel?”

She shook her head, “It’s time for you to meet Pedro.” You feared that she would say that. It only meant one thing. One thing you truly feared, she was deeply in love with him. That what they had was something serious and it could lead to them becoming more than just boyfriend and girlfriend. It meant that you would now have to share your mother with someone and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

Especially with how the last time ended. You still had nightmares from when your father was around, images in your head that never left. What if Pedro turned out to be just like your father?

“Okay,” you felt defeated. Your mother was a person who didn’t budge. Once she had made a decision it was final.

“Now you either help me cook or you get out of my kitchen,” she stated, turning her body to face the counter once more to busy herself with the garlic in front of her.

For the longest, it had always been you and your mother. Your father had no visitation rights since you were eight, so for the past five years, you and your mother picked up the pieces and started a new life. A better life.

Your mother focused mainly on work in the filming industry and eventually, she was able to afford a nice house for the two of you. That’s what it was, just the two of you. You never imagined that one day, it could potentially be three of you. That your mother would one day want to find love again.

“Do you love him?” You hesitantly asked.

Your mother stopped everything, letting out a deep sigh, “I’m afraid to answer that question,” she admitted.

You were afraid she would dodge that question, but also you were sad that she had. You had hoped that your mother wouldn’t tip-toe around the subject with you. Maybe she could be honest with you about a topic that wasn’t common in this household.

“Be honest with me,” you reassured. “Do you love him?”

“Love is a strong word,” she whispered.

“And your daughter meeting him is a big step.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I do love him.”

You gave her a small nod, “Then that’s enough for me.”

She gave you a smile before walking around the counter to pull you in for a hug, “Thank you.”

“But this doesn’t mean that I’m not going to give him a hard time, I still don’t trust the man.” You grabbed one of the potatoes that were on the counter, grabbed the peeler, and made your way over to the trash can. “Don’t expect me to call him dad,” you said jokingly, referencing to the movie Stepbrothers.

Your mother giggled, “I don’t expect that at all from you, amor,” she smiled.

The hour quickly passed, and you anxiously sat on the couch, your eyes not peeling away from the clock on the wall. Your foot bounced against the wooden floors, creating a gentle but persistent thud. The sound echoed throughout the room and for a moment you were glad your mother was busy in the kitchen, distracting herself with the neatness of the dining room and kitchen and if she had enough time to whip up something quick for dessert. You could hear her muttering to herself about whether Pedro would enjoy a bar of chocolate for dessert or if that was stupid.

It was any second that Pedro would walk through those doors and your life would change for either the worst or the best. You didn’t know which and you were afraid to find out.

“Sweetie, are you going to wear that?” Your mom asked as she walked into the living room.

You looked down to see what you were wearing, it was what you had worn to school, a plain tee, flannel, and some jeans. It was casual wear for you, “Um, yes?” She raised her eyebrows, “would you like for me to change?”

She sighed, “Would it be fucked up for me to say yes?”

“Kind of, I mean, if he really liked me he wouldn’t care what I wore right? But, on the other hand, I can change to make you feel less anxious.”

Your mother stood there for a second, thinking about what you had just said. Giving you a small nod, “Don’t change,” she stated.

You smiled, knowing you had won, “Alright.”

Your mother's head whipped towards the door at the sound of the doorbell, “Oh my god, that’s him.” She let out a deep breath before looking over at you, “is it too late to cancel?”

“Hey, I tried earlier but you said it was too late.”

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, “What the fuck am I doing? I mean, are we even ready for something like this?”

You sighed, getting up from the couch, “Ama, I think you’ve been ready for a while, you’ve just been scared, but I’m no longer a little girl, Mom. You deserve happiness.”

She gave you a soft smile, placing a hand on your cheek, “Cuando creciste?” (When did you grow up)

“Cuando no estabas mirando,” you smiled. (When you weren’t looking)

“Alright, let’s do this,” she whispered. You trailed behind her as she walked towards the door. You stood back, watching as your mother opened the door. She deserved happiness, no matter what. Even at the cost of yours. She deserved it.

After everything she had been through to protect you, it was the least you could give her. You saw the way she had been these past few months, the after-dates smile, and how she grinned from ear to ear the day after. He made her happy and it scared you, but you couldn’t tell your mother that. You couldn’t ruin it because somehow seeing her so happy made you happy, even if you were weary about the man who was causing it.

Your mother's voice was muffled as she greeted Pedro on the other side of the door. Meeting him meant a lot of things, it meant that it was no longer the two of you on adventures, that he would more than likely tag along. It meant that eventually, you would have to get used to your mom always being with him. He could be here for breakfast some days and you know what that meant. He could be here for dinners on other days and it also meant expressing boundaries.

She deserved this happiness.

“Y/N,” your mother called for you as she stepped aside to let Pedro in. There he was, with a nervous smile playing on his lips and a bouquet of flowers in his hands that you knew was for your mother. “I’d like for you to meet my daughter, Pedro.”

He let out a nervous laugh, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, your mother speaks so much about you.” He held out his free hand for you to shake, and you gently shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you too,” you gave him a hesitant smile.

“Oh! I got you these, your mother said you loved sunflowers and well,” he nervously chuckled, “I hope you like ‘em.”

You gave him a surprised look, glancing at your mom who grinned from ear to ear, “For me?” He gave you a nod, “T–thank you, I–I don’t know what to say!” Pedro handed you the bouquet that was beautifully displayed sunflowers with a few purple flowers here and there and baby’s breath surrounding them. “They’re beautiful, thank you, Pedro!”

Pedro grinned from ear to ear, he relaxed a little. He had been nervous all day about handing you the flowers, afraid that you’d reject them. Maybe this dinner wouldn’t be so bad and maybe he could bond with you after all. He knew some things about you from what your mother had said, but it was only some things. He did know the struggles you and your mother had gone through, knowing very well that this transition wasn’t going to be easy for you. Pedro is determined to try his best to get you to trust him because all he wants is to be a positive influence in your life, it was the way he was. His heart broke to hear what you had been through at such a young age and he wished there was something he could do. Something he could do for you and your mother.

“Well, dinner is ready,” your mother states, “let me show you to the dining room.”

“I-I’m gonna put these away,” you say as you walk towards the kitchen. You set the flowers on the counter, staring at them for a second. This was the first time anyone had gotten you flowers. Your first time getting flowers were supposed to be meaningful. A moment you’d remember forever and for a second you were afraid he had just ruined that. For just a second and it was gone, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the bouquet. “Don’t,” you whispered to yourself. The sound of your mother's laughter coming from the other room. This all felt too good, it would all soon come tumbling down and you knew that, but you did not know if you could handle it.

You took in a deep breath before joining your mother and Pedro in the dining room. You sat across from Pedro at the table, “smells good,” you commented as you began piling food on your plate.

“Thanks, mija,” your mom smiled.

“So, Y/N, your mother tells me you are in the drama club at school?” You gave him a nod.

“She’s thinking about starting auditions for actual films soon, right, mija?”

You shrugged, “It’s still a big maybe.”

“For film? I mean, it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Maybe Pedro could give you some pointers,” your mother suggested.

You cleared your throat, “So, how many siblings do you have?”

“Y/N,” your mother warned.

Pedro chuckled, “It’s okay, Yesenia.” For a moment you forgot your mother had a first name, you were so used to just calling her mom. “I have three siblings.”

“Pedro, you don’t have to answer her questions, she does thi-”

“How many sisters and how many brothers?” You asked.

“Two sisters, one brother.”

You nod, “Please stop interrogating him,” your mother pleaded.

You gave her a small glare before looking over at Pedro, “Where are you from?”

“Chile,” Pedro smiled. He found this amusing and cute. You were protective over your mother and he loved that you were. “Next question?”

“When did you move here?”

“That’s a long story.”

“I have all night, it’s a weekend.”

“Y/N,” your mother warned.

Pedro chuckled, “It’s okay.” He looked back over at you, “Long story short, my family moved here when I was very little but we had to go back when I was a little older when I was old enough I moved back on my own to pursue acting.” He gave you the cliff notes of his life, leaving out the personal details that were still hard for him to talk about, but enough to keep you satisfied. Your mother gave Pedro a sincere smile and he smiled back. She knew the longer version of the story and she was grateful he was answering your questions to his best ability. “Next question?” he asked.

“Do you want more kids?”

Your mother rolled her eyes, “No,” he chuckled.

“No?”

“Yes, he said no and I don’t want more kids either, Y/N,” your mother stated.

“Why not?” you directed the question towards Pedro.

“Because of my schedule mostly, but I also never saw myself having kids. I’m already almost fifty and I don’t think it’s fair on the kid to have a parent that old, you know?”

“Plus, your mother can’t have any more kids and if she could she wouldn’t because childbirth is no joke.”

You rolled your eyes this time, “Alright, last question.”

“Hit me with it,” Pedro stated.

“What are your intentions with my mother?”

“Y/N!” your mother warned.

