#maybe now i can get this song out of my head

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch7. if u wanna get groceries

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 7/x

ᰔ words. 10.3k

a/n. hiii my ihm darlings!! i don't have much to say in this beginning author's note haha but i have some author's notes at the end if you want to read them. but anywho hope you enjoy this chapterrr :)

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Ovulation is a very scary thing.

You can imagine many great women have had their lives greatly affected by this phenomenon. 

This biological release of an egg into the fallopian tubes, simply desiring to be fertilized.

Women who have had their hearts set on their dreams, aspirations, full speed ahead towards the finish line on the other end,

Only to be dragged back by–

You shudder to even mention.

Attraction to a man. 

So horrible.

So insane.

So humiliating.

And yet so–...

So natural.

Unfortunately.

You’re pretty sure Sabrina Carpenter has a song about it.

This is what you think of as you lean over the kitchen island, perched up on your elbows as you eat a peach, staring straight ahead at a certain fake husband who is seated on the couch. 

He’s looking at the TV, watching some SNL skit he didn’t get to finish last weekend, tilting his head side to side with his grey sweatpant clad legs stretched out onto the coffee table in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He’s got a can of Celsius he’s swirling around with a loose grip, his elbow up on the cushion for a more lax resting state (which unfortunately also flexes his bicep very sexily from the positioning), and he doesn’t really seem particularly amused by what he was watching. And for some reason, it was hot.

You tilt your head to the right, watching him like a predator from across the hall, chewing down on a particularly juicy piece of peach that bursts its juice in your mouth, and you curse the fact that all you can think about right now is sex.

Sex.

When was the last time you had sex?

You postulated a little over a month ago when you and Choso were still together.

Granted, you’ve been too busy and overwhelmed and overstimulated with all the recent happenings of late to provide your own self with any sort of relief.

And God, it was showing.

Showing in the way that, no matter what, you can’t seem to shake the idea of wanting to sit in Gojo’s lap and be the second reason he never gets to finish watching that SNL skit. 

Maybe it will help.

Maybe sitting in a man’s lap right now would heal you.

You set the now naked seed of peach down on the counter before straightening yourself up and walking around the kitchen island towards the living room. Gojo’s eyes don’t flicker to you until you’re well in his periphery, and when he looks up at you, he straightens himself up on the couch with curious wide eyes and drags his feet off the coffee table to plant his feet on the rug.

You pull your grandma nightgown up to your knees so that you can sit in his lap, surprise evident on his face as he watches your every movement before you’re comfortably seated on him with your hands on his shoulders.

“Fuck me,” you tell him.

“Wh–” he stutters, “I’m sorry, I could’ve sworn you just told me to fuck you.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” The heels of your hands press into his chest further to the point where it has to hurt. 

“Is this a prank,” he asks as his hands fall to hold your hips on reflex.

You sigh, shifting around on his thighs. “Can you just do it already before I change my mind?”

“Wow. That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright. I’ve changed my mind.”

You push off of his shoulders and stand up on one leg, ready to get up and away from him to find some other way to satisfy your desperate desire for a penis, but he reaches out to grab your wrist.

“Heyyy wait wait wait,” he says, pulling you back into a seat on his lap. “Why do you want to have sex all of a sudden?”

You exhale slowly, twiddling with your thumbs as you look at him. “You said it yourself the other day,” you say, “good way to relieve stress.”

“And you’re not gonna kill me afterwards?”

“Umm no promises?”

“Look, as much as I’d like to take you up on the offer, a part of me thinks you’re making a…rash decision here.”

“Oh my fucking god who cares if I am?? Maybe I just wanna fuck for the sake of fucking?? What’s the big fucking deal??”

“The big deal is that, knowing you, you’re not going to speak to me or look me in the eye for three weeks if I let you go through with something you’re not a hundred percent on.”

Your shoulders sulk a little. You thought this would be an easy yes, where he tears your nightgown off and then ravishes you whole on this couch with every primal caveman instinct that’s encoded in his XY chromosome DNA. This was supposed to be spontaneous and sexy…not a candid conversation.

The thought flashes through your head that maybe he thinks that you’re just trying to use him.

“I want to have sex with you,” you clarify. And then a pause. “I think.” You pause for a moment again. “I’m, like, pretty sure.”

He slides you back to where you’re sitting closer to his knees than to his groin, and then fully leans back onto the couch before tucking his hands behind his head like he was physically putting himself in cuffs to prevent himself from touching you any further. “Tell you what. Let’s circle back in an hour, and if you still want to, then sure.”

“I cannot believe how diplomatic you’re being about this.”

“Well isn’t this whole thing between us a diplomatic agreement? That’s what you said to me when we got fake engaged.”

“That–” you blink at him, not expecting those words to eventually be used against you, “...whatever.”

“Also, what happened to the no sex rule?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He grins and leans forward, both of his elbows settling onto the top of the cushion behind him, and you’re proud of yourself for only staring at his biceps for 0.000034 seconds before meeting his line of sight again. 

“Are those rules just suggestions?” he asks with a stupidly teasing look on his face. 

You purse your lips together, skin feeling warm suddenly as you try to push him away by a palm to his sternum. But then you realized something. A fundamental rule of biology. The woman never chases. 

You smile at him, cheeky in a deceptive way that’s meant to scare him, and it does seem to alarm him when you push him back onto the couch rather forcefully. His hands fall to hold your hips again as he looks at you with round eyes, and you scoot forward on his lap, to where you’re almost sitting right above his groin. 

“Hey–” he says, like a warning. 

Like some awful romantic comedy, you’re drawing the tip of your nail down the front of his chest seductively, leaning forward so he catches the faint scent of the perfume you spritzed onto your skin in the morning, and you can tell it’s working from the way he tips his chin up in interest. You innocently “shift” in his lap to get comfortable, and see his throat bob when he swallows hard from the feeling. The finger that’s been running down the soft linen of his shirt trails up until it runs through the hair at the back of his neck, and he’s pulling you closer to him now by a rough grip on your hips. His breathing picks up, eyes somehow wild yet calm as he looks at you with a set jaw, and you try your best to maintain a sultry expression as you tilt your head down at him while strongly fisting at the longer strands of his hair that fall short at the nape of his neck. He shifts underneath you, sinking further into the couch, his breathing fast enough to where you can see the rise and fall of his chest, his gaze finally dropping to your lips as he parts his own, and he briefly runs his tongue over his bottom lip before–

Before the doorbell rings. 

You both blink at each other.

You don’t even realize how close you two were to making out until you realize you can’t even see the tip of his nose anymore. 

“My, uh,” he starts, voice sounding gruff so he has to clear his throat, “my wood just came.”

“Y–” you glance down at his lap, “your wood just what?!”

He leans away from you, sinking his back into the cushion and pointing over his shoulder with a thumb towards the door. “The cedar planks I ordered to finish my woodworking project. Pretty sure they just got dropped off.”

You blink at him, releasing the grip you still had on the hair at the back of his head, your arms moving to weakly rest on his shoulders instead. “Oh.”

“I’ve gotta go sign the delivery.

“Okay.”

“Sometime today, preferably.”

“Alright.”

“Can…can I head to the door? Is that allowed?”

“...I suppose.”

His fingers that were still resting under your butt in a strong grip push up gently on the flesh to prod you off of him, and you (reluctantly) swing your legs off of his lap then slump down onto the couch indignantly beside him, twiddling with your thumbs as you watch him get up off the cushions with a small grunt from the push of his palms on his knees. And then he heads to the door.

Continuing to assess your cuticles with the tuck of your chin towards your collarbone, you hear Gojo talk to whoever was at the door. Another masculine voice. Sounds younger, probably younger than you. Delivery boy. Gojo makes easy conversation with him, some buddy-buddy diction that’s entirely lost on you, and you hear the other man laugh. And the fact that you feel equally as possessed to want to fuck the delivery man makes you realize you need to put yourself in a cage the next time you feel like this.

You hear the door close along with the metallic click of the lock, and you peak your head up over the top of the couch to look at Gojo, who is leaning a giant cardboard box that looks really heavy against the wall. He then exhales, dusting his hands off and he’s stretching his neck from side to side again.

He glances over his shoulder to find you still looking at him.

“You woodwork?” you ask him.

“Yes.”

“Wait. Is that the noisy thing you do at six in the morning while I’m trying to sleep after a night shift?!?!”

“It’s not that noisy,” he says, leaning back onto the wall and crossing his arms. Then he grins. “Want to see what I’m working on?”

“No.”

“Oh come on.” He jerks his head towards the kitchen leading out to the screen door of the backyard. And then he’s shuffling his feet off into that direction. “Humor me for once.”

You slide off the couch onto the floor, grumbling something to yourself before you stand up onto your feet and shuffle your feet across the hardwood floor to follow him, the hem of your nightgown sliding across the surface.

Gojo pulls the screen door back and you step out into the pleasant afternoon. It’s sunny, with crisp air that settles on your senses, the casted shadows of clouds that slowly pass over the grass reminding you of your childhood, or perhaps of simpler times.

You step into the flip flops you see near the shoe mat, and they are nearly twice the size of your feet. Gojo opts for the dustier pair located behind the grill and then he walks across the grass of his backyard towards the shed tucked away near the side of the house. You’ve always been able to briefly see this shed from one of the windows in your house, but you could never see what went on inside. 

He unclasps the metal lock on the wooden door of the shed and pulls it open with a creak. You peer inside, the smell of wood shavings and some other rather comforting chemicals hitting you almost instantly. You also sneeze. And then sneeze again.

“Bless you,” he says, and when you glance at him, he’s smiling at you before he takes a step inside. You cross your arms and rub your elbows, feeling feeble in your ditsy nightgown as you step into a space that looks far too industrial for you. 

“See?” Gojo says once you’re fully inside the shed with him, drawing your gaze from the dusty ceilings towards the covered structure in the center of the workspace. He pulls the blue tarp back, revealing something square-looking. “It’s a coffee table.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you tilt your head to assess it. “Oh. It’s–...it’s actually quite nice.”

“Yeah.” He knocks on the surface with his knuckles. “It’s pretty sturdy. I’ve been looking to replace what I’ve got in the house for a while now. And–” he straightens himself up again, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “That wood I just got delivered is black walnut. Stunning stuff. I’m going to use it to finish the corners and the cabinets.”

“Ahhh,” you say, expressing interest. I mean, you were intrigued by his many strange hobbies. How can you explain this…you suppose after many years of working, sleeping, eating, and taking care of your mom, it's somewhat pleasantly disorienting to find yourself in the middle of a normal person’s life. Someone who has time to woodwork in his free time. Endearing. It was kind of endearing. 

“I’ve gotta flip it over though,” he says with a sigh, “I fucked up and forgot to build the base first.”

You lean back on one of the cabinets behind you that was level with your hip, and you watch Gojo for a moment as he bends down to assess all angles of the table before he grips the underside of it with his hands, the strength of his grip evident in the strain of the veins running up his arms and disappearing into the short sleeve cotton of his shirt. 

But he glances up at you before moving it. “Can you stand over there?”

“Huh?” You blink at him.

“Don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh,” you say, and realize you were standing in quite literally the exact zone of potential danger. You make a mental note to work on your survival instincts. 

You lean off of the cabinet and step off to the side. 

You watch as he begins to lift up on the table, his biceps flexing with the movement, oh and that grunt that leaves his lips once he’s got it at the angle he wants hits you somewhere you wish it didn’t. The sight of him leaning over, letting out a slow exhale as he slowly sets the table down on its side over the cushioning mat had you in a trance. 

Once he’s satisfied with wherever it’s at, he steps away from it and dusts his hands off. “Alright.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Got an hour to work on this.”

You nod at him.

He glances over at you. 

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

“Did–...did you wanna watch?”

“Nope,” you say, shuffling your slippers to the other side of the door. Because you fear that catching the sight of him all sweaty and disheveled from woodworking would get you into serious trouble today. At least you know when to call it quits.

In the hour that Gojo spends doing god knows what sort of manly sorcery in that shed, you get dressed into something that wasn’t a cozy nightgown much to your dismay, and head over to your house next door. You figure you could use this time to clean up the place a little so that you can take pictures for the house on Zillow. 

When you step inside the house, the nauseating smell of medication hits you. It’s a smell that you can only know if you’ve lived with it for years. Something artificial, something that smells–...well, sick. It’s a scent you associate with sickness. It hits you randomly sometimes with the patients that you treat at the hospital. Patients that smell just like your mom does. Something akin to a pill closet. You’ve always cursed the human tendency to assort semantics to certain senses, because then it only takes away all the healing you thought you had gotten through.

You walk down the hall towards your mother’s bedroom. You figured you’d start here first, since it would be the most difficult to clean for you. Her bed is set up neatly, exactly as you left it before she left for hospice three weeks ago. 

Her well-worn rocking chair sits near the window with the old knit blanket she made over twenty years ago draped over it. It faces the window instead of the inside of the house, which was a habit she always had throughout her life. Maybe as an art teacher, she always felt that whatever was outside was more intriguing than within. 

You run a hand by the sturdy wooden dresser covered in dust and scattered medications, along with all of your mother’s draped headscarves. She liked to change them every day, the pattern of each of them aggressively absurd and somewhat hypnotizing, but it fits for her age–that sort of clothing. Your mother used to have beautiful hair. It was something all her friends had always been jealous of. She made the decision to shave it all off rather than watch as it slowly detangled from her hair from chemo, and she claims to have stashed it away somewhere, but you know that she likely donated it instead.

When you make it to her desk, you see paint splattered over it with a rusted easel holding up a blank canvas. But there were swipes of paint across the palette, as though she were trying to find the perfect blend of colors, but failed before she could put brush to canvas. Beside her little art setup, you see a little sticky note with scribblings on it.

Morning tea

Medications- Gabapentin 600 300

Today is Thursday. Oct 16th

800 432 5555 call Dr Johnson 

Turn off the stove

At the very bottom:

- daughter. Nurse. She loves you

You suck a deep breath in, releasing it slowly.

This was an impossible task.

To stuff all of this away into boxes. 

All of this life.

You slowly peel the sticky note off the desk, folding it neatly before placing it into your pocket. Then you start with the canvas, the easel, the paint. Exactly as is, without cleaning anything at all, you stache them away into boxes. You wanted to preserve what you could, even if it was all for show.

By the time you finish cleaning out her desk, you feel winded from emotions. You decide to take a break and try to clean whatever was upstairs instead. Before you leave the room, you see another sticky note written behind the door.

remember ! wear your sweater, it’s cold today

And that’s when you start crying. 

.

.

.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

”Hey,” you say as you walk back into Gojo’s house in the early afternoon, holding up a digital camera that you found in the attic in your hand. “The upstairs of my house is cleaned out now, and I’m almost done with the downstairs part…just waiting on finishing one room. Can we start taking photos to put the listing up online?”

Gojo glances up at you from where he’s stood in the kitchen, tugging at his sleeves, and you just now notice he’s dressed up in a dark navy suit with a white shirt underneath. No tie. “Uhh yeah I can help you with it, I’ve just gotta go run a few errands and then we can do it when I get back?” He ruffles his hair a bit and you see that it’s slightly damp like he just took a shower.

“What errands?”

“Gas, amazon return, Costco. Maybe get a donut if I’m feeling like being a bad boy.”

“Ew. Also, why don’t you get gas at Costco?”

“It’s a little cheaper at Sam’s Club.”

You gasp. “You have a Sam’s Club membership??”

“Yes.”

“You’re a traitor.”

He rolls his eyes as he pushes his shoulders back to get better settled into his suit jacket. “I have a Costco membership too.” 

“Can I come?”

“What? For–...for the errands?”

“Yes.”

He blinks at you from the other side of the island, brow furrowing slightly. “Uh. Sure?”

You know it sounds silly to say, but not having to take care of someone twenty-four-seven has left you with little to no sense of purpose, and an even more intense feeling of loneliness. And as much as Gojo gets on your nerves from time to time, you’ve noticed that you’ve been…craving his presence lately. Or maybe a presence might be more accurate than any one specific person, but you can comfortably admit it to yourself that you’re a somewhat codependent person that enjoys being largely implemented into someone’s life. You’ve even started borderline nesting in his home. You bought two new fluffy throw blankets for his couch, set up a bowl of fruits at the center of the kitchen island, and stocked up on laundry detergent, even though he already had two backup boxes. It was driving you crazy. This feeling of having too much free time and personal space than what you knew what to do with.

And it had been a while since you went to Costco. The holy land for all adults. 

“Can I get this? Ohhhh what about this? Can we get this too? Wait. Wait. Brown sugar boba mochi?!” You hold the packet up into the air as if it were baby Simba in the Lion King, and then you turn to Gojo, clutching the bag to your chest. “Please?”

He exhales, leaning over the handle of the shopping cart and levels his gaze with you. “...no.”

You sulk your shoulders and sigh as you put it back.

He begins to push the cart down the aisle again. “You do realize that you have disposable income too, right?”

You trail after him. “No. I don’t. I’m in six figures of debt.”

He nods. “Fair.” And then he grabs a stray bag of brown sugar boba abandoned on top of the instant rice boxes then places it into the cart. 

You watch as Gojo makes his rounds around Costco, very diligently aligning all the items in his shopping cart and assessing the quality of each thing he crosses off his list before deeming it worthy of purchase. Much different than your usual Costco run, which involves a lot of chaos and sweat. And he feels very husband material like this. Breaking no sweat to put the garden fertilizer in the cart shelf meanwhile you would’ve pulled your back out trying to do the same if you were on your own.

As you two make your way through the store, you get stopped by the post-office man, and then the local judge, and then the elderly couple that runs the church's weekly Bingo nights. All greeting you politely with a quick exchange of words and usually a sweet regard for your mother’s health before passing on by. You keep having to introduce Gojo as your husband, and many of them already know who he is, despite the fact that he’s only lived here for a year, which royally pisses you off to great extents, but he’s a social whore so it makes sense. And then all of them coo sweet things like wow, what a beautiful couple and you’re so lucky to have each other and my oh my he’s very handsome and at this point you would pay someone twenty bucks to say something like well she’s a looker! good for you! to Gojo because you’re sick of him always getting the ego boosts. When asked where you guys went for your honeymoon, you both say “Greece–” “Maldives–” at the same time in typical unrehearsed fashion. One of the town locals even asks when the two of you are going to have a baby, and you almost snort your free sample of San Pellegrino out your nose.

Perhaps the only thing that keeps a little pep in your step is the fact that everyone greets you first before they catch the familiar sight of Gojo too. It’s a small thing to celebrate, but when you’ve lived in the same town your whole life, it becomes somewhat of a prideful and wholesome thing when the town librarian, local mechanic, and farmer’s market lady all stop you in your lovely little Costco stroll. It was all in a day’s work.

“Jeez, you’re hella famous, y/n,” Gojo says as he continues to push the cart down the aisle after you just got done catching up with the volunteer Fire Chief.

You toss your hair over your shoulder at him. “Yes. I am somewhat of a princess in this town.”

“Does that make me your prince?”

“No. You’re my filthy peasant.”

“Alright…I like where this is going…”

“Get your nasty degradation kink away from me, you perv. This is Costco. It’s the holy house of God.”

Once you two make it to the wine section, you stare at bottles of dessert wines and hear Gojo talking on the phone off to the side.

“Hey, Sana. I’m at Costco right now. Do you guys need anything? I already got Juno’s muffins,” he says into his phone as he places two containers of blueberry muffins into the cart. You eye the raspberry cream cheese strudels. “Huh? Cornstarch?....If I tried to look for cornstarch at Costco, I’d be here for three hours.”

“Satoru,” you say to him once he gets off the call, tugging at his sleeve, “could we get those Haagen Daz ice cream bars? They’re so good.”

“No,” he says, pushing the cart down the chip aisle before he grabs a bag of tortilla chips. “We can’t get anything that needs to be frozen or refrigerated. I’ve gotta go prep a house that’s in the area since we’re out this far. I’ve got an evening showing.”

“What?!” you exasperate, “I thought we were just going home after this!”

“I never said that.”

“I can’t believe this. I had been dreaming of grabbing those ice cream bars since you mentioned the word Costco back at home. You could’ve brought your little cooler thing that you keep in the garage.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you wanted to come with me,” he says. “My original grocery list had seven non-perishable items on it.” You both glance at the cart, which was almost entirely full of things that you put in there. Things that nobody ever needs. Like a bladeless desk fan and an electric wine opener.

“Ah,” you say.

He smiles, leaning over the cart handle again and pushing it forward again away from the chilly air of the cooler section. “Retail therapy?”

You pout a little. “I haven’t had the chance in years.” You glance at the cart as he pushes it. “I should probably take it all out now.”

“It’s fine,” he says, “I’ll get you your bladeless fan. And whatever the fuck those other things are.”

You stop walking, blinking blankly at his back as he continues to wordlessly push the cart forward. There’s about a five second delay before you finally start trailing after him.

By the time Gojo finishes loading everything into the trunk of his car as you merely stand by for emotional support, and then he comes back from the long trek of returning the cart, you’re absolutely winded. You’re not sure why, because again, you haven’t really done much all day. But God damn, you forgot how exhausting it is to be a regular functioning member of society that contributes to the economy on the weekends (you didn’t pay for anything).

Gojo wordlessly takes off from the Costco parking lot and just when you think he’s going to get back onto the freeway to get to this house of his that he needs to prep, he jumps into the parking lot of a small shopping area before he parks his car in front of a smaller grocery store. 

You give him a puzzled look.

“Hold on,” he says before clicking his seatbelt off, “gotta go get that cornstarch.”

“Wait—” you say, reaching out to grab him by the sleeve of his suit jacket as the most intense sensation of FOMO you’ve ever felt in your life overtakes all of your senses. “I’ll come with.”

He quirks a brow at you. You’re not surprised at his confusion. After all, you’ve been acting like some drug addict in withdrawal of social proximity to him all day long. But you’re at least glad he doesn’t express any further bewilderment and allows you to follow him inside the store like a duckling.

As Gojo veers off in the direction of likely corn starchiness, in a confident manner that would suggest he’s been to this store many times before, you meander about the aisles at your leisure. You get lost in the bustling colors of produce stacked neatly on top of one another, such that they could rival the great pyramids of Egypt. Not to mention, processed foods lining the wall right next to it. This was what suburban life is all about. Matter of fact, this is what dreams are made of. 

“y/n?”

Oh, fuck. That voice is definitely not what dreams are made of.

The opposite, actually.

Nightmares.

You hear that voice in your nightmares.

You turn on your heel to find none other than your ex boyfriend, he who shall not be named (Choso Kamo), standing right behind you as he holds a grapefruit in his hand, blinking at you dumbly with surprise apparent on his face. 

“Wh—” you briefly stutter before the automatic scowl settles onto your face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m buying fruit.”

“For what?”

“What do you mean, for what? To eat, obviously.”

“I don’t know. I’m not convinced you wouldn’t try to fuck that grapefruit. Given you have low standards for what you stick your dick inside of.”

“Uh?…I’ve stuck my dick inside of you plenty of t—”

“Shut it!!!” you yell at him, then turn away with a wince on your face. “I didn’t think it through before I said it.”

“As usual?”

“You’re being a jerk. You know who I meant when I said that.”

“Okay. So, you don’t think things through before you say them. And I continue to deflect said things. Let me know when anything’s changed between us, y/n.”

You cross your arms at him menacingly and unwaveringly glare at him as a meek mother pushes her young son by the shoulders away from the two simmering adults having their savory conversation within the produce aisle. You’re about the snark out another comment but then the automatic water sprayers interrupt your flow. And also a scrawny employee drops a giant box of eggplant onto the ground before placing them onto the produce shelf.

“What are you doing on this side of town? You’re never out here,” Choso says as he sets the grapefruit back onto the stack.

“I don’t know. What are you doing here?”

“This is my new go-to grocery store.”

“Why not go to the Trader Joe’s that we always used to go to? It’s way closer to you.”

His shoulders sulk slightly at that.

Oh.

Oh.

So, he’s been driving an extra thirty minutes each weekend to go grocery shopping on the other end of town,

Just so he doesn’t have to run into you anymore.

“Look…y/n,” he starts, “it’s not that I don’t want to see you—”

“Choso—”

“It’s just that you accuse me of fucking inanimate objects everytime I do see you.”

“I literally do not care if you do or don’t want to see me.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his gaze flitting downwards to your crossed arms, something catching his eye.

You glance down at yourself, and you catch the glimmer of diamond underneath bright fluorescent light.

“Oh come on,” Choso grumbles, “don’t tell me you actually wear that thing twenty-four-seven.”

“I’m a married woman, Choso. It’s what married women do.”

He clenches his jaw at that, tense enough to cause a vein strain in his neck, his brows narrowing into contempt, but just before he can say anything else, an arm wraps around your waist and you’re being pulled back into a broad chest.

“She’s pretty, huh?” you hear Gojo say and you blink up at him with your chin tilted towards the ceiling, and you yelp as he possessively pulls you in closer to him as he establishes jarring eye contact with Choso with that same old easy grin on his face. “Thank god I’m the one married to her.”

Choso almost blows a fuse at that. “I know she’s pretty,” he says through gritted teeth, “for six years, I was the one that got to f—”

“Ahh!!! Sale on tomatoes!!!” you interrupt the crass and ridiculously toxic masculine energy in the air as you wiggle out of Gojo’s grip then run over to the pristinely stacked romano tomatoes, picking some of them up and holding them like precious commodities. “Maybe we can make some tomato soup with grilled cheese tonight, honey???” you say with a forced smile towards Gojo as you now hold fifteen tomatoes in your arms, a couple of them falling to the floor with a bounce as they roll away.

“HEY!! LADY!!” the scrawny eggplant stacking employee from earlier yells out at you. Some late teens kid with acne speckled across his face and shaggy brown hair scattered over his forehead, somewhat slick with either gel or grease. “I just set those up!!! YOU SQUASH ‘EM, YOU BUY ‘EM.”

“Sorry,” you squeak out, putting the tomatoes back onto the display somewhat haphazardly before grabbing Gojo’s arm and tugging him towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here, please.”

“Huh? I’ve still gotta pay for the cornstarch though,” Gojo says, hardly budging despite your best efforts to womanhandle him.

“No time for that, we leave now. They don’t have cameras here, anyway. I already checked.” You continue to tug on his arm, your body leaning at an almost forty-five degree angle towards the exit as you struggle to get some drag to his feet, but again, he doesn’t budge.

You don’t know exactly why you so adamantly want to restrict Gojo from interacting with Choso, but maybe a part of it was embarrassment. You didn’t want Gojo to find out what Choso did to you and what an absolute fool he had made out of you. It would hurt your pride.

“Isn’t this guy a cop?” Gojo asks as he points his thumb towards Choso. “And you’re telling me to shoplift in front of him?”

“Can you just be on my fucking side for one second?” you grit at him, yanking on his sleeve so hard you almost tear the cuffs out of the holes, and he finally sighs before relenting into a gait towards your general direction.

As you hug Gojo’s arm tightly to keep his momentum towards you, you walk backwards and send Choso a nasty glare. His eyes are wide, studying you and Gojo together as you get further and further away from him. And for a brief, brief, brief, ever-so-slight fleeting moment of love and familiarity and the sight of his dark hair curling at the nape of his neck and the memory of warmth when he used to hold you in his arms in bed on cold winter mornings, you find that you miss him a little. But only a little. You swear that it’s only a little.

Gojo still makes a pit stop at the register much to your pleading dismay, but as always he has zero regard or interest for your melodramatic outbursts, but at least he shoves the extra change from the purchase into his pocket in a somewhat timely fashion so that you two can head out the door in your artificial haste.

In the car, you quickly click your seatbelt on and then have to watch Gojo as he takes his time clicking his back into place and enter some address into his car. You see the ETA on the GPS, and how it shows that this address is roughly thirty-four minutes away.

Once he gets onto the freeway, your mind begins to wander back to seeing Choso at the grocery store and how the sight of him rattled you. You twiddle with your thumbs in your lap nervously, shift around in your seat, chew at the edge of your nail, and Gojo seems to notice this.

“You know, having lived in this town your whole life, I would think you’d be used to the discomfort of running into people you don’t want to see,” he says.

You sigh. “Yes. In theory. But with Choso, it’s–…it’s different.” You hesitate.  “It’s just that—” you try again before worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, “it’s just that, sometimes I don’t get him.”

Gojo is silent for a few seconds as he stares straight towards the road before he responds with, “What do you mean?”

“Like, he avoids me like the plague, and then begs me to go back to him, and then he pretends like I’m just a nuisance to him, and then when he sees me with you, he acts all—…I don’t know…all—”

“Jealous?”

You sink into your seat. “Something like that.”

“Hm. Yeah, to be honest, I don’t know. But you’re not wrong to find it strange.”