Pedro chuckled, “I love your mother and I love spending time with her and right now I would like to get to know you because I know you mean the world to her. I know you both have…” Pedro hesitated, “I don’t intend on hurting your mother in any way. I see myself spending a lot more time with her and hopefully, one day, growing old with her.”

You watched as his eyes never left your mother, the way they idolized her as if she were the only thing that mattered. He really loved her and you could see it in him, but could you trust him? You didn’t know. It was hard to know. You barely had any trust, to begin with.

You remained quiet the rest of the dinner, listening to the two of them laugh as they joked around and told stories about some of their dates or their time together on set. He was an actor, he’d be on the road a lot and your mother knew that yet she was okay with it. She was okay with everything about him.

Your mother got up to answer a phone call, leaving the two of you alone.

You pushed your food around with your fork, “You okay?”

You glanced up at Pedro, his eyes showing concern, how you hated that they did that. “Yeah.”

He sighed, placing his fork down, “You don’t have to like me.”

“You got me flowers,” you whispered.

“Your mother kept mentioning how you loved sunflowers, and it felt like the right thing to do.”

“No one has ever gotten me flowers,” you stated.

Pedro sighed, “I’m sorry if I stepped over the line or–”

“No, you didn’t… just taken back ‘s all.”

He gave you a small nod, “Do you like them?”

“Love them,” you corrected. Giving him a small smile, he smiled back. “I just… I always kind of dreamt that my dad would be the first person to get me flowers, you know?”

He nodded, “I’m sorry, I probably should’ve–”

“It’s okay,” you reassured.

He sighed, “I’m not him, you know.” You stayed quiet. “I know, you don’t trust me because of him, but I am not him and I’m willing to give you all the time you need in order for you to allow me in your life. I love your mother, Y/N and I hope that if you get to know me and I get to know you… we could develop a sort of bond… would that be okay?”

There was a little voice inside your head that was screaming yes, she was shouting it so loud that it gave you a headache. Yet, your mouth never moved, seconds passed and you sat there wondering if it would be okay. The little voice argued with the bigger one. One was more naive than the other and one was more hurt than the other.

Your mother stepped back into the dining room, “I was thinking while on the call, maybe the two of you should hang out together sometime soon? Without me there, get to know each other you know?”

Pedro smiled, “Sounds good to me, what do you think, Y/N?”

You shrugged before giving your mother a nod.

She clapped in excitement, “I’ll plan it out for you guys! It’ll be great!” Would that be okay? His voice trailed inside yours for the remainder of the dinner. You wanted it to be okay, but you couldn’t give him an answer, not just yet anyway.

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @Sophieelizabeth01 @tracysnook @cilliansangel @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy @oggystine93 @t-stark35 @twkobii @picklehat3r @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @white-wolf-buckaroo @steadydragongalaxy @rooting4theantihero @soupinasock @Ilovehotdadsandshit @dzaga890 @marantha @emmasauger @marysucks-blog @pcotato @scrappybear89 @dlwrish @what-ever-man213 @boiohboii @drowning-in-paragraphs @stoneredsworld @xmurph7 @sleepylunarwolf @glossy01 @aot-task141-lover @uwiuwi

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sleeping-sirens · 1 year

Note

hey nimi, i hope you’re well! i really loved the drabble you did “morning with haechan” and i was wondering if you could write a scenario with mark maybe teaching f reader how to speak korean + every time she gets it correct, he’ll reward her with a kiss or smth (i like to think mark would actually be really affectionate to his partner) 🥹 thank you <3 this was inspired by mark helping jaemin speak english, it was such a sweet scene, here’s the link: https://twitter.com/markclty/status/1640862192810569728?s=46&t=Tq9aSdZbZ4voR3kbqgerrw

가르쳐 줘 (teach me) 𖤐 lee mark

pairing : idol mark x f reader.

genre : lots of fluffffffff, domestic, established relationship.

summary : what the request said, and i also was inspired by his moment with jungwoo in their relay cam where each had to come up with a word that starts with what the previous word that’s been said ended with (idk if i explained that right but you can watch it here if you still haven’t 🥹).

word count : 2810 words.

warnings : mark whispering that’s my girl this is a huge warning😵‍💫 and maybe suggestive towards the end? other than that everything is just so cute and wholesome 😭🥹🫶🏼

a/n : hey anon! i hope you enjoyed this! sorry it took too long i was just trying to organize my thoughts as my brain is just rotting with heachan 😵‍💫 but i wanted to prioritize your request before i can proceed with writing my haechan thoughts down haha 😋 also i wanted to thank you for reading and enjoying my morning with haechan drabble that’s so sweet from you!!🫶🏼🥹 and i would be EXTREMELY happy if you could tell me what you think of this through an ask😭 i’d love to hear your opinion as i already did a request before this one and i’ve never gotten any feedback so i was a bit sad :(( anywayssss without further ado, please enjoy!!💘💞💕💖💗💓

masterlist

buy me a coffee🥹🫶🏼

the kitchen was quiet again after you turned off the water boiler. with the tea bags already tucked inside the two mugs on the counter, you poured the hot water and watched as it quickly changed its color, from clear to deep red. the steam created small clouds that kept disappearing into the air as you took your mug in both hands to warm your palms before placing it on a platter, followed by your boyfriend’s.

the gloomy weather outside made you feel calm and collected, and your body moved smoothly around the kitchen as you tried to cut some pieces of cake, along some strawberries and bananas for you and your boyfriend to munch on while chilling in the living room. it was a sunday, a rare day for mark to have some rest and just relax at home and you were so happy that you guys were going to spend some time together after ages of him being busy.

from the small distance separating the kitchen and the living room, you could hear him talking on the phone. you heard him say 엄마 (eomma) a few times, and you could easily understand that he was talking to his mother on the phone. other than that, you were quite clueless about what he was saying.

sometimes you’d feel so left out of his life, you wanted to be part of everything that made him be the person that he was today. mark never once made you feel a difference because of the language barrier, you guys communicate easily in english but sometimes you just wish you could understand more than just a few words of his mother tongue.

you bit your lip slightly as you gazed at him from your standing position in the kitchen. his voice was smooth, almost dripping with warm honey, the words sounding more gruff and slurred than usual, which signaled that he was indeed relaxed but also very tired that just one day of rest won’t be enough to make it up for all the work load that’s been on his shoulders.

your eyes softened on him, your tea long forgotten as you just relished in the sound of his small and sweet voice. he looked so cute curled up in the far side of the couch, head lying in the arm rest as his fingers raked mindlessly through his disheveled blue strands of hair.

his eyes would close for longer seconds and sometimes he would just opt for humming an answer instead of taking the time to formulate a coherent one. your heart swelled as you looked at him.

“my baby…” you sighed under your breath.

your gaze was lingering on him too long he felt it burning on his skin, which made him throw a look up in your direction. his tongue poked the corner of his mouth while a smile bloomed on his lips, his eyebrows jumped up his forehead into a questioning look, asking you if you were okay with a tilt of his face but you just smiled at him, shaking your head.

“tell her i said hi,” you whispered to him and he nodded in response, quickly translating your phrase into korean.

you were fascinated to say the least, you’ve always been. the way mark quickly switched from english to korean, or sometimes mixing both the languages in one phrase was effortlessly attractive to you.

at first you tried to learn the language secretly from him, thinking about surprising him with it in the future, but as you went on, your hopes have diminished as it got harder with every grammar lesson, and not to start talking about the vocabulary… mark knew that you started learning korean and everyday he would be so proud to be with someone like you, to be loved by someone like you.

the fact that you decided to sacrifice some time out of your day to learn the language that he grew up with, the language that linked him with his family and his roots, the language in which mark felt home made him fall even deeper in love with you. and he was always so happy to help you with it.

“i’ll never be enough for you,” you sniffled, letting go of the pencil you had between your fingers before hugging your knees closer to your chest.

when mark saw the effort you were making in learning his mother tongue, his heart swelled and grew larger inside his chest, that he wanted to physically grab it and put it back in its place.

“sweetheart, why haven’t you told me?” he scooted closer to your body that was sitting on the floor, pushing your notebook and pencil case aside and engulfing you in a warm embrace. “i could teach you,” his fingers gently rubbed your arm in a comforting manner. he made you feel so loved with just small and tender touches.

“you would?” you whispered, finally looking up at him.

mark wiped your tears with the back of his index finger, a love foolish smile illuminating his face. “of course i would. let me see your notebook, we’ll start with the basics.”

that was the conversation you guys had a few weeks ago and since then, mark has never stopped taking some time to help you learn the language little by little.

when the call with his mother ended, you grabbed the platter with the tea mugs, cake and cut up fruits and went to sit next to him on the couch.

“how’s your family?” you asked as you handed his tea mug over to him.

“thanks babe,” mark sat up straight and quickly took the cup from your hands, giving you a quick peck on the lips as a thank you before he answered your question. “they’re doing good, they’re on a vacation in gangwon right now.” he talked before taking a sip.

“really? it’s cold right now to be in a beach area,” you wondered, plopping a strawberry inside your mouth.