Feeling strangely validated in your feelings, you sit there twiddling with your thumbs and then glance out the window. There’s a silence that lasts maybe ten seconds before you say,

“Thanks for interrupting back there. Although, you don’t have to try to deliberately make him jealous anymore. Even though I know I literally asked you to do that. Which makes me a woman of severe psychiatric ailment. Of which I am slightly embarrassed about at the moment.”

“Nah,” he says as he turns the right onto the freeway entrance. When you look over at him, he has a smile on his face. “I like it. It’s never boring with you.”

Unsure if that’s a compliment or some shade of insult, you say, “and that’s a good thing?”

He shrugs, releasing one hand from the wheel and curling the other in a tight knuckled grip at the top of it as the car drives steady down the freeway. He rests his right elbow on the storage console. “Well, it’s different from what I’m used to.”

What are you used to? You so badly want to ask him.

But a flashback to his childhood bedroom at his parent’s house comes back to you.

Yearbook signatures, trophies, and photos abandoned underneath a bed.

You almost don’t even want to acknowledge that he has lived a life before you.

Was that self centered? Or perhaps childish? Or perhaps all in human nature?

You decide not to respond, instead directing your attention to the world outside the car window. The blades of grass dance across the shoulder of the road, all greenery following suit in the same swift motion. You watch as the land slowly turns from developed to more and more remote, yet still cozy and charming. Fields of green, vineyard arrangements, a wooden sign for a winery, a picturesque red barn house, a small cattle farm, an old town church with a bronze bell, hills of empty acres that are just begging to be touched by some great idea or civilization.

You’re privy to change in texture underneath the wheels as Gojo makes a turn onto gravel road about two miles after getting off the freeway. He drives up a hill, maybe a forty-five degree angle, with the crunch of rocks rubbing against the tread of the tires and you see a more distinct, purposeful arrangement of short decorative trees that line the properties of this narrow gravel road. They were large houses, sitting on slightly slanted hills that were all a part of a bumpy landscape that extends for miles. Some had formal fences, some had chain links, but all had expansive yards with no clear distinction of boundary, where the backyard could be the front yard too if only you had the imagination for it.

One house in particular catches your eye. It’s a pretty two story house with a detached garage or perhaps shed, painted in a dusky auburn with dark wooden paneling and structure. It sat near the top of this hill, the front yard being a steep upwards slope of grassy terrain that stretched for the full length of the property, about a hundred yards. The backyard dips behind the back of the hill, downwards into some territory you cannot set eyes on. But it’s stunning. It was gorgeous. Serene. With views of lush green surrounding its every corner. Intimately located, yet open enough to fresh air in which you almost feel one with the world. And in the early evening light, it looked like heaven.

You let out a slow exhale as you take in the sight that looks like a painting to you. There was something so romantic about a home. For as long as time, humans have enjoyed personifying objects, such as boats or planes or cars or  trains. But what could feel more of a living thing than a home?

You hear Gojo click his seatbelt off beside you and you glance over at him. You click off your own seat belt and open your door, stepping out onto the gravel road.

Gojo comes around the car and approaches you, holding a folder in his hand with papers you can only assume have information on the property listing. You also hear the jingle of keys in his pocket as he pushes his hand into it. 

“Got about,” he glances at his watch, “twenty minutes to prep. Oh, and if my clients ask, I’ll just introduce you as my assistant. And we’ll pretend that we have some sort of inappropriate workplace relationship. Just to intrigue them. It’ll make the house more memorable. Sound like a plan?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever gets food on your table.”

You watch as he pushes a copper key into the rusted lock that was clipped onto the chains holding the fence together, guarding the property. He yanks it down once he’s unlocked it and then pulls the fence apart, opening the way to head up the house. It borders on a feeling of trespassing, but you trail closely behind Gojo as he makes his way up the grassy hill, reminding yourself that he has the clearance as a realtor.

You glance around the property a bit more. There’s a small pond in the dip of one of the smaller hills, fuzzy with moss and some small fish you can see snapping at the surface of the water. Off to the right of it, there are similarly moss covered stone benches, small and antique. Perfect to sit there and watch the sun set behind the house. And towards the left, a small gondola with arranged stained glass stepping stones. 

“Charming, huh?” Gojo says over his shoulder at you, and you realize he’s caught you staring at everything in awe.

Gojo makes it to the veranda after lengthy strides across the broad concrete steps that lead to the most stunning hardwood door you’ve ever seen in your life. He turns around to glance at you when he realizes you’re still stuck at the bottom of the steps, digging your heels into the ground underneath you.

“It’s–” you start, looking across the landscape while melancholy washes over you, “...I just can’t believe that someone gets to live here someday.”

He pushes his hands inside of his pant pockets, silent for a few moments. “Is everything alright?”

You look up at him, the question threatening to make the rawness in your throat burn even more. “Yes, I just–” you scoff at yourself a little before turning back to face the little pond, now further in the distance, “I just realized that I’ll probably never be able to afford a house in my life, so I’ll never really know what it’s like to have a realtor show me around a home I could potentially one day call my own. It’s something that sounds so surreal to me.”

There’s a silence that lasts for three seconds, and when you look up at him, his gaze is soft.

“Alright,” he says, jerking his head towards the direction of the door with his hands still lax in his pockets, “let’s take you on a tour of this one, then.”

You blink up at him, heart beating a little faster. “O-...Okay.” And you hop up the stairs to meet him at the top. The fragrance of wild roses and lavender brush past your senses as the leaves sway with the breeze. 

The moment you enter inside, you’re greeted by a faint trace of vanilla lingering in the air. The foyer is warm, inviting, with soft oak floors that creak ever so slightly with each step you two take forward into it, proving the life that it’s lived. To your left, there’s a spacious living room that glows with the golden light of the early evening sun that has started to gently make its descent from high up in the sky. Filtering through sheer curtains, touching your skin from afar, you glance down at your arm and the glow of heaven that’s been imprinted on it. 

Gojo walks further into the living room, pulling the curtains back a bit and then opens one of the windows by pushing up on it. A small draft reaches you as you walk towards him. Off to the right in a corner is a fireplace, the mantle adorned with wilting candles and creased old books.

“Is it wood-burning?” you ask Gojo.

He nods his head. “Can easily convert it to gas if that’s something you’d like better.”

There’s a sense of joy in your chest at the way he continues to play along, pretending as if your opinion truly matters–as if, just for now, you were a serious contender to make this place your home. 

“No,” you say, tracing a finger over the dark wood of the mantle, collecting withered dust. “I like it better like this.”

As he leads you into the kitchen, set your eyes on the marble countertops that meet soft sage cabinetry, the window behind the sink overlooking the rolling landscape of the backyard. You stand on your tiptoes to get a better view of what’s down the hill, and you see a small trickling creek that flows down the valley. Your gaze diverts towards the countertops and you see an elegant collection of mismatched china.

Spinning on your heel, you find Gojo leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you inspect every inch. “When were these appliances last updated?” you ask, running your hand across the oven handle.

“About fourteen years ago.”

“Ah, they’re a little old.”

He smiles at you. “So the tolerance for vintage charm ends with kitchen appliances?”

“Charm is cute,” you say, a little cheekily as you move on without him towards the staircase, “but not when the house burns down because of an oven gas leak.”

He hums from behind you as he follows you, and you can hear the smile on his face through the sound alone. “You’re looking out for the right things.”

The staircase, with its dark wood railing and white balusters, curves gently upwards into the second floor. Just like your own home, the third and first steps creak beneath your feet. You always loved the sound, although you know most people attempt to fix such things in a house. For you, it felt like each step had a story, and some were very vocal about never being forgotten. 

The upstairs hallway is lined with more windows, filling the space with the same golden glow that now dances across the soft, tapering wallpaper that has begun to peel around the edges slightly. Your feet wander on their own with a sense of grace that seems to have taken hold of you. 

The first bedroom you stumble across is small, but still enchanting. The bay window has a small reading nook with cushions piled up on the surface, inviting the image of lazy afternoons spent lost in books as the world beyond the glass panes flutters in the wind. The queen-sized bed in the center of the room is minimally dressed and faces an oak dresser that was leaning slightly away from the wall in a crooked fashion. 

The room across from the first bedroom appears to be a study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are bolted to the walls and a vintage writing desk sits by another window where the changing light of day turns the room into a living painting. Your mother crosses your mind. And how much she would’ve loved this window. You could picture her setting up her easel and canvas here, painting away with strokes that could threaten even the beauty of the view outside the window. You think about how much joy that would’ve brought to her. 

In that same trance, you walk down the hall to the end with Gojo following behind you. You push through the set of double doors that lead into the master bedroom. It was spacious, yet intimate, with vaulted ceilings and a four-poster bed draped in airy linen curtains. Sitting across from it is another fireplace surrounded by two picturesque little chairs. One with a square backrest colored a dark burgundy, and the other with an oval backrest colored a pinkish opal. Between the two was a small table that had a stack of a few books. 

The attached en-suite bathroom appears timeless, with a clawfoot tub resting beneath a wide, arched window that offers the view of the rolling hills in their entire glory. The marble vanity has vintage brass fixtures that reflect the soft glow of the chandelier that hangs from the ceiling, one that takes the shape of the roof of the house. 

You hear tapping on the window to your right, and when you glance over there, you see a tree branch bothering the surface due to the wind. 

Your eyes also catch the faint bordering corner of wood beyond the frame of the window.

With wide eyes, you turn to Gojo and point in that general direction. “Is that…?”

“The balcony,” he says, then nods, “it’s connected to this room.”

He leads you out onto the wooden platform, the floorboards warm under your feet from the early evening sun. It stretches out about ten feet and wraps around the entire back end of the house, with easily the most breathtaking vantage point you’ve seen thus far. An entire view of the creek that disappears into the valley, the image of dancing wildflowers on distant rolling hills, the sun that continues to glow in the distance, and a gentle breeze with the faintest hint of salt, as though from a distant ocean. It felt like its own quiet little world. A place where time slows, and you can just be as you are. It was difficult to put into words, but you had never felt more at peace in your entire life.

Gojo leans over the sturdy yet worn railing as he glances down at the grass near the foundation of the house. You come up beside him, loosely curling your hands into a grip around the rusted metal.

You see him turn his face to you in your periphery, but you continue to stay staring ahead.

“So…what do you think? Can you picture yourself living here?” he asks you as a soft brush of breeze passes by. 

“Well–” you start, but then a sobering thought flashes through you, “wait, Satoru, what happened to your clients?”

“Oh, yeah,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket to glance at it, “they texted me about ten minutes ago that they weren’t going to make it.”

“You should’ve told me. We could’ve left.”

“Well, you seemed like you were in some sort of trance while you were looking around. I was scared to interrupt it.”

You breathe in deep and then let out a slow sigh, your shoulders dropping slightly. “Mhm. The house is beautiful. And, yes, I could picture myself living here.” 

More than just that. It was like a dream house. The one that a person would see in fleeting memories right before they pass, as it holds all of their most beloved ones. That ethereal, it was. 

He hums softly. You look over at him and find him blinking slowly. The wind brushes through his hair, ruffling it up gently, to where you could see the blueness in his eyes a little more clearly. That, too, was ethereal. 

“Satoru,” you say.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He continues to stare at the horizon. “Sure.”

“Where did you live before you moved here?”

“New york city,” he easily tells you.

But the answer surprises you. “R-Really?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Really long.”

“Mm. You don’t seem like it.”

“Like what? An asshole from the city?”

“Mhm. Just a regular asshole.”

He laughs. You feel the rumble of it from the way your shoulder was pressed up against his arm. 

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask him. But the question was not one that you had thought to say. Rather, it felt as though it was placed on your tongue by someone else.

You feel his shoulders rise slightly with the deep breath he draws in as he leans over the railing a bit more. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say. I still own a place there in downtown Manhattan,” he says, “but I don’t really plan on moving back there ever. So I was thinking of selling it and getting something out here instead.”

“Oh?” you say, “like what? Where?”

“This,” he says, pointing to the wooden panels you two were standing on, “this house.”

You blink, caught between surprise and something deeper. “This house?” you echo, your voice quiet. 

He nods, his fingers tapping lightly against the railing. “Yeah. Although, I still show it to people if they’re interested. It’s been on the market for over three years though.”

You let your gaze drift over the balcony, the way the light softens against the weathered wood, and suddenly, the house doesn’t feel the same. Like it carries more weight somehow. Like it feels more real, more alive. And maybe that’s what makes a house a home–the intent to belong in it. 

"You see that greenery over there?" he asks, his arm stretching out as he highlights an area in the distance with his hand, "aaaaall the way down there?" Now pointing at the creak.

"Mm," you squint, "uh-huh!"

"Believe it or not, those are all avocado trees."

Your eyes widen and then you look at him. "No way."

He smiles. "Yeahhh. Three-point-four acres of 'em. And they're all a part of this lot."

Your smile matches his equally as nerdy one. "Wow I bet you loooove that.

"I do," he grins, and then gratuitously sights, "all I can eat guacamole 'til the day I die."

You snort.

"Yeah, anyways, that's why no one wants to buy this house," he says, "guess how much it costs to water them per month.”

"Mm, per month?" you look up to the golden sky, "a few thousand?"

"Try a hundred-and-fifty thousand."

"What–...I beg your finest fucking PARDON?!?!"

He laughs. "Yeah that's usually the reaction I get when I end a tour of this house on that note."

“That’s so insane…what’s the point of buying the house, then?”

"Avocados are hard to grow, they can be finicky, but all the land on this lot is extremely fertile," he says, "and if you can import the produce, it actually ends up being pretty lucrative." He points across to the dip in the hill behind the creak. "You could turn that place over there into some kind of ranch, too. Or a wedding venue, and rent it out. I don't know. The property has a lot of investment value. But the house itself is a bit dated. Would need some work."

"Like a fixer-upper on HGTV,” you offer for the conversation.

"Yeahhh. Something like that."

"Mm," you hum.

"Y’know, I was on HGTV once."

"What?! There's no way."

"Yup. House hunters."

"Bullshit. I would've known. I have seen every single episode since I graduated college."

"Oh, well, this was back when they still had Design Star on. I was like twenty-four or something. Fresh new realtor."

"Oh right. I was still in college then. I forgot that you're ancient."

He gives you an irritated side eye.

"So...will you be fixing up this house?" you ask him. His hobby of woodworking starts to make a little bit more sense.

"Maybe. I don't know if I'm too young to be thinking about retirement yet...but that's kind of what I was thinking of turning it into. A dream retirement home."

"You're definitely not young. Don't worry about that."

He gives you another irritated look.

"What happens to your other house, then?" you say. "The one next door."

“Hmm," he muses, "I'll probably stay there another year or so and then rent it out eventually."

"You don't want to settle down there? Raise your kids there?" you blurt out. You immediately wince a little at the forward question, but wasn't that something people thought about when thinking of a house? Do they not imagine filling it with their own hopes and dreams? Do they not picture their spouse sitting on the porch outside, swinging with the wind? Do they not picture their children's laughter down the hallway? 

A shiver runs down your spine. You glance over at Gojo, who continues to stare forward towards the horizon, His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he's deep in thought staring out into the landscape as the golden sun begins to turn purple in the sky, casting a dimming glow on his face.

And you wonder. You briefly wonder what a home must mean to him, after having to witness his parents perish in the flames of the one that housed his childhood. 

"It's a nice house," he finally responds to you, "but a part of me wants to live faaaaar away from everyone and everything someday." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he can already tell how contradictory you find that sentiment to be. Mr Grew Up In New York City wants to live in a quaint little cape-cod-esque agriculture farmland property miles away from major civilization? what was it about the city that changed him so much? “Just be at peace, you know. Plant a million more avocado trees out here in the middle of nowhere, and not have to worry about their devilish spawns dropping all over my cute neighbor's herb garden.”

You flutter your eyelids, the comment catching you off guard, before your entire posture softens. "Satoru...it's ok. I'll move my herb garden."

"Oh, you thought I meant you? I was talking about seventy-four year old Barbara to my right."

You sulk your shoulders and roll your eyes, turning away from him to face forward towards the landscape again.

He laughs. "I'm just teasing."

You glance over at him again, and there's that same distant stare he casts over the greenery in the distance. 

"I can't believe your dream in life is to become a farmer," you say.

"Ehhh. It's honest work." he exhales slowly. The sun is now sitting on the hilltop. "It's just a dream, anyways. Just a dream. I'm still allowed to have those, right?" It was asked with genuine curiosity. 

"Why are you asking me for permission?"

His eyes hood ever so slightly, a dip in his expression you can't quite discern. but it's evident in the way his gaze off across the horizon dampens. "Hm. I don't know."

You shiver a little as the evening wind brushes past, and Gojo catches sight of the movement. you mentally curse yourself, because you know that you've just cut this moment short.

"It's cold," he says, "let's get inside."

You try to think of ways to stay here. Ways to lengthen this moment. Ask him for his jacket and make some teasing comment about how he's not a gentleman. Or lie and say that you're not cold at all, that you run warm when you know all your life you've always had cold hands and feet. Or just tell him that you don't want this moment to end. Tell him you want to see the sun through its sunset. Tell him how you never want to step foot off of this house ever again.

"Okay," you whisper. 

And he leads you back inside, down the stairs, and as you stand out on the veranda, at the grassy hills towards his car, you implant this memory in your head, this feeling of standing on this home and dreaming as if it were yours. Before all it becomes is exactly that, 

Only a dream. 

.

.

.

.

.

[end of ch.7, ‘if u wanna get groceries’]

songs of the chapter:  groceries by mallrat  margaret by lana del rey

a/n. thanks so much for reading! this was a fun chapter to write, especially the house sequence. i think it’s mentioned in the chapter somewhere, but yeah…i just think there’s something so romantic and melancholic about a home :’’) i guess that’s a recurring theme in ihm, with reader’s childhood home holding the memories that her mother has lost of her, and then ihm gojo losing his parents to a destructive house fire, and also him being a realtor, and also reader planning to sell her house, and then the dream house in this chapter. it’s been fun breathing a bit of life into these different settings themselves. ah i also decided i want to include little “song(s) of the chapter” to the end of these! just as something kinda fun to do. i’d say these are songs that inspired me to write certain scenes within the chapter, or songs that i listened to a lot while writing the chapter, or songs i could picture playing during the ending credits if this were a tv show xd. but yeahhh!! also just a way to share music bc i love music lol.  big thank you to my beta readers mirl, leni, and ayelin for helping me out w parts of this chapter n giving me motivation to write it <33 i appreciate you guys sososo much!! i really attribute a lot of my writing motivation towards them, as i’ve been really busy but been able to write these lengthy chapters bc of their support.  i did kinda rush parts of this chapter just because i wanted to get it out on the weekend, so i apologize if there are errors or mistakes of if anything’s a little confusing or sudden. tbh i did want to spend a tiny bit more time on it but, that’s ok. fuck it we ball also! i just wanted to say a quick thank you to all of my readers and those that have stuck around for so long with me or maybe newer readers who have interacted or become invested w my works recently… i know that i am so slow w updates and sometimes inconsistent w it as well, life just gets so crazy for me and it’s a struggle to find proper time to sit down and write, and i wish soooo badly to put out chapters faster, but yea easier said than done haha. but all of my readers who continue to engage with lil ol’ me even despite all of that really means a lot to me, more than i can say :”) i still face self doubts so often w my writing, i’m halfway convinced i’ll never be satisfied w my craft, but the little interactions i have w everyone really make my day and push me forward to write even when it’s hard and i realized i haven’t really said a proper thank u to u guys for that as of late. plus i know jjk manga has ended and also i took a hiatus n also tumblr has lowkey been fuckin me over on the algorithm too lol etc etc i definitely have noticed i’ve lost some readers n engagement along the way, which i understand is natural n just a part of being a long fic author however daunting that may be, but i just really wanted to say a thank you to those who continue to be here irrespective of all of that. i appreciate everyone who sees value in my works enough to read them, follow up w them, interact w them, share them, like them etc. especially w ihm bc sometimes i feel so bad for the slow burn and the yap haha i’m sure some of you may be privy to the fact by now that this story will be very long and also so much more than just the romance. but…i find confidence from you all to follow my vision and i’m really grateful for that.  very likely that the next chapter is in ihm gojo’s pov :0 very exciting and makes me a lil nervous. for some reason i find his pov somewhat intimidating to write for loool. but hopefully i’ll pull it off.

much love!! there will be a delay in getting this chapter up on ao3 and also adding it to the masterlist etc bc i'll be away from keyboard when this posts from my queue, but everything should be updated by the time i'm back home tonight :) see you all in the next one <3 -ellie

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[leighsartworks216]

Hello! Hope your days going great.

Saw you opened requests for Valentine's and honestly you're my go to blog for dealing with all the feelings Zayne gives me. 🫠

I tried to really think about a good proper fluffy Valentine's prompt, but I can't get the idea of Zayne's full body weight on reader.

Just full on flop, waist between knees, nose in neck crook, arms around an arched back type of full contact cuddle. 😩🤌🏼

Post date? Early morning? Maybe the first time he ever truly let's himself he held? Not worrying about crushing them?

I just want him to drape over me like a weighted blanket.

Bonus points if there's some scalp scratching type of melty action? I just want to smother that man in my love honestly.

All Night Forever

Zayne x gn!Reader

I will always drop everything to hold this man and give him the attention he deserves

Title from "All Night Forever" by TWRP (it suits him SO well)

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, slow dancing, cuddling, kissing, touch-starved Zayne, literal sleeping together, silly, teasing, banter

Word Count: 1,190

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Zayne smiles softly as he watches you twirl into the house. You hum a song aloud, mindlessly kicking your shoes away and following imaginary dance steps. It’s one of the songs they played at the gala tonight.

He toes off his own shoes. Crouching down, he sets his them in their proper place before gathering yours and neatly aligning them in just the same way. He doesn’t have a chance to grab your slippers before you’re tapping on his shoulder and tugging on his arm.

“Dance with me,” you say. Your movements have the familiar lag of exhaustion, lingering just at the very edge of your swaying hips. Your eyes are still so bright and excited, but the bags underneath are more prominent with the late hour. And yet here to are, pulling him back up to his feet so he can dance with you.

He chuckles as he steps closer, his hands settling easily on your waist. “Haven’t you danced enough for one night?” You wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the edge of his collar, guiding him with you as you step away from the door and into the house proper.

It’s dark. The only light to guide the way comes from the ceiling light in the entryway, but its warm reach only extends so far. It’s substituted by the moon’s blue glow the further you go, highlighting the edge of furniture and the side of your face. Despite the lack of proper light, you move through the house with ease. You never have anything to fear; even if you were drunk and stumbling, Zayne would guide you away from any danger, protecting you from a stubbed toe or banged up shin.

You step back, he steps forward. Each step is reciprocated, timed out to the slow song you hum. You lead him into the living room. He quirks an eyebrow in question, but he follows. He would follow you into hell, swaying back and forth and never letting his eyes stray from your face.

He’s caught off balance when you hug him tighter and pull him down, though he should have expected such an act of mischief from you. You fall back onto the soft couch cushions, bouncing lightly with the impact. He has to let you go in order to catch himself. His hands cage you in, one knee between your legs. His other leg is extended out, standing on the soft carpet laid out across the floor to keep himself steady. He shoots you a glare, though it lacks any real upset.

“Lay with me,” you plead sweetly. You tug on him lightly, but he stays firm. “I want to hold you.”

He shakes his head with a soft, breathy laugh. “You’re going to be uncomfortable,” he warns, thumbing at the sleeve of your attire, “dressed like this.”

You shift so your knee presses against his side, urging him further to lay down between your legs. “That’s a Future-Me problem. Now-Me wants to hold my boyfriend.”

“Future-You is going to be complaining to Future-Zayne about this. He won’t say ‘I told you so,’ but he’ll be thinking it.”

You giggle. “Noted. Now, please?”

“You need to move over.”

“Nope. Just lay on top of me!”

He gives you a dubious look. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Never truly able to resist your antics, he relents. He brings his other leg up onto the couch. As he lowers himself down to lay on top of you, his legs stretch out behind him, toes nearly touching the arm rest. His arms are the last to adjust. You can tell by the serious, focused look on his face he’s concerned about resting his full weight on you. All it takes to remove that worry is, naturally, you: you hug him close, guiding his head to your chest and kissing his forehead, and he finally slips his arms under your back to hug you in return.

Once everything has settled into place, he rests his chin on your chest to look at your face. “Happy?”

Your smile puts the moon to shame. “Almost.”

Before he can ask what else you want - your dear Zayne, always ready to ask ‘how high’ when you say ‘jump’ - you’re taking it for yourself. You drag your nails along his scalp, immediately drawing shivers and a shuddering sigh from him. His arms curl tighter around your body. His ears turn pink with blush. But all this leads to what you really wanted, as his body relaxes further into yours and his weight presses you deeper into the cushions.

“Now,” you whisper, “I’m happy.”

You think he flushes deeper with embarrassment at being caught so off guard by such a simple touch, but he doesn’t fight it. He turns his face to the side, resting his cheek against you. “You still find ways to surprise me, even now,” he murmurs. “However, I won’t deny that it feels nice.”

You bite your lip to try hiding the wide smile that wants to break free. You watch his face as you tangle your fingers into his hair, scratching lightly across his scalp, from the nape of his neck to the crown of his head and back. It’s addicting, watching the way his body reacts. You can see the tension leave his shoulders and back. Feel the way he all but melts into you. His head tilts slightly into your touch, chasing after the sensations that tingle under his skin, even as he tries to lie still. His soft breaths, shaky and content.

Minutes pass by in comfortable silence, broken only by your shared breaths and synced heartbeats. You thought he was already asleep when he slowly shifts further up, adjusting himself so he can hide his face in your neck. His nose is cold where it brushes your skin. He murmurs a soft apology when you involuntarily jolt from it, but you don’t let him pull away. Instead it nuzzles into your pulse, replaced every now and again with his soft lips leaving tired kisses that linger as he counts each beat of your heart.

You brush his bangs aside to kiss his forehead. “I love you…” you whisper against his skin.

“I love you, too…” he whispers back, just before his breathing evens out and he falls asleep in your arms.

-

BONUS:

You sit up with a groan, rubbing at your neck and arching your back in hopes it’ll pop and steal with it the ache in your spine. Lines are imprinted in your skin from your clothes, that now feel like sandpaper against your skin.

Zayne, wet hair sticking to his forehead and fresh, comfortable clothes in place of his suit from last night, smiles down at you. He wordlessly passes over two pain tablets and a glass of water.

You glare at him as you take the medicine. “You can’t say it. You said Future-Zayne wouldn’t say it.”

“I did,” he concedes. His smile only grows wider as he leans over the back of the couch to kiss your forehead. “But I also believe I said he would be thinking it.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one @always-just-red

[urge4divinty]

Your ex’s hidden feelings about you ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

pac tarot reading paired with intuition, take what resonates and remember energy can always change readings aren’t set in stone. + their signs or dominant placements

3 cards pulled for each pile ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral

Pile 1

the first thing i feel before even pulling cards is warmth, a warm feeling? maybe they felt that with you and it was something they miss deeply they can’t find that in someone else so they might be completely tweaking out about the kind of warmth you brought them. song i’m also channeling is just dance by lady gaga? “wish i shut my playboy mouth—control your poison, babe, roses have thrones they say”

after pulling cards the exs hidden feelings give a very “i need to be soul searching after you”they are alone and possibly becoming independent in a introspective state. dealing with insecurity and trying to understand their inner feelings it confuses them how hurt they are and they never expected to be—they are trying to distract themselves so they might be in a hustling state where they obsess with work/or obsess over material possessions. i’m getting heavy insecurity they’re not able to express how they feel nor do they want to their usually assertiveness is muted, they feel imbalanced like maybe you weren’t giving a even amount? could be hesitant due to past hurts. they’d invest in the connection again if they felt it was safe to right now they struggle with vulnerability. guarded, uncertain, wanting clarity? signs: leo virgo taurus/libra

donut pile what’s teaaaa omg

Pile 2

the first thing i feel is slight annoyance? like very annoyed—it’s this energy of being slightly bothered. the song that came on while thinking of pile 2 was off to the races by lana del rey “god , i’m so crazy baby i’m sorry that misbehaving” oh?? “i need you i breathe you ill never leave you” “i love you forever? not maybe you are my one true love”

After pulling cards their hidden feelings is definitely defeat? like they lost something big? could’ve been married or just a really committed and serious relationship it gives a loving bond, or was loving such a “i wanted to propose to them i wanted marriage” oh they are in deeeeeep dude. but they are trying to seem stoic like they aren’t totally sick but they don’t seem like they’ll openly express any of this. they still think of you as their ideal partner!! but the ending was so painful for them they feel emotionally done and still hold on to the memories of you two. forcing themselves to accept that it’s actually over. signs: aries cancer/pisces gemini/scorpio

Pile 3

this piles energy is so different from the rest? its almost unexplainable it’s like they don’t know what they feel but they definitely know what they lost “i feel stupid” popped into my head.

after pulling cards i’m getting that they are having a lot of thoughts about you they have a strong urge to reach out to say something replaying conversations thinking of what they SHOULD of said or done to make a difference. they might’ve been emotionally detached while with you but after you left they got out of this state with a quickness they stopped ignoring their feelings and now they feel regret—they are becoming aware of what this relationship meant to them lots of self reflection going on for them and they are understanding their role of what happened, they feel pulled towards closure they want to try again tbh. their feelings are active and shifting going from indifference to “oh shit i lost them” they see the relationship in a way they didn’t see before this urge to reach out could be impulsive they are rushing into it to say their piece it’s chaotic and not at all well thought out so it could lead to aggressive communication.

signs: gemini/libra/aquarius cancer scorpio

[anotherbrahmsfangirl]

💔: Michael Myers or Art the clown, they're both heartless killers, cannot be reasoned with.