“exactly,” mark swallowed his cake bite, “their plan was to see the snow on the beach.” his eyes traveled up to give you an encouraging look, the words being something you knew the translation to them in korean.

you quickly understood your assignment. “해변에 눈 (haebyeon-ae noon),” you smiled as you answered confidently.

“good job, babe,” he scrunched his nose at you, following it by a bright smile. “let’s see if you can translate another word, how about that?”

“mark, this is supposed to be your rest day,” you laughed, leaning on his shoulder.

“i am resting,” he reassured, his hand reaching out to secure your head on his shoulder when you wanted to pull away from his body. this little action was enough to send your heart into a frenzy of heartbeats and butterflies.

“mmm,” mark hummed, the vibrations of his voice spreading throughout your body and making you feel at ease. “if you could tell me what we’re doing right now, in korean, i’ll reward you with something.”

“what would that be?” you asked, wittingly.

“the reward?”

you hummed as a yes.

“i’ll let you know when you give an answer, and it needs to be right.”

“mark,” you whined. “that’s unfair!”

“how would that be unfair babe,” mark laughed, his body rocking along yours. “i know you can do it, come on.”

“uhmm, right now we are…” you started thinking, the words coming inside your brain in english first. “drinking tea?”

“yes…in korean?” mark encouraged you to continue.

“지금…“

”ooooohhhhh,” mark reacted too quickly, rubbing your arm and tapping on it encouragingly, already being impressed by you translating one of the most basic words in korean. you were so proud and so happy that he easily made you feel so confident.

“차를 마셔요 (cha-reul masheoyeo)” you articulated slowly, still very much unsure of your translation skills.

“very good baby,” mark pecked your temple. “but what did we learn about actions that are currently happening in time? right now it’s like you said “we drink tea” but there’s a specific way to say “we’re drinking tea”, you remember?”

you hummed in question again. “마시고 있어요 (mashigo isseoyeo)?”

“very good job baby!” mark ruffled your hair and engulfed you in a big hug, pressing your face in his chest. he was very happy and excited that you got it right.

you were happy as well and you started giggling out of nowhere. “let’s do something else.”

“oooohhhh we’re confident now, are we?” he joked which made you slap his chest gently.

“you told me there was a reward, so i’m all in or nothing.”

“okay,” mark chuckled, scratching his chin. “how would you say that the weather is cold outside and you just wanna chill with your talented and handsome boyfriend?”

“that’s intermediate level mark, i’m still a beginner.”

“come on babe, i know you can do it.” he made you pull away from his chest and positioned you to be sitting in front of him on the couch. he stretched his legs in a way that you would be sitting between them before he wrapped them behind your back and pulled you closer to his body.

the heat raised to your ear at his swift movement and the proximity of his body made your heart beat like crazy. mark’s hands reached for your thighs and spread them so he could be positioned in the middle of them as well, before helping you wrap them around his waist.

inside your head, you just tried to control your breathing. your brain felt mushy, thoughts evaporating while your ears buzzed with exhilaration. your pupils dilated as you fixated mark’s face, your gaze zeroing on the mole on his face to avoid looking directly into his eyes.

“babe?” he tapped on your cheek and chuckled when he saw your flustered state. “you’re zoning out, there’s a reward remember?”

“yeah…yes! the reward,” you laughed nervously, wondering what the reward would be. you were already trembling and your heart was palpitating with mark’s face being so close to yours, you could feel his breath fanning over your skin.

“okay, let’s start with translating “the weather is cold outside” first, then we’ll go from there.” he guided you.

you nodded, clearing your throat. mark’s hands rubbed your knees, massaging all over the area to help you relax and concentrate but you were failing miserably as the only thing you could think of was how he was touching you.

you felt so bad ruining such a wholesome moment with your intrusive thoughts but you were just so in love with mark that every little touch still made you feel all giddy.

you bit your lip, inhaling deeply from your nose.

“don’t be nervous,” mark whispered, nodding his head to encourage you to speak.

“추워 (chuweo)…”

“come on babe, give me a full sentence.” he smiled but you just couldn’t get your brain to function properly, you could neither return the smile nor think of what to say. “what did we say about the weather? you learned this word not long ago.”

“i know it starts with an “N”…” you mumbled, your eyes looking everywhere.

“right!” he exclaimed, leaning in to give you a small kiss on the cheek. “here’s a small reward for remembering the start of the word.”

your heart was going to burst out of your chest at how kind and patient mark was with you. and you tried so hard to get the sentence right so you could see his proud smile blooming on his face again.

“날씨가 추워요 (nalssi-ga chuwoyeo)-“you stopped before he could react, “mark i don’t know how to say outside in korean,” you pouted, looking down at your fiddling fingers.

“it’s okay baby, you’re doing so good already.” he ruffled your hair again before noticing your fiddling fingers. he placed his palms on your hand in a calming manner. “in korean it’s okay to drop the word outside in a sentence, just saying the weather is cold (날씨가 추워요) is enough. but in case you want to use it in a sentence in the future, outside is 밖 (bakk). if you want to use it, you need to pair it with 에 (e) or 은 (eun), depends on the sentence.”

you listened carefully to his explanation, while playing with his fingers instead of fiddling with yours.

“so the full sentence would be 밖은 날씨가 추워요 (bakk-eun nalssoga chuwoyeo)?”

“exactly! good job baby,” mark clapped as he saw the relieved smile appear on your face. “now for the second part of the sentence.”

“what was it again? the second sentence?” you sheepishly asked, laughing nervously.

mark raised his eyebrow at you, a poor attempt at flirting with you and you laughed so hard at that. he started leaning closer to you, with his eyebrow still raised. you tried to stop him from getting closer by putting your hands on his shoulders, both of you laughing so hard at each other.

“mark what are you doing?” you asked through the fit of laughter that was going on between you. mark bit his lip, exaggerating his flirtatious action.

“maaaark,” you whined. “stop!” your stomach hurt from how hard you were laughing and he was laughing just as hard as you.

“okay okay,” he surrendered, raising his hands in defeat. “the sentence was “i just want to chill with my talented and handsome boyfriend” now come on.”

“is talented and handsome mandatory?” you laughed, rolling your eyes jokingly.

“of course! if you want to learn korean, you need to know the right words to compliment me with,” he tilted his head to the side, his long fringe draping over his round eyes, “or nah?” he whispered the last word, his voice going an octave deeper.

you cleared your throat. “right, of course, but i only know handsome in korean.”

“mmhm,” mark hummed, squinting his eyes. “that’s not bad already. you know what, skip talented, let’s leave it for a later session, how about that?”

you laughed at his attempts at flirting with you. he was just so cute and so effortlessly attractive with just acting boyish and love foolish. and you loved him just the way he was. you loved his nervousness and you loved the way he would stumble upon his own words sometimes. but most of all, you loved how he always made sure to show you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him. with his encouragement and kind words always warming your heart, you were certain that your heart was in good hands.

you loved him openly and without any restraints. never once being afraid of him breaking your heart. and you promised to be just as good with him as he was with you.

without realizing it, you leaned closer to his cheek where you placed a soft kiss on his skin. and he gave you a questioning look. “thank you for being patient with me mark.”

he smiled as a response. “of course babe.” he rubbed your hand with his thumb before nudging you to continue your assignment.

“okay, so… we said 밖은 날씨가 추워요, now we’re gonna say…잘 생긴 남자 친구와 (jalsaeng-in namjachingu-wa) chill…how do we say chill in korean?”

“just go with chill, that’s alright.” mark smiled.

“okay,” you nodded. “잘 생긴 남자 친구와 chill하고 싶어요 (jalsaeng-in namjachingu-wa chill-hago sipeoyo).”

“perfect!” mark smiled so bright, squeezing your cheeks between his palms until your lips pouted. “that’s my girl,” he whispered before leaning closer to you and kissing you softly on the lips.

your breath hitched inside your throat, and mark noticed it and tried to calm you down and help you get into the kiss by playing with the hair on your nape. he smiled into your lips when you started kissing him back, sneaking your hands around his waist. eagerly, mark brushed his hands down your back before clutching on your thighs and helping you sit on his lap, without breaking the kiss.

“you did so good today you deserve to be kissed until you lose your breath.” mark whispered, his soft breath numbing your puffy lips, making them feel tingly and itching for another kiss.

“is that my reward?” you breathlessly asked, wrapping your arms around his neck, your nose brushing over his.

“you don’t like it?” he looked up at you with hooded eyes. he looked worried, and you played with his neck to show him just how much you loved to be kissed by him.

“i love it!” you breathed out, finally crashing your lips on his, making him emit a low hum from his throat.

did someone say you prepared some cut up fruits for the both of you to enjoy on his rest day? those didn’t even compare to the plenty of kisses you guys were going to give each other.

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adrift-in-thyme · 10 months

Text

The Ghost in the Lost Woods

While trying to navigate the Lost Woods Link meets a strangely familiar figure

Ao3 | Fic beneath the cut

————————————

When he ends up at the entrance to the Lost Woods for the twentieth time Link is forced to finally admit it. He’s lost, hopelessly so.

With a sigh, he ignites his torch once more. This is the only part of the woods he’s been to so far where he can actually see two feet in front of him. Everything else is bathed in thick fog that he can make neither heads nor tails of.

Supposedly, the wind is meant to guide his steps and bring him to the place where the Master Sword awaits.

Supposedly.

It certainly hasn’t helped him yet.

Maybe he should turn back. He casts a glance over his shoulder to where he knows the path lies, hopelessly obscured by the fog. He could set up camp right outside the forest, cook something warm and hearty, get some sleep. Then, when morning dawned he’d be up bright and early, ready to try again.

But he doesn’t want to give up, not yet, not now when he’s already wasted half of a day trying to navigate these blasted woods.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and heads forward once more.

He makes it five steps before the mist closes in, the telltale giggles of Koroks fill his ears, and the forest spits him out…right back at the entrance.

Link lets out a growl of frustration. How’s he supposed to pull the sword when he can’t even find it? He stumbled upon it before, a mere chance encounter when he was a child playing amongst the trees. Why is it so very difficult now?

Does the Goddess not want him to find it? Has she deemed him unworthy after his miserable failure?

It wouldn’t surprise him.

He extinguishes his torch and walks over to the nearest tree. Flopping down, he leans against it and closes his eyes. The sounds of the forest drift to his ears, carried on the wings of the wind that failed him. Usually, they’re calming, a balm on his frayed nerves, grounding him when the weight of everything becomes too much. But today they only serve to remind him that even nature itself rejects him.

He lets out a bitter laugh. He’s unworthy of a forest now. Fancy that.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

A voice slices through the quiet, pushing aside his dismal thoughts. Link opens his eyes.

“Huh?”

A tall man dressed in a full plate of armor gazes down at him, his one eye twinkling with something like amusement.

“I asked if you were lost.”

Link blinks once, twice. He has the oddest feeling he’s met this man before, maybe even known him well. But that can’t be. He makes a point of remembering everyone he comes across on his travels and he’s never even seen this man, much less gotten to know him.

Then again, he doesn’t even remember the faces of his parents. If this man is from his past, there is little chance he would recall him now.

“Umm.”

Eyes narrowing, he looks from the man to the woods and back again. He could be a Yiga, of course. That would explain his unexpected appearance. He has never seen Yiga in these parts though. No doubt they’re afraid to venture too close to the mysterious Lost Woods. And, then, there’s also the fact that he isn’t wearing one of their trademark suits, nor offering to sell him overpriced bananas.

Besides, this man has a strange sort of aura about him, almost like the feeling Link gets when he uses one of the Champion’s powers. He must possess strong magic–maybe even dark magic if the odd markings on his face are any indication. Yet, he dresses like a knight.

And to make matters even stranger, he wavers slightly out of focus if Link stares at him for too long, skin turning just the tiniest bit bluish and translucent. With him standing with his back to the woods, Link has the distinct impression of a phantom emerging from the hazy darkness of the trees.

This man is no ordinary traveler, that much is terribly obvious.

Link frowns up at him, hand drifting ever so slowly to his slate. “Who are you?”

The man smiles, kind and a bit sad. “You can call me Time.”

Time.

Link’s frown deepens. There it is again, the feeling of unexplainable familiarity, as though he’s heard that name before.

“And you’re…traveling through these woods too?”

“You could say that.”

Slowly, Link stands, careful to keep his hand by his slate. He hasn’t tested Stasis on magical beings or ghosts, but it’s worth a try. At the very least, he might be able to take advantage of the element of surprise. His efforts to be nonchalant must not be too effective, though, because Time’s gaze flits to his hip.

“You don’t have to worry,” he says, evenly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then, why are you here?”

He regards him calmly, arms crossed over his chest. “To guide the hero to his birthright. That is what you’re after, isn’t it?”

Link’s blood runs cold. Usually, he has no qualms about strangers knowing who and what he is. But usually, they’re random civilians more interested in meeting their crush or seeing a mythical weapon than anything else. And they certainly don’t possess any magical abilities. For this man, however, this strange knight who practically emanates power to know who he is, feels…well it doesn’t feel wrong at all. In fact, it feels as right as following Zelda’s voice or setting the Divine Beasts free. It feels like destiny.

And that is what terrifies him.

“What,” he chokes, “what makes you think I’m the hero?”

Time smirks. “To attempt to pass through these woods you must either be incredibly foolish or incredibly courageous. And you don’t strike me as a fool.”

Link swallows down the fear lodged in his throat. He isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. He’s never been a good liar, that much is for certain, but sometimes he really, really wishes he was.

“Besides,” Time continues, reaching down to pull off one of his gauntlets, “it’s not all that difficult to recognize someone else who possesses the unbreakable spirit.”

He holds up his hand and Link’s eyes go wide. There on his skin is the mark of the Triforce, its far right corner bolded in gold.

Link stares at it, almost not believing what he’s seeing. Slowly, he drags his gaze back up to meet Time’s.

“You—you’re a hero too?”

“I was.” Time replaces his gauntlet, that sorrowful smile lifting his lips once more. “But that was a very long time ago.”

“And now you’re a ghost.”

He chuckles. “Yes, and now I’m a ghost.”

Link runs a hand through his bangs and blows out a breath.

“Okay, wow.”

“Is it really that strange to you?” Time lifts an eyebrow, quizzically. “You’re over a hundred years old, and you often travel with the spirit of your predecessor.”

Link tilts his head questioningly. “Wolfie? How do you know about him?”

“I have my ways.”

Link lets out an exasperated huff. Of course, he’d get the most cryptic ghost in all of Hyrule to guide him. Even Wolfie gives straighter answers than that and he’s incapable of speech.

But Time is gesturing toward the forest now, and Link can tell that particular question isn’t one he’ll get an answer to.

“So, shall we go?”

Link takes one last look at the path and then nods. If he can’t trust the ghost of a past hero, who can he trust?

“Lead on, old man.”

Emotion surges across Time’s face, then is gone faster than Link has time to identify it. He turns away.

“These woods are treacherous,” he says, tone suspiciously level. “Stay close.”

He plunges into the mist, and Link jogs after him.

“Treacherous?”

The only dangers he’s found here are wolves and stalfos. And given that he encounters those practically everywhere he goes, he’s more inclined to label them as incredibly annoying.

Time skewers him with a somber glance. “Those who don’t know how to navigate these woods are swallowed by them. They become stalfos, cursed to wander forever. The forest children have kept you safe from this fate.”

“Oh.”

Well, that certainly brings up more than a few questions and a good bit of discomfort. Suddenly, the fog crowding him on either side seems infinitely more threatening, and Link finds himself gravitating closer to his guide.

“So, how come you know how to get through here when no one else does?” he asks, pivoting on his heel as Time makes an unexpected turn.

The old man’s expression grows nostalgic. “I grew up here. Well, not here exactly, but the Lost Woods in my Hyrule aren’t so different from these.”

Link hums, thoughtfully. He hadn’t thought anyone inhabited this forest save for monsters, animals, and Koroks. But it’s not too hard to imagine that long ago in a different Hyrule this man called the Lost Woods his home. He navigates them with confidence and skill, almost as though the trees themselves are guiding him with silent, invisible hands. And if he were wearing green, Link suspects he would look like he truly belonged here.

“Is this your responsibility, then?” he asks. “To guide people through these woods?”

“No,” Time answers, calmly. “I am only here to guide you.”

Link goes quiet once more, mulling over that in his head. It’s one thing for the Champions, and Zelda, and even Wolfie to guide and protect him. It’s quite another for this man, only connected to him through shared destiny, to show up to aid him, and after all this time too.

It makes so little sense. Then again, he’s found that to be a sort of trend lately.

A blupee darts past them, and he watches it, almost idly wondering if he should take a shot at it. But then it comes an abrupt stop right in front of Time, looking up at him almost expectantly. Time pauses and reaches down to run a gentle hand over it’s head. The animal leans closer, emitting a small, happy sounding noise, and Link shakes his head in disbelief.

“They always run from me.”

As if on cue, the blupee stiffens, bright eyes locking onto him, then disappears in a puff of blue. Time turns to him, something almost accusatory in his gaze.

“Perhaps, if you stopped shooting at them they would be more inclined to stay.” He straightens and makes a beckoning motion with his hand. “Now, come, we’re almost there.”

Link follows him, feeling strangely chastised and a bit annoyed.

It isn’t enough to just be cryptic, apparently, Time has to be judgmental too.

“I don’t wanna hurt them,” he says after a few moments drift by and the need to defend himself still hasn’t gone away. “I’m just always light on rupees.”

“There are other ways of earning rupees, you know,” Time says, tone still infuriatingly level.

With a petulant scowl, Link goes back to plodding along in silence.

It’s not long, though, before the fog begins to dissipate, and Link can see the beginnings of a tunnel looming up ahead. Time comes to a halt a short distance before it and gestures toward it.

“We’re here.”

Link steps forward, almost hesitantly. After trying so hard to get here, he isn’t sure what to do now. The Master Sword awaits him just past these trees – “his birthright,” as Time put it.