💘: Brahms Heelshire duh.

🎭: I already own Brahms's mask, I made it for my BF's cosplay

🔪: I think Ghostface's knife looks pretty unique

🎧: Dutch Melrose: Runrunrun. I heard it on a Brahms TikTok, and loved the sound of it, now every time I listen to it, it reminds me of him. That and Denise Williams: Let's hear it for the boy. Lol

🎤: Brahms lol

💍: oh I'm traditional, I want Brahms to get down on one knee for me 🥰

🥩: Hewitts hands down. Thomas is a cutie

🩰: Again Brahms, he probably knows how to dance a little. Even before being sentenced to the wall.

🏠: Brahms of course, who wouldn't want to live in a big opulent manor??

💀: oof that's a hard one, most only know how to take a life not save one... maybe Brahms has read a book on first aid???

⚔️: probably Billy Lenz as long as I knew he was there/coming. He's depicted as a skinny looking guy. I bet I could beat his ass. Him or maybe Martin.

☎️: Billy Loomis, then we can at least talk about scary movies.

👻: Thomas hewitt, it'd be funny to see that giant guy stare down the actors with a chain less chainsaw.

👶: omg yes! I can quote poetry, I have a beautiful singing voice, I know a bit of French and Japanese. I'd like to think I'd wow her (and Brahms) by singing a song in french, also, I'm not creeped out by dolls.

👩‍🎤🧑‍🎤:me and Brahms are gonna look fashionable in matching sweater vests and jackets, I'll wear a skirt and thigh highs, he'll be in trousers. Both with loafer shoes, looking like proper brits lol

🏒🔥: Jason, he's the strong silent type, Freddy would get on my nerves.

🧇: Bo, I think he'd make a surprisingly good steak or stew.

🤗: oh god, such a toss up. Brahms I'm sure loves to hug, esp from behind, but just the sheer size of Thomas would be like hugging a bear. I can't choose!

🛁: god, they're all so dirty/sweaty/bloody. I'm gonna go with Thomas, that hot humid texas weather makes you just gross from head to toe.

💭: maybe ask Brahms if he really did kill Emily and the other nannies.

💋: lol self

🐶: maybe like a bear or a bull with Thomas.. nothing else comes to mind.

🎃: if I'm not dressed up, I'm handing out candy, if I am, I'd either be a ghostbuster, or baba yaga (witch)

Slasher Ask Game

(Inspired by this post here! Altered a bit to fit my blog)

💔 The slasher you’d LEAST like to meet IRL.

💘 The slasher you’d MOST like to meet IRL.

🎭 If you could own one slasher mask which would it be?

🔪 If you could own one slasher weapon which would it be?

🎧 A song you associate with a slasher.

🎤 Which slasher has the nicest voice?

💍 Would you rather be proposed to by a slasher or you propose to them?

🥩 The Sawyers/Hewitts invite you for dinner are you taking a bite? Also which family would you rather have dinner with?

🩰 Which slasher would you like to slow dance with & which do think is the best slow dancer?

🏠 If you could live with only one slasher who would it be? How’s the experience?

💀Oh no you’re injured! Which slasher would you like to nurse you back to health?

⚔️ What slasher do you think you could beat in a fight?

☎️ Receive a call from Billy Lenz or Billy Loomis?

👻 If you could go through a haunted house with one slasher who would you want to take?

👶 You’re being interviewed by the Heelshire’s for Greta’s position. Would they hire you?

👩‍🎤🧑‍🎤 You get you wear matching outfits with a slasher of your choice. What are you guys wearing?

🏒🔥 Jason or Freddy?

🧇 It’s dinner time! Which Sinclair brother would you like to cook for you? & how well does it go?

🤗 Which slasher do you think gives the best hugs?

🛁 What slasher do you think needs a bath the most?

💭 You can ask any slasher whatever question you want. Who & what are you going to ask?

💋 Do you prefer to selfship, use OCs with slashers or ship slashers together?

🐶 Are there any animals you associate with slashers?

🎃 It’s Halloween and you bump into Micheal Myers! What are you dressed as?

[kisses4kaia]

nobody does it better by carly simon but it’s the radiohead cover and it’s patrick… cw: DISGUSTING smut with this evil man, no less no more . im shameless.

a/n: so we all know the photo. and what ThePhoto did to me was… this! enjoy. 😌

the room is loud. there’re a million people you could be talking to, looking at. a hundred people you could sit in the corner and people watch, but his eyes are on you. and you cannot look away.

patrick zweig was a reoccurring character in your life. starting off as low-commitment boyfriend freshman year, turning to effervescent fuckbuddy you could never get far enough away from to become detached. you hated him, god, you hated the pull on you he had. the iron grip that steeled you right where you were across the room from him, eyes locked like a guarded palace onto his. good lord.

it truly takes the will of god to keep your feet planted where they are, forcing yourself to divert your eyes from him. but, never fear, he’s already moving towards you.

his towering presence is felt immediately as he stands in front of you, looking down into your eyes as if he can hear your heart pounding regardless of the blaring song around him.

“hey,” he says quietly, tone soft but gravelly, as if there wasn’t a sound barrier around the two of you that might keep you from hearing him. “what do you want, zweig? your voice comes out more pointedly than you intended, but with the way your pulse is thrumming and your hands are shaking, you can hardly blame yourself.

looking at you with that look in his eye, the one that almost mocks you as to say ‘got ya’, he cranes his neck down to whisper in your ear. “what do you want?” and he knows.

patrick turns without another word, and before you can process what you’re doing, your feet are moving with him, as if a collar was wrapped around your neck, choking your senses, and the leash was hanging haphazardly from his hand.

his path leads you into a bathroom, small, no shower, with a buzzing, lagging light. his hands are on your waist as soon as you step through the door, pushing you against it. patrick doesn’t kiss you immediately, unusual for him. “i miss you,” he breathes out, nervously, and it is jarring.

patrick zweig is not nervous, ever. he was self sure and confident and a fucking dickwad who knew it and embraced it as part of his “charm”. “yeah? and how many girls have you said that to, hm? britney posted you on her story yesterday, patrick. last friday, it was ántonia. fuck you,” you spat out, the 3… maybe 4 vodka sours you indulged in half an hour ago making your head pound, or maybe it was his dior sauvage.

he sighs, looking away from you impatiently, but when his eyes lands back on you, his gaze is crazed. “fuck, they don’t matter to me. i don’t know their last names, i don’t know their little siblings, they don’t know my favorite band, and i don’t look them in the eye when i fuck them. shit, baby, it’s you, don’t you realize? always fucking you,”

oscar winning preformance, is what you want to say, but his exasperated exhale after the words come out, paired with the rihanna song dully thrumming behind the door, bass vibrating against the wood, you look between his eyes, down at his lips, and your eyes don’t travel again before you smash your mouth onto his.

never fucking again, you tell yourself as his lips move in desperate, hungry, almost disbelieving tandem with yours. this is the last time.

“do you have a boyfriend?” he breathes out between kisses as he unbuckles your belt and unbuttons your jeans, shimmying them off. “like that’d make you walk out right now,” you kiss him again, biting his lower lip. “fuck. no, fuck no, but if you do, i’m going to make you remember exactly why nobody does it better.”

patrick lifts you effortlessly and places you on the sink, pulling your sticky, lacy panties to the side, smirking that evil damn smirk at the fancy little bow at the top. “did you know i was gonna be here tonight?” he nibbles as your ear, bringing loving bites down your jugular to your shoulder.

“no, but i knew art would be.” your smile is devious as his eyes light up, not with jealousy, but with the same fire he gets when he realizes his opponent on the other side of the net is really playing with him, when they’re really playing fucking tennis.

patrick jerks himself once or twice, languidly, before sliding his cock into you. a hardly contained whine pulls from your voice, and your mouth drops into an ‘o’ at the stretch. he nearly has you in an embrace, the way he’s holding you closely against his chest, and his curls are begging to be pulled. you entwine your finger with the hair at the nape of his neck and tug with every sharp thrust into your leaking pussy.

“more, give me more, patrick, don’t hold back on me, asshole.” he doesn’t even respond, just obediently lifts you up every so slightly off the sink and moves you on and off of his cock, giving him a much wider range of motion. his dick is nearly completely out of you each time his hips snap back, but you’re moaning like a pornstar each time he’s in again.

his ability to hit that spot inside of you with near perfect accuracy every fucking time is expert, a skill that could only be acquired by someone so in tune with your pleasure—and if patrick zweig was nothing else, he was that.

“fuck, gonna, shit! gripping me so fucking tight, leaking all over my shit, baby. she miss me? huh, pretty? you miss me?” he was talking right through you, each word penetrating your deepest desires and fantasies. you hated how he knew you. you hated that you let him. but most of all, you hated how close you were to coming.

he keeps fucking you unforgivingly, whining and moaning like a whore all the while. “you still on that pill?” he asked, voice pitchy and annoying and sexy.

“no, insurance stopped covering it.” you say seriously, and you can’t keep your laughter in when his thrusts slow and he looks at you panicked. “i’m fucking with you, don’t stop,”

“you’re evil, you know that?” he says endearingly, playful as always, and it’s no more than a minute later that he’s coming inside you.

patrick never was a selfish lover, so it came as no surprise that after pulling his softening girth from you, not one, not two, but three of his finger were quickly pumping in and out of you, making him moan sluttishly at the way his own cum coated his fingers. his other hand made busy circling your clit with his thumb, fast and calculatedly.

he knew every button to push because he sewed them onto you, and so it was no surprise that with that special angling of his wrist, you were coming undone on his fingers in minutes.

it’s quiet for the next few minutes, you cleaning yourself up, patrick washing his hands, the both of you redressing in silence.

“so… same time tomorrow?” he smiles at you, pleased with himself and sure your answer will be affirmative.

you walk up to him, smile, kiss him tenderly on his lips, let your heels touch the ground again softly. “go fuck yourself, patrick.” your words are sharp but your tone is sickly sweet, and patrick recovers from his shock quickly, smirking stupidly.

“after that, i most definitely will be.”

[wendichester]

Darling! How are you? How is your week?

🍄 here

You said I could send more asks… so I’m going to reaaaally use that! Hope that’s ok :)

Hear me out… Dean an HER are undercover in a bar/roadhouse whatever to gather intel… SHE has to sing on stage because of reasons (you’re the genius writer you’ll figure it out 😘) and she sings “rhinestone ring” from Abby Cone cause she’s cheesy and her and Dean are idiots in love who have to talk about their feelings eventually?

Can be fluffy can be steamy… you decide

Luv ya 🍄

⋆˚˖° rhinestone ring,

summary. serenading dean in the middle of a case because the tension between you two is becoming unbearable

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 957

notes. first time hearing this song but it clicks so well with dean imo ehe thanks for the request lovely 🩷🍄

This is not what Dean signed up for.

He leans against the bar, whiskey in hand, watching as you step onto the stage, bathed in warm, golden light. The roadhouse is packed tonight—truckers, bikers, hunters, all of them turning to watch as you adjust the mic stand.

He should be watching the room. Keeping an eye out for their mark.

Instead, he’s watching you.

Your eyes flick to his before the music starts, and even from across the bar, Dean can see the teasing glint in them. You’re loving this.

He grits his teeth, rolling his shoulders. This is all part of the plan—cozy up to the locals, get the information they need, maybe shake a few hands and flash a few flirtatious smiles. The singing part? Not in the original game plan.

But you took one look at the stage, grinned like you had a secret, and next thing he knew, some gruff-looking guy was handing you a guitar and calling your name into the mic.

Now, Dean watches, breath held, as you bring the mic closer and let your voice pour into the room.

"Some girls want a big old diamond on a hand they hold too tight, Some girls wanna be in a fairytale, that’s just not my style..."

Your voice is smooth, soft but full of warmth, curling around every word like honey. Dean swallows hard, his fingers tightening around his glass.

He should have known you’d pick something like this.

You smirk as you get to the next part, eyes locking on him.

"I just want a rhinestone ring, Buy it with a neon glow, From a pawn shop down on Broadway, We’ll keep it on the low..."

Dean can feel the heat creeping up his neck. The crowd is eating it up, nodding along, tapping their fingers against their beers. They don’t know that this is for him, that you’re looking right at him like the words mean something.

He hates that his chest aches at the thought.

Because this is just a job. Just a cover. Just another night spent pretending.

Right?

You keep singing, strumming along to the melody, your voice turning sweeter, softer.

"I don’t need forever, just tonight with you..."

Dean exhales sharply. You have got to be kidding him.

He pushes off the bar, needing to put some space between himself and whatever the hell this is stirring up inside him. He moves to the edge of the crowd, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

You finish the song with a little flourish, sending a wink in his direction before handing off the guitar and hopping off the stage.

The bar erupts into applause.

Dean doesn’t move.

You weave through the crowd, stepping right up to him, eyes shining with amusement. "Well?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "That was real cute."

"Admit it, Winchester." You nudge him with your hip. "You liked it."

Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re a damn menace, you know that?"

You grin. "And yet, you love me."

The words slip out so easily, so casually, that you don’t even seem to realize what you just said.

But Dean does.

His heart stutters, his smirk faltering for half a second before he covers it up with another sip of whiskey.

You tilt your head, watching him. "What?"

Dean sets his glass down on the table behind him, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Nothing."

But you don’t let it go.

Your fingers brush against his wrist, just for a second. A fleeting touch. A spark.

"Dean," you say, softer now.

He clenches his jaw, eyes flicking over the room—looking for an excuse, a distraction, anything.

But there’s nothing. Just you. Just this.

"You ever think about it?" you ask, voice quiet, hesitant.

Dean exhales sharply. "Think about what?"

Your lips quirk up. "A pawn shop ring. A neon glow."