But after his miserable failure, can he possibly pull it? Or will it deem him unworthy of another chance to save his kingdom?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s standing frozen, rooted to the spot, until a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Jumping slightly in surprise, he raises his head to meet Time’s gaze. All judgment is gone now, replaced by something kind and understanding. He might, Link realizes with a jolt of surprise, even call it fatherly.

“You are equipped to rise to this challenge,” he says, firmly. “You have worked diligently to prepare for this moment. Now, it is time to claim what is rightfully yours.”

He gives Link the slightest nudge and he steps forward, heart in his throat.

He’s right, it’s time. But…

“And if I’m not–if I’m not ready for this…”

“The sword holds a strict standard, I know. But I have no doubt you will measure up to it.”

His hands are trembling, his stomach churning, but Link takes another step and another. The tunnel is like a gaping maw, ready to devour him, and spit him out bruised and battered by the expectations he can never meet. There is a pull too though, an indescribable feeling that draws him forth, as though he belongs here, as though taking these very steps was written in his history from the start.

As though his failure and all the consequences of it has all led to this, pivotal moment.

His feet carry him, his body moves for him, and it feels right.

“Go, my son,” Time says, voice fading into the mist, “and do not falter.”

Link steps into the sun.

It’s only when it’s all said and done, when the sword is in his hands, and the Deku Tree’s words are ringing in his ears, and the forest children are crowding around him, eager to meet his every need that he sees them. A gray wolf and a golden one sit a short distance away, cloaked by the mist, unnoticed by anyone save for him. And when his eyes meet theirs, there is pride in their gazes.

#I’ve seen some awesome artworks on here depicting the hero of time leading botw link through the lost woods #and just had to write something similar #also #I’m obsessed with the headcanon that wild is twilight’s descendant and so time’s too #wouldn’t it be cool if they both watched out for him?#two guardian grandpa wolves just following him around and judging him for his crazy antics lol #and of course protecting him #…and also taking part in those crazy antics cause we all know they’re gremlins too XD #anyway #might have to write something longer along those lines someday #loz #botw #linkeduniverse #lu time #lu wild #trin writes #hero’s shade #kinda

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miasmaghoul · 10 months

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im tired and sad so have 1.7k of aeon/dew hurt/comfort ft light angst and f e e l i n g s

(rated explicit for a somewhat dubious handjob)

Sleeping on the bus has proven to be a challenge for Aeon.

The motion is soothing for some, likes waves on the sand, but for the first two weeks all Aeon could focus on was his lumpy mattress and every bump they hit. The exhaustion eventually set in, though, and when you're tired enough it's easy to sleep though damn near anything.

It helps that things get familiar after a while. The movement feels less like a disruption and more like gentle rocking, the mechanical sound of the bus fading into little more than white noise. By week three, the only thing that can wake Aeon is his phone alarm.

And, apparently, Dew crawling into his bunk in the middle of the night.

He was quiet about it, Aeon hadn't heard a thing, but the bunks are small. Cramped. It's hard not to be jostled awake when someone joins you unexpectedly, no matter how subtle they try to be about it.

Aeon doesn't know how late it is, but he was deep enough asleep that he can't find his voice. Instead, he blinks at Dew, bleary and confused. Trying to process, to focus. Dew, for his part, doesn't say anything either. He simply molds himself to Aeon's side and nuzzles into his shoulder. Rests a hand on his stomach, just above the hem of his shirt. It's so...new.

It's not that the pair of them haven't had their share of encounters, but never anything like this. It's always been frenzied, rushed. Filled with frantic desire that needed an outlet, always right after a show. Dew has never slept with him, has never come to him with anything approaching softness, and between that and the haze still clouding his mind, Aeon doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He settles on wrapping an arm around Dew, asking in a thick voice,

"Wha's up?"

Dew says nothing, now fiddling with the drawstring of Aeon's pajama pants. (They're his favorite ones - purple cotton, decorated with monkeys and bananas, a road gift from Aether.) He tries again, and after a moment Dew heaves a small sigh. He won't offer anything further, thought, and Aeon doesn't pry. He's so tired, automatically rubbing small circles into Dew's back and deciding that any questions can wait until his brain is working again.

Aeon hums when Dew snuggles closer, chuffing out a soft laugh when Dew presses his nose to neck and breathes him in. He's so warm, so close, and Aeon feels himself starting to drift off. Cozy and peaceful.

That is, of course, right up until Dew's lithe fingers slip right underneath his waistband to pet at his soft cock.

Aeon gasps, jolts, but Dew doesn't seem to notice. His sleepy brain struggles to process everything - Dew's hand slowly but surely working him up, Dew's nose at his throat, those long legs tangled with his own under his thin blanket.

"Dew?" He only manages to slur the name out when Dew wraps that hot hand around him and begins to stroke. They're tight pulls, designed to hit every sensitive spot and get him leaking pre in no time.

"Shh," Dew finally speaks - more of a hiss, really - soft lips at the juncture of Aeon's shoulder. "Just...just let me do this, okay?"

It's a bad idea, he's pretty sure. Why, he doesn't know, but something in the back of Aeon's head tells him so. Warns that this isn't something he should allow, that he should tell Dew to stop.

Dew thumbs over the tip, and against his better judgement, Aeon doesn't stop him. Doesn't even try, can't. Not when that elegant hand works him so expertly. Everything's hazy, syrupy slow, and as much as Aeon feels like it's wrong...fuck does it feel good.

Dew doesn't so much move from his spot, plastered to his side with his face buried in Aeon's throat. Breathing. Not even kissing, just measured inhales and shaky sighs. He can't help the way his hips move, jerking up into Dew's skilled hand as he's dragged far too quickly to an orgasm his body and mind really aren't prepared for.

"Close," he gasps, more of a realization than a warning, eyes flying open to focus on the barely-lit imagine of Dew milking him under the covers.

Dew doesn't so much as groan in response, simply adds a delicate twist of the wrist and before Aeon knows it he's biting his lips shut to hold back his moan as he spills in his pants, dribbling over Dew's knuckles and into his own happy trail.

Dew holds him through it, until the very last twitch, and then suddenly that warmth at his side vanishes. In a blink, the little ghoul is gone, back to his own bunk with quiet steps.

Aeon stares at the ceiling, still coming down, and in the absence of Dew's warmth he can feel that the collar of his shirt is wet. So's his neck, right where Dew had planted himself. He groans as he wipes at the moisture, figuring it's spit, but even in his addled state he knows it's the wrong consistency. Aeon frowns, licks the fluid from his fingers and - his phone screen lights up, grabbing his limited attention, and he fumbles for it with a deep yawn. It takes him a long moment to make out what's on the too-bright screen.

It's a pair of texts. From Dew. Just a handful of words, but they speak volumes. D: you smell like aether D: im so sorry

All at once, the tears on his tongue make sense.

Aeon rolls from his bunk without hesitation, knees wobbly and body heavy. He slowly follows the track lighting on the bus floor two rows down, stumbling as they hit a bump. Dew's curtain is pulled, but Aeon doesn't give it more than a moment of thought before he's tugging it to the side and peering inside.

The sight makes his stomach twist.

Dew's facing the far wall, curled into the tightest ball he can manage, wracked with fine shivers. The softest sniffles emanates from his tiny form, and something in Aeon's chest goes unbearably tight.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't ask or warn. Simply crawls into the cramped space, awkwardly draws the curtain shut, and presses himself flush to Dew's back. Wraps an arm around his slight waist and holds him tight. Presses a kiss into soft hair that smells of cinnamon, burnt sugar and fresh sweat.

He knows it's bad when Dew doesn't try to push him away.

Aeon holds him until the shakes pass, until his body relaxes. Waits until Dew straightens his legs and heaves a deep sigh.

"'m sorry," he finally breathes, barely audible over the rumble of the bus, but Aeon hears it clear as day.

"'s okay," he murmurs, thought he really isn't sure that it is. His brain is swiss cheese, muddled with exhaustion and the last dregs of his unexpected orgasm. He can worry about that later, though. "Wanna talk about it?"

Dew sniffs, shakes his head, but then pauses. Seems to consider. Then he's moving, squirming until Aeon lifts his arm and shifts back, finally turning to face him. The bunk is dark, but Aeon can still make out the molten copper of Dew's eyes, as well as the moisture lining them while Dew settles in against him. While he tangles their legs and balls both fists in Aeon's shirt.

"I just," his voice sounds so small, threaded with pain and frustration, "I just...I feel so fuckin' stupid."

Aeon wraps a gangly arm around him again, rubs his back, and with a soft sob Dew's tears start to fall once more. He clings to Aeon like he's terrified he'll disappear, and Aeon shuffles closer in response. Until he can rest his forehead against Dew's and soothe him with soft sounds.

"You really miss him, huh?"

Dew laughs through a sob, a hysterical sound, and Aeon decides that talking can wait.

He moves away, just a little, and Dew seems to panic. He paws at him, grips his shirt, but Aeon just slips a gentle hand into the little ghoul's hair and kisses his forehead.

"I'm not leaving, don't worry," he assures, soft and so sleepy. Dew gulps, breathing heavy through his mouth, but nods after a moment. Lets Aeon shift onto his back, lets him rest his head on the pillow and haul Dew to his side. "Here," he says, gesturing at his neck, "if it helps, you can-"

Dew doesn't wait for him to finish, burying his face in Aeon's neck and inhaling like he's starved for air. His exhale is stilted, choked, but something in the little ghoul seems to relax with each deep breath. The tension laced through every inch of him slowly fades, but Aeon can still feel his tears soaking into his shirt. He doesn't mention it.

Soon enough, Dew's breathing evens out. He's warm and loose, one leg hooked over Aeon's thigh and an arm tight around his waist. He feels so much smaller like this, Aeon thinks. So much more vulnerable than he should. He'll probably deny this ever happened, claim that Aeon was seeing things, but that's alright.

Soft snores kick up while Aeon's still staring at the ceiling, and finally he lets himself relax enough for sleep to tug at his own lids. In the morning, whether Dew likes it or not, they'll talk about this. He'll make sure Dew knows that he always has a place at his side, if he needs it. Until he can get back to the one he really wants.

For now, he can be a stopgap. For now, that will have to be enough.

For the both of them.

Aeon presses a kiss to Dew's hair, and when sleep finally takes hold again, he swears a soft voice says thank you.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #dewdrop ghoul #aeon ghoul #phantom ghoul #aeon/dew #aeon x dew #this is the second worst week of the year for me so you can have a little pain as a treat teehee

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sunoorintarou · 6 months

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Catharsis: Vivid

Phos!Reader x (Platonic) Nobara Kugisaki

Warnings: Regret, self blaming, general angst, usual Catharsis warnings

Notes: this was supposed to be smthn cute with Phos and Nobara but ig things happen💀

Nobara's eyes were trained on the bottle of nail polish on her desk. A bottle of dark blue.

She picked up the nail polish, beginning to paint her nails. Unwanted memories began to cloud her vision, memories she could never forget no matter how hard she tried. Memories of you.

"But I don't like nail polish. It smells weird." You had frowned, shaking your head.

It was late at night, and you and Nobara had decided to have a sleepover in her room, gossiping and giggling the entire night thus far.

You had offhandedly mentioned your inexperience with many things, like makeup and nail polish, immediately causing Nobara to want to change that.

"I picked this colour out just for you, though." Nobara pouted, holding a bottle of dark blue polish. The colour perfectly contrasting the bright red she usually wore.

You saw the hope in her eyes, will going weak before nodding, holding your hand out to her.

Nobara immediately perked up, smiling brightly as she began painting your nails.

"There, there! Look how pretty!" She smiled, showing you your perfectly painted and manicured nails.

You glanced from them to her bright face, smiling softly. "Yeah, I guess they're not all that bad."

"Let's take a picture, they look pretty together!"

Nobara paused, setting the bottle of blue nail polish down, watching as it dried.

After that, it was tradition for you to come back to her whenever they chipped or peeled for her to redo them, letting her experiment with different styles and shapes.

Almond shaped with plain deep blue nail polish was your favourite, and she had agreed they suited you the best.

Nobara paused, eyes widening as she looked at her own nails. Almond shaped with deep blue nail polish. A stark contrast to her usual square shaped with shiny red polish and occasional gold designs.

She stood up, walking to her cupboard as she opened it, grabbing her signature bottle of red nail polish. The last time she had gotten one was more than a month ago. She remembered the day vividly. You had chosen that one for her, after all.

The bottle was still full.

She looked over at the blue polish, realising it was the one you had always worn. Her eyes went wide.

It was half empty.

Nobara sighed, putting the red nail polish away and going back to her chair, bringing her knees up to meet her chest as she examined her nails.

She wondered if you were still wearing the same nail polish. Whether you still wore the same perfume she had picked out for you. If you thought of her when you felt sad on those long nights after longer days.

If you remember how she'd stayed in your room with you, holding you close as you cried in her arms. Remember how you'd spilled the beginnings of your true feelings to her and made her swear she'd never tell anyone.

Perhaps if she'd been faster, if she'd questioned you more, if she'd spent more time with you, spoke with you more, held you more. Perhaps you'd still be with her.

After that night, however, she began to doubt. Not you, but herself.

Just how much did she really know about you?

She knew your name, your age, that you liked banana milk, that your favourite Sanrio character was Cinamoroll. She knew you liked sleeping and loved your friends. But that was just material, physical.

Your family, your friends, your life before you came here, your goals, your dreams, your passions, your hobbies. Did you ever have pets? Have you ever had a boyfriend? Did you even want a boyfriend? Marriage? Kids? A family?

Your childhood, where you were from, hell, Nobara didn't even know your surname.

Did she ever, for a moment, really know you?

Were your smiles real? Your laughter? The way you felt about everyone was genuine. That was something she didn't doubt for a second. The way you cared about everyone, making sure no one got left behind, making sure no one ever felt alone.

How was it that you were the one that got left behind first? The one who felt the most alone?

How long had the storm in you brewed til you could no longer ignore it?

Just what had happened? Was it Yukio? Just Yukio? Something told her it was more than that. So what was it?

What was so horrible and twisted, settling under your skin, making it itch and crawl, causing you to scratch at it, scarring your skin, causing you to destroy yourself?

Nobara sighed. Asking herself these questions wouldn't bring you back. No what if or should have would.

Instead, all she could do was lament and pray that in another life, she'd never let you leave. In this life, however, she swore she'd find you and try to atone for her sins. If nothing else, she just wanted you to be happy, even if it was without her.

#houseki no kuni #jjk angst #jjk x hnk crossover #land of the lustrous #phos!reader #catharsis #hnk x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #kugisaki nobara angst #platonic kugisaki nobara #kugisaki nobara x reader #kugisaki nobara #nobara kugisaki #jjk nobara #nobara x reader

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adeapamela · 10 months

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₊‧.°.⋆ Blog Entry: FIVE ₊‧.°.⋆

Color Pink, ang tomorrow ๑༄ ‧₊˚

On Wednesday, we wear pink, but on Wednesday, we drink pink. During childhood, I used to force myself to hate pink because everybody thought pink was too feminine. As I look back on my childhood days, I realize how big the audacity of the childhood version of me was because, as far as I can remember, most of my things are pink in color. Bright pinks are way too harsh on my eyes, though. That’s why I prefer the pastel one. And I know some of you will say that pastel? Beige? They’re boring, but who cares. I don’t want to trigger another migraine episode. I don’t know where the rough road leads me, so I might as well share why I made this oh-so-fancy pink drink. Wait, is this usually called a pink drink?

I remember my last brain cells hanging on for their dear life while typing this caption. I hope you generated it again because midterms are coming, and I can’t defy my brain. Whose an orange cat, to do everything. Do you remember the Starbucks pink drink trend made by a particular vlogger? No? Edi don’t. Since I have been so busy for the past few days, I can’t make something from scratch or complex food. I recently found my strawberry syrup deep down in the den of our pantry, and it will soon expire next month. Note that the bottle is still almost complete, and we can’t let it go to waste like my brain cells. I got myself milk and drizzled the strawberry syrup around it. Done. Pink drink. Bow. Oh, and by the way, you can crush and add bananas or strawberries to your pink drink to make it less sad like my brain..cells.

Procedure: ｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ˎˊ˗

Get a pretty glass just because, yeah just because. Next is to drizzle the inside with strawberry syrup then pour the milk ~ if the strawberry taste is bland, just keep adding syrup or if you're feeling extra fancy, add crushed bananas or strawberries.

#strawberry #milk

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m-s-justice · 8 months

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In a similar vein from my last post, Dempsey and narrative relevancy because holy shit I have lots of thoughts about this. This is mostly about Ultimis Dempsey, but some of it can be applied to Primis, too, probably.

Dempsey is, technically, the only Ultimis character that we formally "see" pre-corruption. We can hear Ult Richtofen before he was zapped by the MPD, but we play as Dempsey in Verruckt. This was probably retconned and the voicelines of the Marines in Verruckt are not likely representative of what Dempsey was like, but... isn't that just sort of insane to think about?

They so could've remastered Verruckt and have Dempsey, Smokey, Gunner, and John Banana actually be characters. We could've had a glimpse into who Dempsey was before being literally tortured and irrevocably changed.

Now, Verruckt and Nacht aren't really relevant to the overarching plot. Their consequences were, but nothing especially important happens with them, narratively speaking. (I love verruckt as a map, it's my favorite WAW map Der Riese can suck it.)

but I really hate to say it, but Dempsey does nothing and is important to nobody. Excepting McCain, but that was for one map and basically a backdrop for his motivations to be at Verruckt to get captured in the first place.

This is most prominent in DE. ZNS and GK both took place in their main character's respective country and dealt with issues specific to them, seen in their Ultimis counterpart. Takeo realizes his betrayal and Nikolai sees what he could become if he chooses to wallow in his grief.