His chest tightens. He should lie. He should. But when he looks at you, standing there with that damn knowing look in your eyes, he can’t.

"Yeah," he admits, voice rough. "Maybe."

You stare at him like you’re waiting for something else, something more.

And hell—maybe you deserve more.

But all Dean can do is shake his head with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "We should get back to work."

You study him for a beat longer before nodding. "Yeah. We should."

Neither of you move.

Dean swears under his breath before grabbing your hand and tugging you into the shadows of the hallway leading to the back of the bar.

You barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on yours, hungry and desperate, kissing you like he’s been dying for it.

And maybe he has.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, like you knew this was coming. Like you knew all along.

Dean presses you against the wall, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you fit against him like you were always meant to be here.

"Thought you didn’t do fairytales," he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, breathless. "I don’t."

His lips trail along your jaw, down to your neck. "Then what the hell was that song about?"

You laugh softly, tilting your head back to give him more access. "Not every love story needs a fairytale ending."

Dean pulls back just enough to look at you. "And ours?"

You search his face, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "Ours is whatever we want it to be." You shrug slightly. "As long as you're next to me, I don't really care,"

His breath catches.

And maybe a pawn shop ring and a neon glow don’t sound so bad after all.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32

[thanosspills]

A Night Out With "Team Thanos"

Synopsis: You and your new-found friends survived the games together after X's win the majority vote. Now that your roomies, a typical weekend with the group is cheering Thanos on at his show, getting wasted, and dancing at Nam-gyu's hot-spot club.

This is a continuation of my last team Thanos story! You can read it here (You don't need to read it to read this story, they're mainly just headcannons!)

Characters: Se-mi/player 380, Thanos/player 230, Nam-gyu/player 124, Min-su/player 125, Gyeong-su/player 256

Squid game au outside of the games, very light-hearted :) ...maybe

Reader is dating Thanos!

Warnings: drinking

"Hell no I'm not wearing that." Se-mi immediately shuts down your suggestion as she glares at the short black dress you picked out for her. "But you'd look so hot in it!" you argue. She rolls her eyes and fidgets with her lip ring, her go-to move when contemplating something. "Babe!" You hear Thanos shout from the bathroom. You throw the black dress at Se-mi and rush over to him.

Thanos is standing in front of the mirror looking defeated. "How the fuck do you get these to stick up?" Thanos gestures at his short pieces of hair on the sides of his head cut to look like horns. They sadly droop sideways, sticking out horizontally. You burst out a giggle, "Hey don't laugh! We have to go and I look stupid." He pouts. You compose yourself and grab the hair gel on the counter, "I'm sorry baby I'm sorry" You say, still holding in laughter. You stand on the tips of your toes to get a good angle on his head as he looms over you. You rub the gel into your fingers and run them through his purple strands of hair, pointing them upward and slightly curling them so they stay up just how he likes them. "There you go." You smile at Thanos, admiring how damn good he looks. You set the gel back down on the counter, Thanos's eyes locked on you. He grabs your wrist and pulls you back toward him. He places his other hand on your waist, moving it down to your ass as he pulls you into a deep, prolonged kiss. It was his way of saying thank you, and god you liked that so much more then the words.

"You're gonna be late to your own damn show if you don't hurry." Se-mi interrupts standing at the doorway with Min-su and Gyeong-su next to her. She's wearing the dress you gave her, her arms crossed uncomfortably. "Yo, Thanos looking fly my bro!" Gyeong-su excitedly shouts, doing little finger horns above his head. Thanos grins and dabs Gyeong-su up, before shouting "LET'S GOOO!" as he jumps through the living room toward the front door. You smile at Se-mi, "Look at youuu!" you tease. She chuckles and playfully nudges you, "Shut up." You turn back toward Min-su, asking, "What do you think?" Min-su shyly smiles and looks at the ground. "She looks good.."

Thanos dabs up the bouncer as you and the group walk into the club, his arm draped around your shoulder. Nam-gyu spots you guys and marches over to Thanos, "There you are! Fuck, dude you were almost late again." Thanos grins, "Chill bro, the fans love me they don't mind waiting." Thanos turns to you and dramatically kisses the top of your head, "See you on stage, senõrita!' He skips away and Nam-gyu angrily speeds up to catch up with him.

Thanos's presence takes over the entire club, everyone was chanting and jumping up and down to each song. After the games, Thanos used his money to up the production of his music and found his footing again as a rapper. His success skyrocketed, giving his career a second life. He honestly didn't need to play at a club, but he enjoys the personality of a local crowd and likes bringing attention to Nam-gyu's work. You and Gyeong-su are jumping up and down, rapping Thanos's lyrics at each other. Gyeong-su had been to so many of his concerts before the games he was better at keeping up, which you were slightly jealous of. He always teased you about being a bigger fan. Se-mi swayed and sipped on her drink as Nam-gyu was forcefully gripping Min-su's shoulders from behind and shaking him to the song.

Thanos blew the crowd an animated kiss and ran backstage, immediately swallowing you with a big hug. He peppered your face in kisses, the adrenaline of performing still pumping through his body. He would always say his two favorite drugs were you and the stage. Gyeong-su ran up to you guys, drunkenly bouncing up and down "BRO THAT WAS FUCKING WILD! YOU WERE A BEAST UP THERE!"

"SHOTS FOR THE V.I.PS!" The bartender poured up two shots for each of you, everyone clinked glasses and threw them back. Min-su always coughed and gagged after each one, and Nam-gyu always gave him a hard time for it. Nights like these made everyone forget the games ever existed. You guys weren't drinking to forget, you were all just friends, making memories to help combat the brutality you collectively witnessed. It's what made you guys so close. The tension between the group in the games quickly decimated once you guys made it out and agreed to stick together. You were feeling the looseness and euphoria the alcohol gave you, Gyeong-su darted toward the dance floor as one of his favorite rap songs started playing. Se-mi, Nam-gyu and Min-su followed. Thanos stood up, "Come on senõrita let's dance!" He shouted. You giggled, "Okay, okay hang on!" You quickly grab what's left of your drink and down it. You turn toward the bar top to set it back down, and your heart drops at the sight of something you swear wasn't there a second ago. A brown paper business card laid flat on the counter. Sharp, agonizing memories flood back to you. It was exactly how you remembered it, despite you trying so hard to forget all of it. You pick it up with shaky hands. A circle, a triangle, and a square decorated the top. How the fuck was this possible? You turn it over, reading the familiar digits. "456-034"

I saw a couple people asking for more so heres a part two :)) Sorry this ones kinda short. I love writing for team Thanos so much let me know what you think!!

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

i yearn for ponyboy angst after johnny and dally die and for once he needs darry and not soda...or more of the curtis bros grieving their parents/their friends/their childhoods together. just curtis bro angst all day every day. love ur stuff!

AGH!! TY LOVE!! this ask has been truly rottin' in my brain I thought about it durin' my ENTIRE shift today!! I hope you like it!! fic under the cut!!

also song >:D

"Pony?" Darry's sayin' my name in a way that implies he's been sayin' it a while. I blink at him 'n I don't know where I've been. My fingers are all wrapped up in my jeans, white-knuckled. I try to relax but my body doesn't listen to me one bit, so I forget it.

"I've been callin' you, where were you at?" He crosses the room 'n taps a finger gently to my temple, brushin' my bangs off my forehead.

I shrug 'n he worries at his lip. "Somewhere else, I guess." Darry looks stricken but that's how he always looks nowadays: worried.

"I gotta talk to you about your hair, Pony baby." I inhale sharply 'n Darry's face twists up a little more. He moves all slow, eases down onto the couch beside me 'n wraps an arm around my shoulders like I might fall to pieces.

"I'm not colorin' it I swear to God I'm not-" Steve had made a joke, some comment, maybe even just a suggestion, that I dye my hair back to its normal color. I don't think he meant anythin' bad by it. I dunno. I can see it more now. Darry's rough 'cause he's scared. Steve was mean when he meant to be kind. I think Dallas was like that. Rough 'cause he didn't know how to be soft.

I think I said somethin' awful to him. I was always doin' that. Bein' cruel 'cause it all hurt so bad. Last week Darry 'n I had fought 'cause it's all we knew how to do 'n I'd told him I bet he wished I had died that night. Just like-

I didn't mean it. I never meant it. I didn't know how to not mean it.

"Honey?" I shake my head. Darry's lookin' at me again with big scared eyes 'n I know I've done it again. Gone somewhere.

"Sorry." Darry cups the side of my face, there are new wrinkles alongside his eyes. He always looks like he's just waitin' for somethin' bad to happen.

"S'ok, baby. I ain't gonna make you do nothin' to your hair." Soda's beside me now, too. I don't remember when he got there. "We've been talkin' 'n baby... we need you to let us help you wash it."

I flinch. Hard. Straight back into Soda's arm 'n know he had it there, ready to brace me. "No." Darry sighs, glances over my head, 'n Soda gathers me up into his arms.

"Look, honey. I'm not gonna make you. But I think... you'll feel a bit better. You don't gotta take a shower or nothin'. Maybe a bath?" Darry tries, reachin' out 'n coverin' my hand in his.

"No." I don't know what it was. I'd gone through the damn fire 'n come out scared of the fuckin' water. That night in the fountain was a million years ago. Glory, I don't know how I had space in my head to even remember it.

But I did. Fuck. I did.

"Hey Pony? Can we try somethin' else then? If you humor me?" Soda's tone is pliant 'n a little too bouncy. It gets like that sometimes. But someone has to be alright. So we don't mention it.

He climbs off the couch, pulls me gently up 'n I don't fight it. Darry's got a hand on my shoulder 'n Soda's got his arms around me still 'n they were like this more. Since. Like if they weren't always touchin' me I'd fade right away into nothin'. Sometimes it was nice. Sometimes it made me want to bite 'n tear 'n fuckin' scream.

The kitchen counter is clear, a couple towels folded onto the table, a chair tipped back against the sink. Soda guides me over to the chair, asks me a million questions in those big brown eyes he has that I don't know how to go about answerin'.

Are you fine? Is this fine? Does this remind you of- Does this remind you- Does this-

"Look, if you sit here you can rest your head back 'n I can wash your hair out without havin' to get you any closer to the water. D'ya think... that's somethin' you can stomach?" Soda's off to my side doin' all the talkin' but I'm lookin' straight out at Darry. He's still got a hand on my shoulder 'n Jesus. Has he always looked at me like that?

He shifts his weight 'n furrows his brow. His hand comes up slowly like I'm a spooked animal that might bolt. Some kicked dog. Some scared foal. He cups the side of my face 'n it occurs to me. It's the same place he'd once struck.

Odd. Both times touched in fear. A million years apart. I'm not even sure he notices.

"Pony?" I finally tear my eyes off Darry 'n when I twist my head, he lets his hand fall back to my shoulder.

"Ok." My voice aches. It always does. Maybe from the smoke. Maybe from the cold burn of that still water rottin' in my lungs even now. "Ok, I'll try." The look that Soda 'n Darry shoots over my head is filled with such a palpable relief I nearly cry.

"Ok, baby. I know this isn't easy. D'you think you can... take his jacket off?" Soda already has both hands around my biceps, just gently restin' there like he knows I'm gonna flinch again. "I ain't gonna take it-" My eyes flicker to Darry 'n hurt flashes across his face (not meanin' it, not knowin' how not to)- "'n neither is Dar. I just don't wanna get it wet 'n mess it up, ok hon? But if it's too much I can just try my best to avoid it?"

I clutch at the collar. 'N I can hear his voice clear as day. You better not fuck that leather up. You have no idea how much trouble it was to steal.

'N I almost laugh. Almost.

"He'd kill me if I let you give it the kitchen sink treatment." 'N my voice sounds all thick in my ears. I want to laugh. I want Dallas to knock me up the back of my head for even thinkin' of it. I want-

"Oh, Ponybaby." Soda's arms are around me again. I'm cryin'. When did I start cryin'? Why? 'N it's one of those times I don't want them to hold me. Jesus. It makes me want to run. To let the ache in my throat dissolve into the burn in my lungs. I want to bite 'n tear 'n scream.

But all I can do is sit there. Stiff in the arms I wish I could melt into.

"Soda." Darry drops a hand onto his shoulder 'n gently pries him off of me. When he takes his face out of my neck his cheeks are wet 'n I don't know whether it's my tears or his. "He's not-"

Here.

For a long moment, none of us move. Like a gunfight. Or a caged animal. 'N then I drag blunt nails under my eyes 'n scrub my face 'n Darry blows out a long breath like he'd been holdin' it. He lets go of Soda 'n we all go back to pretendin' nothin' happened. Or at least I do.

"Do you... want help?" When I look down my knuckles are white against the collar. I flex my fingers 'n they burn like that time I'd split them against some socs' jaw. Or that night Johnny 'n I had slept in the backyard out under the stars 'n the cold scalded along my hands 'n cracked my skin 'n I'd bled 'n bled 'n bled-

"Don't make me do it." 'N when I'd looked up at Darry I knew he understood what I meant. I squeezed my eyes shut 'n felt hands roughened by labors of love that had done nothin' but leave him with callouses 'n scars rest at my neck. He pulls the jacket off quickly 'n the rush of winter air slinkin' through the cracks we'd never be able to seal up scorches against my bare arms. I don't open my eyes until Darry presses the bundle to my chest.

When I look to Soda again, his face is dry 'n he's wearin' this encouragin' little smile that tugs too tight on the edges of his mouth. "You ready, Pony?"

I nod. Just a bob of my chin that takes every last ounce of strength in me. Darry turns, yanks another chair close to my side 'n Soda guides my head down to the sink.

The tap flips on. A lonely titterin' against the empty bowl. I don't control anythin' that happens after. Not the low, whimperin' sob that snakes out of my mouth. Not the way my shoulders jar up 'n away. Not my nails bitin' into Darry's arm so hard they leave bloody, half moons in their wake.

"No. Soda, no. Soda. I can't." Darry smooths one hand over my forehead 'n I reach for his wrist, catch it tight 'n hold on like if I don't let go he can keep me out of that night. If I can keep him here I can't go back.

"Pony?" Soda drops down so he can see my face. Reaches out to wrap me in his arms 'n I flinch. Fuckin' flinch. Right back 'n up into Darry's lap.

'N none of us are movin' again. Soda's falterin' in place, arms half reached out 'n face a mask of hurt 'n Jesus why do I always hurt the people I love? Why can't I stop bitin' the hand that wants to hold me?

"What is it, Pony? Are you here?" 'N I can't make my voice or body or anythin' work the way it should. But before I can stop it I choke out-

"Darry." 'N Darry lets out a little noise from somewhere so far in the back of his throat it comes out like a whimper.