Dempsey just fucking dies. He dies in a 935 base, still frozen by ultimis Richtofen. He's not allowed to have agency or growth. He't not allowed to have his problems taken seriously or explored in any capacity or to have any personal ties. Fucking Dr. Groph got more development in DE than the guy it was actually about.

And this is true of both Dempseys. Primis is jerked around by whoever is in charge at the time, doing what they say regardless of his own personal convictions, often because he feels like he has no choice but to. Ultimis fucks around and spits you in the eye. Bro does not give a shit about anything or anyone. Not in any real sense, anyways. He's american, but does that impact the story at all? Even when he's captured and held in custody by Broken Arrow, his status as an American and former affiliate of Pernell means nothing, it's not even brought up. He's a marine, but he doesn't really exemplify any of it's ideals or practices, other than surface level shit. Any friends or family he mentions are one off lines. They could be canon, but just as easily missed and irrelevant.

I know I've said it before, It's so sad to think about. Poor guy has so little. Probably intentionally so, at least to some degree, like with the deliberate withholding of his first name. Which drives me even more insane. This guy is such a hollow shell that he's denied everything that makes a real, dynamic character. No real connections, no deep motives, no inner conflict, not even a name. He has next to no affect on anything around him.

Everyday I wake up and thank god I'm not Dempsey.

#cod zombies #call of duty zombies #tank dempsey #codz #being dempsey is being in constant pain #thinking about him for more than a minute fills me with terror #ultimis dempsey #ANOTHER 500 WORDS #I DONT STOP I JUST KEEP GOING #I need to go the fuck to sleep.#oooh the rare double post

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iamaverysadbanana · 3 months

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Oscars 2024 Nominations Thoughts (Part Two)

The Color Purple: Best Supporting Actress (Danielle Brooks)

Personally, I would have nominated Taraji P. Henson as Shug, but Danielle Brooks is a good choice. As for the film itself, I give it a solid 8/10. Also, I really need to watch the 1985 movie. (As for author Alice Walker's bigotry, we'll put a pin in that).

The Boy and the Heron: Best Animated Feature (Hayao Miyazaki and Toshio Suzuki)

Finally, some quality traditional animation! Please let this one win the Oscar. We need more 2-D animated films! I need to see this movie again so badly!

Nimona: Best Animated Feature (Nick Bruno, Troy Quane, Karen Ryan, and Julie Zackary)

Disney tried to kill Nimona and failed so spectacularly that the internet is rightfully clowning on them for it. I personally think Boy and the Heron should be the winner, but I will not be mad if Nimona gets it. (Side Note: A movie about Flamin' Hot Cheetos got a nomination for Best Original Song, and Disney Animation's 100th anniversary project got stiffed. That's fucking hilarious).

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse: Best Animated Feature (Kemp Powers, Justin K. Thompson, Phil Lord, Christopher Miller, and Amy Pascal)

Quick, who is the best Spider and why is it Hobie Brown? All kidding (and Spider-Punk worship) aside, this would have been my pick had it not been for Boy and the Heron's unexpected smash hit at the box office and my heart. Again, won't be mad if this one wins either.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar: Best Live Action Short Film (Wes Anderson and Steven Rales)

Never has there been a more perfect pairing than Wes Anderson's directing style and Roald Dahl's witty prose. Case in point- Fantastic Mr. Fox is one of the best animated films of all time. I admit I haven't seen the other nominations in this category, so maybe take what I have to say about this particular film with a grain of salt. Still, I'll check out the other shorts on Netflix.

As for movies that got stiffed by the Oscars this year:

I am honestly so surprised that Saltburn got nothing this year. It didn't even get acting nominations! At the very least, I would have acknowledged Barry Keoghan for his brilliant performance as Oliver Quick. On the other hand, I understand why the Academy may not have wanted to touch this one with a ten-foot pole. There were times in the theater where I actually started laughing out of pure discomfort. Still, I wish Barry (and heck, Emerald Fennell for Best Director) got seats at the adult's table.

In any other year, Once Upon a Studio would have been nominated for Best Animated Short Film. Hell, it might have even won! But alas, this was Disney's annus horribilis, and the company had nobody to blame but itself. It's hubris was it's downfall in the eyes of the all-powerful Academy.

And that's all they wrote! See you at the movies!

#movies #the color purple #danielle brooks #studio ghibli #the boy and the heron #hayao miyazaki #nimona #across the spiderverse #wes anderson #saltburn #barry keoghan #emerald fennell #disney #once upon a studio #deep thoughts with the sad banana #oscars #academy awards

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nothing0fnothing · 2 months

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Yanno, all that Colleen Ballinger stuff has calmed down, so I think this is a great time to tell this absolutely absurd story about a time I witnessed my mum so deep in her narcissistm, she legit beleived that children were her peers.

There's no better way to put this: When I was 13 years old, my mums best friends were a clique of 15 year old schoolgirls.

She met them through a youth group I had been attending for years at that point. They were older than me, so they used to tease me, whatever, average teen experience. The thing is, my mum joined the youth group as a group leader/volunteer/chaperone and befriended the teenagers.

And I'm not talking about some wholesome "getting to their level" shit. I mean she'd gossip with them about other girls in the youth group.. yes including me. My mum was literally my middle school bully. I mean she would to sneak off behind the building to smoke with the teenage girls she was in a position of trust to. I'm not sure if she was bumming cigs off them or them from her, it doesn't actually matter, it's still really bad. She would give them diet advice that wouldn't be out of place on a proana blog, and tell them that they needed to get skinny while they were young so they didn't have to worry about it when they were older. She'd listen to them spill the tea about the sex they were having with their age inappropriate boyfriends, and not report it because she wanted them to like her more than she wanted them to be safe. It was batshit bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

Like, I'd make some jokes right now about how once a week my 40 year old mother would put on her super skinny, acid wash, low rise bedazzled jeans and walk past me like she didn't just drive me there, so she could sit on a desk with the mean girls and pretend she was one of them, but it was actually really sad. She was cosplaying as the mean girl she never got to be when she was a bullied 15 year old. I'd almost feel sorry for her if it wasn't so inappropriate. I don't think what she did ever strayed into being outright illegal, but it was at best abnormal and at worst just straight up grooming those poor girls.

The other chaperones were, understandibly, super uncomfortable about the situation. They started to exclude my mum from their activities and conversations. She was cultivating a "special relationship" with the kids she was volunteering to support, it's obviously looked down on. I'd see the looks the other adult volunteers would all give each other when she teased me to the point of tears to show off to her literal middle school friends. I thought they were cringing at me. At the time I thought it was so embarrassing that everyone knew I was getting bullied by my mum. As if it was obvious I was the problem because my own mum didn't like me, but it's obvious to me now the source of the cringe was the 40 year old so desperate for street cred amongst the local children she'd openly bully her own child. Everybody was side eying her, literally nobody respected her. In a word, it was pathetic.

So pathetic, that on the way home from youth group, she'd cry in the car to me about how sad it was she was being excluded. Yeah, she would spend 3 hours mocking me for laughs from her tweenage besties, sometimes she wouldn't even stop after I was already crying and another adult had to comfort me. Then she'd get in her volkswagen with me in the front and I'd become the adult, telling her the other chaperones were just jealous of her and offering fun evenings to take her mind off it.

It went on like that for over a year till one of the girls mums found out that my mum was in a group chat with nobody but these 3 girls. I have no idea what she'd been talking about in the group, but considering she'd gossip with them about the penis sizes of the guys they were dating in places where she absolutely could be heard, it was probably pretty bad. She had to go to a group meeting with all the chaperones and some of the parents one day while I was in school and they decided to let her off with it.

They agreed that be allowed to continue working with the kids, my mum had to attend some safeguarding seminars, agree to follow the existing safeguarding guidelines that she signed up to when she became a youth group leader, and to stop showing preferential treatment to the girls she'd groomed for months. In my opinion, not even a punishment.

My mum though, was devastated. She cried on the way home to me about how unfair it was and how the other adults were just jealous that she was cooler than them and their kids liked her more. She told me that she had been ambushed and outnumbered and forced to agree to "not care about the kids anymore." She wasn't sorry. Actually, she had no concept that what she did was wrong. All of these accusations and text message evidence and things that she did in full view of multiple other adults consistently over the course of her abuse saga? Fake news. Lies and slander. Full shaggy defence. "it wasn't me". If I were to ask her about it, to this day she will defend that she was simply the victim of malicious gossip and a toxic workplace culture and her only crime was caring too much.

So yeah every time I saw the Colleen Ballinger drama all I could think of was that one year with my mum and how absolutely absurd it was.

#colleen ballinger #miranda sings #narcissistic abuse #raised by narcissists #vent post #toxic parents #dysfunctional family #narcissistic abuse survivor #weenies

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djservo · 7 months

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HELLO 😁🤭😋 in my being young hot and sexy moment i almost forgot and checking the calendar was a jumpscare! but i’m here, once again asking for your book wrap up. how was your september reading? (spoiler: mine was awful) horror on the horizon for october? awaiting the deets

always with the end-of-month jumpscares!! I feel like I've only just processed the ending of august, probably bc it was packed to the brim but STILL! crazy!! very solid reads this month, I'll give her (september) that

Cool For You by Eileen Myles

got deja vu while reading and bc it reminded me of Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh bc they both work in medical institutions and have this similar demeanor towards work so i was like? is Eileen based on Eileen Myles?? but I enjoyed this one far more, really dug her style of writing and generally autofiction as a genre lately. it's like the best of both worlds of more intimate-feeling fiction and memoir without this fragile energy an author sometimes carries when trying to frame their life as accurately as possible. I like how experimental it can get with the form of a novel in a way I thought Myles did seamlessly like all the jumping around different stages of her life really worked for me because there was a nice rhythm to it all. plus her writing voice is just so effortlessly charming + funny + playful, she could make anything sound interesting I'm sure. one of my favorite lines:

“I was a funny and stupid girl—Jesus sliding on a banana peel in the temple."

little silly tidbits like that, I can't not smile!

I Wished by Dennis Cooper

it's crazy to me that I've only started Cooper this year because his writing is so ridiculously special to me now. I was gonna hold off on this one til I've read more of his early poetry, but I think it was actually fitting to follow up my journey with the George Miles cycle with this as it was kinda like a self-reflection on the cycle. now having read several books by him, I realize the necessity of the digesting period each one needs because of how much more I get out of them the longer I ruminate, far removed from a freshly-read state to fully comprehend the piece as a whole if that makes sense. I don't even wanna read my previous blurbs about the cycle books because, though I remember loving them instantly, I'm sure my interpretations were barely scratching the surface of what/how I feel about them now,.... I feel like i've just talked myself into a circle/I've totally lost my grip LMAO but this was very sweet and sad and funny and sad again and it's just a miracle to me how striking his writing is even with how succinct it can be. absolutely beautiful!!

Quarry by Jane White

damn these boys are fucked up !!! I won't get too deep bc a lot of my thoughts come from the climax/ending of this book and I don't wanna spoil in case you ever read, but there's a funny formality running through it all that becomes funnier with every unfolding + atrocious act. surprisingly a lot of gay + incestuous subtext going on that my friend and I kept texting each other during reading like "did I really just read that ..." there were so many layers and dynamics to pick apart, far more than either of us were expecting I think. twas a fun and twisted time and makes me excited to continue on with this theme!!

I think I mentioned before that Quarry was the start of a planned trio, so Lord of the Flies is next which I guess is sorta fitting for October. I was just remembering how I read Jekyll & Hyde last October and am debating if I wanna do another classic (eyeing Frankenstein) or maybe American Psycho finally to dip my toes into Bret Easton Ellis... unsure if I wanna be simply entertained or wholly unsettled, will maybe try and find a perfect in-between balance ⚖️

#asks #cheesehair #reads

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knickynoo · 7 months

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Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s02ep07 “The Money Tree"

Previous episodes linked here.

In this episode: Everybody is mean to Jules + a "money doesn't buy happiness" plotline.

They really got their money's worth out of the green screen this season, huh? This time, Doc is deep in an unnamed rainforest, researching the deforestation happening (and also eating bananas).

After mentioning how valuable the trees in the rainforest are, he recalls the time his son, Jules, had a tree with a "very different type of value."

We begin with Jules walking home from school. Two kids on bikes come racing by, sending the papers in his briefcase flying. He is quite upset.

Turns out, one of the biking troublemakers is none other than Verne. Jules yells at his younger brother for both his recklessness and the damage he's caused. Verne's reply is awful.

"Good thing you don't got any friends, or we might've hit somebody and done some major damage."

Jail for Verne Brown.

On the other side of the fence, one of Verne's classmates invites him to come swimming, and Verne quickly jumps at the chance. Jules pokes his head into the yard, asking if he can "join in on the frivolity." He's promptly told that he's not allowed, then splashed by a cannonball.

I CRY. Look at him. He is so sad and ostracized. Jail for Verne's classmate.

So far, this episode is no fun at all.

We cut scene to later that afternoon, where Marty is playing some basketball outside the garage while Jules works on his latest project: a genetically modified tree that grows colorful leaves with all different patterns on them. Two thoughts here.

1. This series really pushes the "Marty is a cool, sporty guy" thing. He's played baseball in past episodes, collects baseball cards, helps to coach Verne's soccer team, and is now shooting hoops while excitedly narrating his every move like a sports commentator. And, I mean, I don't really mind it as a whole. It's possible our Trilogy Marty is into sports (though I don't see him as being the sporty type). It just feels kind of forced in the cartoon. As if Marty being his own sweet, goofy self wasn't appealing enough, and they needed to make him into some sort of jock because that's what's expected of a college-aged guy? I don't know. I guess it helps that he isn't particularly good at any of the sports, which feels true to Marty.

2. All of the kids who look down on Jules are wrong. Jules is SO cool. Look at this tree he's created!

When Marty asks Jules why he doesn't have any friends, Jules tells him sadly, "Martin, intelligent children are always outcasts." Marty replies that he's never had that problem, lol.

Verne soon comes running into the yard, upset that Doc won't give him an advance on his allowance. He ends up inadvertently giving Jules the idea to create a money tree.

Some time later, at school, Jules is about to take his turn for show and tell. He's tripped on his way to the front of the class, taunted, and laughed at by all the other children. He remains unfazed and proudly displays his tree, covered in various bills. Naturally, this gains him a sudden influx of new "friends." Unable to see that none of the kind words and attention is sincere, Jules allows himself to be swept up in his newfound popularity.

All the attention soon goes to his head, and Jules soon has Marty and Verne doing all the heavy lifting in an attempt to find the perfect spot for the money tree.

Even though the bills on the tree aren't ready to be picked, Jules decides it's a good idea to start buying things left and right on credit. He gets toys for all his new friends and even has a swimming pool installed in the yard. Though Clara and Doc initially protest all the spending and the attitude change in their son, a trip with him to the mall has them changing their tune when he lavishes expensive gifts upon them.

Doc gets a brand new, giant TV and seven VCRs (one for each day of the week), and Clara gets a diamond necklace.

Jules soon lands himself an interview on the local news, bringing his money tree to the attention of Biff and his son, who catch the broadcast at home. Uh oh...

Meanwhile, Jules hires Marty to guard the money tree, offering him "ten leaves an hour." And since Marty is very rarely at his college attending his classes or ever at home with his family (who may not even exist in this cartoon), it's a good job for him.

I should also mention that the news of the money tree catches the attention of the FBI, who assume Jules is the leader of a counterfeit money ring.

Anyway, Marty is terrible at his tree-guarding job. He stays fast asleep on his lawn chair while Biff sneaks by in the middle of the night to steal it, then continues to sleep through the loud argument Jules has with Verne—accusing his brother of stealing the tree. By the way, this is where things are at in the Brown household...

There's not a single level-headed person in this family anymore.

Desperate to recover the tree, they all pile into the car and take off into town, where a police officer quickly pursues them. This happens.

Doc engages the car's flying mode, and they lose the cop and take off after Biff's tow truck, which has the tree strapped to it. Jules hangs out of the car to try to get it, but his seatbelt rips, and Verne grabs hold of him just in time. Clara then has to catch Verne, who almost falls out of the car, and Doc changes the car's path just before Biff tries to send them crashing into a tunnel.

Relieved that the boys are safe, Clara comes to her senses and realizes that they were all blinded by greed. Doc promptly drives the car to the police station to TURN HIMSELF IN for going over the speed limit and resisting arrest.

Biff takes the tree to a car dealership and buys himself a fancy Winnebago RV. He's immediately surrounded by a group of federal agents, who tackle him and send all the money he's recently picked fluttering around the lot. One by one, the bills all shrivel up and turn brown. So, no money for anyone. Jules's project was doomed from the start.

Things quickly go back to normal around Hill Valley, and Jules returns to being a social outcast. Without the promise of money, almost all of his new friends drop him like a hot potato. Except for Franny—a classmate who reveals to Jules that she likes him for who he is (and has a crush on him!).

The two walk off hand in hand, and we return to Real Doc, who is still hanging out in the rainforest. He shows us the new money tree he had Jules cultivate, explaining that his plan is to allow it to mature and eventually use it so that he and Clara can make their "golden years" comfortable.

And that statement makes me laugh because Doc is already well into his golden years. Sixty-five at the start of the trilogy, then the ten years to build the time train, plus the additional however many years have passed since he and the family moved. (It's 1992 in the series, but I don't think the Browns settled straight into 1985 because Jules and Verne's ages don't line up properly with how old they were at the end of Part III) But anyway! Doc has to be somewhere close to eighty years old. Though, with the medical overhaul he went through in 2015, it did give him an additional thirty or so years, so...I guess it all evens out.

Here he is, sneezing away all the newly-grown money because he discovers he's allergic to the pollen it produces.

Add money-tree pollen to the list of Doc's allergies.

The episode ends with him slipping on the banana peel he had tossed in the beginning of the episode. Silly guy.

Join me next time to see Marty and Verne travel back in time to meet Jules Verne.

#back to the future #bttf #bttf: the animated series

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