"Oh, little colt." 'N suddenly his arms are around me again. My face is pressed into his chest 'n I'm heavin' deep sobs that have been rottin' in my chest for too long. Since before Dallas or Johnny. Before the week in the church or that night in the park. Maybe since Mama. Since Daddy. Since the last person to call me that was put in the freezin' Tusla earth.

"I love you." 'N it's whispery 'n waverin' 'n also the surest thing I've ever heard. 'N this time when I feel Soda return to my side, feel Darry open his arms 'n hold us both like were disappearin' before his eyes I just let myself be held. "You're here."

I am.

'N then he's shiftin' 'n I'm clutchin' his shirt tighter 'n he's pettin' my hair 'n tippin' my head back 'n not makin' me let him go though I'm too goddamn old 'n too big to be beggin' for my older brother.

"Keep your eyes closed, colt." 'N Soda's whisperin' somethin' low 'n soft 'n just louder than the sound the tap makes as it drip drip drips against the sink. 'N when the water runs along my temples 'n along the line of the scar that I'll carry until I die from the night I lost two brothers I don't think of the fountain.

No.

I think about the hot afternoon I won my first track race, felt sweat slide along my brow 'n saw the sun glint off Dallas' silver tooth even from way up in the stands. Hear the whoop of his voice still marred thick 'n heavy with his New York drawl. I think of runnin' home through the lot dodgin' the fat rain drops 'n stoppin' only to let Johnny catch up. Throwin' my head back 'n laughin'. Of the spray of a passin' car. I think of Soda laughin' as he flicks the spatterin' of water left on his hands at my face when we finish the dishes 'n mama not even scoldin' us.

I think of Darry's hands wet from the laundry as he runs a thumb absently over my face. Memorizin' it with calloused fingers when he thinks I've dropped off to sleep. The gentleness of his achin' love for us. Low 'n constant 'n how had I ever missed it?

"We're done, honey." 'N then I'm buried in his chest again, Dallas' jacket pressed against my stomach 'n Johnny's letter tucked into the inside pocket closest to my heart. Bangs drippin' cold between my brow, along my nose, 'n minglin' with tears never gone long enough to dry. 'N for the first time since it all, I'm right here. 'N it doesn't even hurt. It just aches.

[burntheedges]

get to know your moots

thank you for tagging me @ace-turned-confused @kedsandtubesocks @sawymredfox @iknowisoundcrazy @jeewrites @katareyoudrilling @ghotifishreads 🧡 I freaking love these lol I know it's been a minute but hi, here I am.

what's the origin of your blog title?: username and title are both from a Hozier song, Eat Your Young (because "I'm starving, darling" is how I feel about Joel Miller)

OTP(s) + shipname: alright I've been reading fic since I was 12, here are some of the highlights in vaguely chronological order - Dramione (but like, in the 2000s, lmao), Drarry, Sterek, Johnlock, Arthur/Eames, Stucky, Stony, Sirmione, Wolfstar, Damen/Laurent, 00Q, Spirk, PPCU/reader, Rookanis, DinLuke

favorite color: orange

favorite game: Dragon Age Veilguard, Dragon Age Inquisition, the Mass Effect trilogy, Stardew Valley, BOTW, TOTK

song stuck in your head: Not Like Us, Kendrick Lamar

weirdest habit/trait?: hmmm my husband would say it's no outside clothes allowed on the bed, but I don't think that's weird. probably biting my cuticles. 😬

hobbies: knitting, sewing, writing, gaming

if you work, what's your profession?: let's not talk about work lmao

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: I don't wish for work lol but maybe owning a book store or yarn shop.

something you're good at: languages, parallel parking, overextending myself

something you're bad at: not overextending myself. feeling my feelings.

something you love: talking to people who love the same things I love 🧡, going to concerts

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: knitting, linguistics, languages, video games, hockey

something you hate: everything going on right now in the US

something you collect: hmm I used to collect a lot of things and then I moved across the country multiple times and got tired of having stuff. books, probably lol

something you forget: anything that's not in my calendar

what's your love language?: fyi the love languages book is fundamentalist nonsense BUT I do feel very loved when my husband does what they call acts of service (which he knows). that's what I tend to do by default, too, but he likes when I use my words.

favorite movie/show: LOTR, Ever After, Deep Space 9, The Matrix, Clueless, Inception, TLOU, The Mandalorian, Skyfall, Pacific Rim, CA:TWS, Andor, so many others lol

favorite food: pasta, a perfect caeser salad, sopes, sushi

favorite animal: cats. also hippos, those big dorks

are you musical?: I was kicked out of band lol but I was in a singing group in high school and another later. I can read music ok

what were you like as a child?: looking back, obviously unmedicated for ADHD, lmao. but extroverted and hyperaware, really

favorite subject at school?: languages, and then history

least favorite subject?: science, but mostly because some of my teachers sucked and I was socialized to think I was supposed to be bad at it

what's your best character trait?: probably my empathy?

what's your worst character trait?: not taking the time to think (I'm working on it)

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: I want my cold to be gone lol

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: ETA just realized I never answered this one. I spent a lot of time thinking about it and I'm still not sure!

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!):

I have yet again begun to reread Be-All and Endor by @djarins-cyare because it brings me comfort (which I've needed lately) 🧡

A new favorite is The Morning Commute by @iknowisoundcrazy -- speed!AU Javi! god I love it

I think a lot of people have already done this, but in case you haven't, np tagging: @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @schnarfer @the-mandawhor1an @sixhours

@@davnittbraes @wannab-urs @justagalwhowrites @beardedjoel @futuraa-free

[maretinelli]

Oiiioii vidoca, vim te pedir algo bem foffinho com o Ollie

To meio pra baixo esses dias pq não consegui entrar na faculdade e eu só queria o Ollie aqui me consolando, mas como não temos, eu me contento lendo o que você escreve perfeitamente

Beijocas❤️

Oii, querida!!! Sinto muito por não ter conseguido, espero que essa história conforte seu coraçãozinho❤️

DAWN WITH SNACKS

Ollie Bearman X Academic!fem!reader

Summary: When they are both exhausted from the day and forget to eat dinner, what makes Ollie take his girlfriend for a late-night stroll with snacks.

Words: 2.8K+

Warnings: Mentions of fast food stores, cute couple, childhood best friends to lovers, mentions of songs and romantic.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. And you can request stories on my profile. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

The day had been tiring for both of them. Y/n spent hours at college, dealing with tests, activities and demanding practical training for the Physical Education course. Every muscle in her body seemed to protest with every step she took towards the apartment.

On the other hand, Ollie had an equally exhausting day, spending hours with his fitness trainer, dedicating himself to the maximum to be ready for the return of racing.

When Y/n finally opened the front door, it was already night. The apartment was silent, lit only by the soft light of the television. Ollie was already on the couch, showered, wearing a comfortable sweatshirt. As soon as he saw her, he gave a tired smile.

"Finally home." He commented, extending his hand to her.

Yin dropped her backpack near the door and walked over to him, throwing herself onto the couch and laying on her boyfriend's lap, letting out a long sigh. Ollie chuckled softly, running his hand through her hair, giving it a light caress.

"Tough day?" He asked, his voice calm.

"You have no idea." Y/n murmured, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the affection. "Biomechanics test first thing in the morning, then a group project that almost made me pull my hair out, and to top it off, practical weightlifting training. I swear my arms will never work again."

Ollie let out a low chuckle, his fingers sliding gently across her scalp.

"So at least now you understand how I feel after resistance training." He joked.

"I don't know... I think I'd still rather run than lift weights for hours." Y/n grumbled, snuggling deeper into his lap. "What about you? How was your day?"

"Basically being tortured by my fitness coach," Ollie said, feigning drama. "Sprints, weight training, reaction drills... and all this with him saying, 'You'll thank me for this at the next race.'"

Y/n opened one eye, looking at him with a lazy smile. "And you will?"

"Maybe." Ollie laughed. "But right now I just want to be like this with you."

They stayed there for a while, talking and enjoying each other's company. Ollie's caress of her hair almost made her fall asleep right there. But eventually, Y/n forced herself to get up.

"I'm going to take a shower before I fall asleep here." She said, stretching.

"Good idea." Ollie agreed, though his expression made it clear he didn't want her to leave his side.

Y/n chuckled softly and headed to her room, grabbing a comfortable pair of sweatpants before heading to the shower. The hot water helped relax her tired muscles, and when she returned to the living room, with her hair down and dressed in her sweatsuit, she found Ollie still on the couch, now holding the TV remote.

"Come here." He called, making room beside him and pulling back the blanket.

Y/n smiled and settled next to her boyfriend, laying her head on his chest and hugging his waist. He wrapped one arm around her, while his other hand browsed through the movies on the screen.

"How about The Princess Diaries?" He suggested, already knowing the answer.

"Again?" Y/n looked up at him with an arched eyebrow, but a smile played on her lips.

"It's your favorite." Ollie shrugged. "And I like seeing you happy."

She laughed, squeezing him into a hug. "You're such a cute boyfriend, Bearman."

"I know." He replied, smugly, which made Y/n roll her eyes.

The film began, and at first, they watched it attentively, commenting on the scenes they already knew by heart. But as time passed, the story on the screen took a back seat and the conversation between them took over.

"So, what are we going to do the weekend before the race?" Y/n asked, playing with the hem of his hoodie.

"We could go out to dinner somewhere special," Ollie suggested. "Or maybe we could make it a day just for us, no commitments, no schedules... just relaxing."

"I like that idea." She murmured. "Maybe a picnic? I'll bring the snacks, you bring your date."

"Deal." He smiled. "But only if you promise not to complain when I steal your dessert."

"No way!" Y/n laughed. "If you touch my chocolate, I revoke your right to pet me."

Ollie feigned a shocked look. "That would be cruel."

"Exactly." She said, smiling mischievously.

He chuckled, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head. "Okay, no stealing your chocolate. But only because I like you so much."

"Great choice." Y/n replied, snuggling closer to him.

Hours had passed, and they were still on the couch, snuggled up against each other, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. The movie had already ended minutes ago, but neither of them bothered to turn off the TV.

"Did you know that otters hold hands while they sleep so they don't get lost in the water?" Ollie suddenly said, his voice calm as his fingers gently slid through Y/n's hair.

Y/n lifted her head to look at him with a smile. "Really? That's so cute."

"Yes," he confirmed. "And if an otter loses its mate, it grieves much like humans do."

She frowned, feigning a hurt look. "Why do you tell me such sad things before bed?"

Ollie laughed. "You're the one who started asking random trivia questions!"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled and snuggled back into him. A comfortable silence filled the room until Y/n murmured,

"I am hungry."

Ollie sighed, seeming to realize that he was too. "Now that you mention it... me too."

Y/n stood up slowly, grabbing her cell phone from the coffee table in the living room. "We can order something, like pizza or a burger."

Ollie raised an eyebrow, looking at the clock on the wall. "At this time? I think our favorite restaurants are already closed."

Y/n frowned and looked at her phone screen. "Oh, shit, it's late anyway..." She sighed and threw her phone on the couch. "But I don't have the energy to cook either."

Ollie thought for a second before shrugging. "We can go out and try to find an open drive-thru."

Y/n laughed at the suggestion. "Do you have any idea what you're talking about? Two athletes, one of whom is a health student, going out in the middle of the night to buy fast food? It seems wrong."

Ollie rolled his eyes playfully. "Okay, if you want I can drop you off at home and eat alone."

"No way." She replied, laughing.

He then held out his hand to her. "Then come on, let's go before I change my mind."

Y/n smiled and put on her slippers, heading to the door. "I'll wear sweatpants."

Ollie laughed. "I'll just put a sweatshirt over my pajamas."

Y/n laughed as he disappeared down the hallway, heading to his room. When he came back, he was wearing a dark green hoodie and plaid sweatpants, clearly something he would wear to bed.

She looked at him and let out a low laugh. “You really didn’t put any effort into looking presentable.”

Ollie held up the car keys with a smile. "And do you mind?"

"Not at all." She replied, still laughing.

With that, they left the apartment, ready for their little nighttime adventure in search of food.

Ollie held Y/n's hand as they walked through the building's parking lot, their steps slow and carefree. The night air was cool, and the city around them seemed to be asleep, the silence broken only by the distant sound of a few cars in the distance.

"Okay, we need to decide what we're going to eat before we go driving around aimlessly." Ollie said, shaking her hand lightly.

"Hmm... burger and fries sound like a great idea." Y/n suggested.

"I agree. But what if we find a place that has milkshakes too?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Perfect!" She smiled. "But only if you don't let me mix strawberry milkshake with chicken nuggets again. Bad experience."

Ollie laughed. "I warned you, but you wouldn't listen. Now you've learned your lesson."

She rolled her eyes, laughing, as he unlocked the car with the button on the key fob. They each got in on their own side, and Ollie started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot with no clear destination in mind, hoping to find an open drive-thru.

The city streets were quiet at that time. The streetlights illuminated the dark asphalt, and few people walked along the sidewalks. There was almost no movement, which made the walk even more pleasant. The silence of the early morning brought a sense of calm, contrasting with the hustle and bustle of the day they had.

Y/n was talking about something when suddenly the car radio started playing Wannabe by the Spice Girls.

Her eyes widened and without hesitation, she turned up the volume.

"Oh, not that song!!" Ollie exclaimed, laughing.

"That song YES!" Y/n replied excitedly.

He shook his head, still laughing. "I can't believe this song haunts me. You've embarrassed me enough with it."

"It wasn't embarrassment, it was free entertainment!" Y/n replied, laughing. "Have you already forgotten when I played that song on the speaker in the garage?"

Ollie let out a loud laugh, remembering the scene. "How could I forget? I was trying to concentrate and all of a sudden I hear 'IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER' blasting through the speakers!"

Y/n laughed.

"I was trying to get you excited for the race!"

Then, she started singing the song loudly, acting it out exaggeratedly while looking at him and making dramatic gestures.

"I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want" Y/n sings loudly. "Now it's your turn, sing, love!"

Ollie laughed and shook his head. "No way. This moment is all yours."

"Coward." She joked, but continued singing enthusiastically until the song ended. When another song came on the radio, Y/n turned the volume down and turned to him with a mischievous smile.

"I want this song at our wedding. Instead of the bride and groom's waltz, we'll dance Wannabe at the reception."

Ollie laughed out loud, nearly missing the turn. "Do you really want our wedding to be remembered like this?"

"Obviously! It's going to be iconic!"

He looked at her with a smile and shook his head. "Okay, but only if I can wear a plaid suit to go with this madness."

Y/n laughed, throwing her head back. "Deal!"

The love between the two was evident in every look, in every joke and even in the silliest moments. Since childhood, they had loved each other purely and truly, and they would continue to do so until the end of time.

After driving aimlessly for a few minutes, Ollie finally spotted an open McDonald's. He immediately turned the car into the drive-thru and smiled in satisfaction.

"I should get a prize for finding food at this hour," he joked as he stopped in line.

"Congratulations, Bearman, your trophy will be... a snack and chips." Y/n laughed, clapping exaggeratedly.

When it was their turn to order, Y/n stared at the illuminated menu for a few seconds, undecided.

"Hmm... I think I'll have a Big Mac... or a McChicken... no, wait, maybe nuggets..."

Ollie lightly banged his head on the steering wheel, laughing. "For God's sake, Y/n, are you choosing your last meal of your life?"

"This takes some thought, okay?" She countered, still studying the menu.

"Reflection?! It's McDonald's, not a five-star restaurant!"

"Do you want nuggets? Because I can change to nuggets." Y/n asked, completely ignoring his impatient tone.

"I want you to decide before morning!" Ollie joked, rolling his eyes.

She laughed and finally made the request. Ollie ordered his soon after, and within minutes they had bags of food in hand. He drove into the parking lot and parked in a quiet corner, while soft music played from the playlist they had created together.

Y/n opened the bag of fries and, without hesitation, began stealing from Ollie's tray.

"Hey!" The pilot glared at her, feigning indignation. "That's theft of private property!"

She shrugged, popping another potato into her mouth. "You should know that sharing food with me is a lifetime contract."

Ollie grabbed a potato from her tray in response. "So that's how it is? Taking justice into your own hands?"

"Exactly."

Ollie laughed and took some more of her potatoes, teasing her.

"That's not exactly an athlete's diet." Y/n commented, looking at the snack in his hands.

"We burn it all tomorrow in training, so technically this is... strategic refueling."

She laughed and they continued eating, while the conversation flowed naturally.

"Have you ever stopped to think that maybe penguins see humans as strange beings who can't swim well?" Y/n said suddenly.

Ollie stared at her for a moment and then laughed. "Is that what goes through your head while eating a burger?"

"Yes. And another thing, how do fish drink water?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Y/n, for God's sake..."

"No, seriously! They're already in the water, but do they need to drink?"

Ollie thought for a moment and shrugged. "I don't know... maybe they do? Or maybe they absorb it through the skin?"

"That makes sense... wait, do you have dehydrated fish?"

He laughed. "If they do, I hope they find a water McDonald's to solve the problem."

They continued talking about random theories, mixed with childhood memories and inside jokes. Time passed without them noticing, and soon the snacks were gone.

Now, with the empty packages, they sat there in the car, enjoying the calm of the night. The comfortable silence between them was filled only by the soft music from the playlist, as they exchanged knowing looks and discreet smiles.

They didn't need big moments to feel happy together. Just each other's company was enough.

When the next song started playing, Ollie recognized the first few chords immediately. Talking To The Moon, by Bruno Mars. A smile appeared on his face, and he raised the volume a little, turning to Y/n.

"You know... that song made me realize that I was in love with you years ago." He said, his voice soft, full of affection. "Every time I heard it, I remembered you..."

Y/n blinked a few times in surprise before smiling. "Why that song?"

Ollie sighed lightly, as if he was reliving that moment.

"Because whenever I was away, traveling to races, you found a way to text me, to ask how I was doing, even with the time difference and your crazy schedule. You always made sure to be there, to support me, even when the whole world seemed too busy to care."

Y/n blushed slightly, lowering her head and playing with the hem of her sweatshirt.

"I'm so lucky to have you in my life." Ollie continued, his eyes fixed on her. "And dating my childhood best friend? That's the best gift I could ever ask for."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes shining with tenderness. Without saying anything, she smiled and leaned in slightly, her lips meeting his in a sweet, lingering kiss. Ollie brought a hand to her face, deepening the kiss with affection, feeling the comfortable warmth of that moment.

When they pulled away, he smiled and placed a kiss on her cheek, while Y/n leaned back against the car seat again, letting out a yawn.

"See? You're too old to be out this late." Ollie laughed.

"Hey, I'm only 20!" She retorted, rolling her eyes but laughing.

On the way back, the atmosphere in the car was calm, a comfortable silence filled with low music and the good tiredness after a fun night.

Y/n put her feet up on the dashboard and sighed. "That was one of the simplest, but also one of the most wonderful moments we've ever had together."

Ollie smiled, agreeing. "Sometimes impromptu nights are the best."

As soon as they entered the apartment, Y/n let out another yawn and practically threw herself on the couch.

"I could sleep easy here right now," she murmured, burying her face in the pillow.

Ollie locked the door and laughed, approaching her. Without warning, he lay on top of her back, making Y/n let out a little cry of protest.

"OLIVER! Get off me!" She laughed, trying to push him away.

"No, it's comfortable here." He teased, but soon rolled to the side, pulling her into a hug.

Y/n snuggled against his chest, feeling the warmth of Ollie's body.

"You know what? I could sleep here easily too," he said, his voice already a little sleepy.

"So that's what we're going to do." Y/n muttered, closing her eyes for a moment.

Ollie got up quickly, turned off the lights in the apartment and went back to the couch, arranging the blankets for the two of them. As soon as they lay down again, he hugged her from behind, fitting his face in the crook of her neck.

"Good night, my walking insomnia." He whispered, smiling.

Y/n chuckled softly. "Good evening, my favorite pilot."

Little by little, the silence of the night enveloped them both, until they finally fell asleep, cuddled together on the couch, as if that moment were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. After all, they didn't need anything other than each other to feel at home.

[sometimeslwish]

Santa (Saintess)

The song started playing while I was at the dentist waiting for my turn and the brainworms took over, so now we have this. It ends abruptly because I couldn't get myself to continue it or give it a better ending.

Tags: Sylus x reader, genderless reader, reader could be mc (depends on what you want to imagine), fluff, dancing, implied hispanic speaking reader, little bit domestic, suggestive.

No more than three seconds into the song and you went for your phone, quickly raising the volume of the music. You didn't know what the song had, but it felt like crack. The effect of it never wore off, always getting you to lose yourself in the song and dance and sing.

Este deseo, no lo puedo negar (This desire, I can't deny it)

De mirar tus labios, no puedo parar (Looking at your lips, I can't stop)

Rehusando nuestros cuerpos (Refusing our bodies)

Sudando como en el desierto (sweating like in the desert)

Images of Sylus popped in your head and you couldn't help the small grin as you imagined the both of you dancing together to the song. You'd have to teach him, or at least guide him in some way, you weren't sure he'd listen or even dance to this particular type of songs. Then again, you hadn't been sure Sylus would've been the type to sing or dance in the first place so, maybe he'd do it if you asked nicely enough.

Mami, es que tu me encantas (Baby, it's just that I love* you)

A ti yo te rezo, mi santa (I'll pray to you, my saint)

Una diabla, como baila (A devil, the way she dances)

Ninguna en la disco te alcanza (No girl in the disco can keep up with you)

No no no, es que tu me encantas

A ti yo te rezo, mi santa (I'll pray to you, my saint)

Una diabla, como baila (A she-devil, the way she dances)

Ninguna en la disco te alcanza (No girl in the disco can keep up with you)

You continued singing as you cooked, dancing softly to the beat and losing yourself into the music. Unbeknownst to you, the man staring in your little daydreams was currently leaning against the door frame, with a fond yet hungry look on his face as he admired your form. He'd been there since near the end of the song, before you had chosen to put it on loop to continue dancing. Your voice had been akin to a siren call, beckoning him closer into the depths and he'd never been one to deny himself of you. He had been content on quietly enjoying your voice, but you'd looped the song and started dancing, and his attention had remained on your hips after that, following every move like a man entranced.

Oh, my baby, do me like ogbono

You drive me to your place

I move with your rhythm and base

I move to your rhythm and base

Maybe he should take notes from the singer, get you to ride him next time and experience the wonders of your hips moving on him.

"Shit-" You yelped, wielding the spatula like one would a dagger, your stance ready to throw hands, "Sylus!" You dragged the vocals in admonishment, relaxing as best as you could with a racing heart, and you took your headphones off as you put the spatula down. His chuckle in response was rich, much like the man himself, and you scowled at the warm feelings it brought. How dare he, when he'd just startled your soul off of your body. He pulled you closer, kissing your forehead before nuzzling your nose and resting his forehead against yours. Your arms wrapped around his waist, and with his scent and warmth, your heart was able to calm down.

"Good morning, sweetie."

"Morning, Sy-sy," you didn't bother correcting him. The n-109 zone was dark no matter the time, and even if it was evening in Linkon, it didn't matter much when he'd just woken up. You raised a hand to run your fingers through his hair, fixing his bedhead in the process, and the relaxed sigh he let out through his nose was akin to a pur, or the soft rumble of a dragon. Your dragon.

You hummed softly before raising on your tippy toes to kiss his cheeks, leaving many kisses all over them. He looked too soft, it was starting to give you cuteness aggression.

"I didn't know you could dance like that," his hands moved from your waist to your hips under the excuse of stabilizing you, the tips of his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your pants and your underwear. You had the impulse to bite his cheek but decided against it once you remembered the food you where making.

"Oh, hold on, the food." You pulled away, against his better wishes, and hummed along to the song. Unlike before, you didn't have Sylus attached to you as you moved, so you settled for swaying. "Want me to teach you how to dance like that?" You asked as you started cleaning up the kitchen, packing away what you no longer needed while waiting for the food to be ready.

*Translating this one was tricky cause there's many words in both the English and Spanish language for me to choose from. "Encantas" translates more to the giddy feeling of delight you get, but it's also a way of saying "I love you" so... yeah

[11queensupreme11]

(don’t know if I already sent this ask 😭😭 I’m sorry)

if you know about EPIC the musical, there’s a song called ‘Love in Paradise’ that reminded me of Percy and the yans in that AU where she has all the children

Old friend

Maybe Grover by his empathy link??

It's been ten years since I last saw you

Remember me!

I am the infamous Odysseus!

👆 just Percy cause she’s really infamous lmao

Anyways, I've got all you could want here

All you could need here

Just you and me, my dear, my love for life

Soon, into bed we'll climb and spend our time

The yans. Literally. 😭😭 Especially with climbing into bed with her

I'm not your man

I'm what you want here

I'm what you need here

Just you and me, my love in paradise

Now 'til the end of time

From here on out, you're mine, all mine

Again. The yans. Even more with ‘till the end of time’ cause they’re gods 😔

Hell no, I could kill you where you stand

I'm no pet, I'm a married man

Oh handsome, you may try

But last I checked, goddesses can't die

Goddess?

You're adorable

Bow down now to the immortal Calypso, here to entertain

But fear not, I bring no pain

'Cause we've got

All we could want here

All we could need here

Under my spell, we're stuck in paradise

No one can come nor go, my island stays unknown

practically Percy’s helplessness against the gods — and the fact this isn’t her universe so she can’t go

No, no

I don't belong here

There's something wrong here

I won't be drawn to love in paradise

Not 'til the end of time, there is no way

You're mine, all mine

again, she can’t escape because this isn’t her universe and there’s no way back

Seven years, she's kept you trapped, out of your control

Time can take a heavy toll

this is more of a head canon for the au — like a Percy that lost all hope now??

Odysseus?

All I hear are screams

Ody, get away from the ledge

You don't know what I've gone through

You don't know what I've sacrificed

Every comrade I long knew

Every friend, I saw them die

And all I hear are screams

this could be her friends in the war (or all her dead friends, honestly) or even the loved ones she has back in the PJO! Universe. And the ‘get away from the ledge’ reminds me of the whole suicidal thoughts she has

It will be fine, dear

Come back inside, dear

Love of my life, come back to paradise

Let me close my eyes

I know your life's been hard

I'll stay inside your heart

All I hear are screams

I love you, my dear

I love our time here

Life would be so much worse

Just let me close my eyes

If you had died

Please stay from away from harm

Stay in my open arms

The whole ‘stay in my open arms’ reminds me of the yans so much — like, ‘you’ll be fine as long as you stay — why would you want to go back to that shitty life back in your universe??’ (At least those who know like beel or Loki)

and that’s all (am I onto something or am I on something??🧐🧐)

no this fits PERFECTLY

but technically a good portion of the EPIC the musical songs would fit her life well, especially since she canonically speed-runs odysseus' entire 10 year journey into like... a week or two in the sea of monsters 😭😭😭😭

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter 36

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Comfy vibes only today!

Matcha tea to go with the looping soundtrack in my brain that is Abracadabra. I finally watched the music video and this song has taken over my life LOL. The choreo, the cane choreo, the CHAIR choreo. Stellar, S tier, 100%, no changes.

You are welcome, I hope it's also stuck in your head;

Let's go chapter 36!!!

Mu Qing LOL; I snorted reading this. This guy is watching Xie Lian jump off the wall like, IDGAF, I've seen him do this shit before, he's fine. p113

I hope he doesn't end up being problematic later, because I have a healthy respect for Lang Ying. I stand with those out there working to overthrow oppressive governments. p115

Qi Rong over here getting himself into some bullshit. I would not be surprised if it was his fault (Re: hanging upside-down from a tree). p117

"Do you think what you're doing is right" p119 He absolutely does not think it's right. Xie Lian doesn't see an alternative though.

This art is incredible! So haunting! This is White No Face? I think they were mentioned earlier (maybe by Hua Cheng) but I can't recall what we learned about them. p121

"But you'd be better switched to a saber" p126. I love this kid so much. I also hope he's no problematic.

Another build-up chapter

I feel like this is so close to shit absolutely going down. Too many things are in motion rn. We have a god intervening, the king taking a stance, a rebel army, and now GHOSTS.

[holidaygirl2412]

💬New Post from holidaygirl1224

skyline

I've never been to the city… at least, not really. I went by it once. We visited my grandfather who lived just across the bay. He lived so far away, I had never even met him… but it was Christmas break, and my mom wanted a "change of pace." So off we went. Driving past the city, seeing all the blinding lights and huge skyscrapers, it felt like… a dream. It felt like that one movie where the kids are on a train that's heading to the North Pole, and so much goes wrong on their way, but when they finally make it and see Santa's village, it was the most magical thing they'd ever seen. The city was only in view for maybe two minutes before getting covered up by hills again… Then it was off to my grandpa's. It was… an awkward trip. We left a day earlier than we had planned. I don't think anyone minded. The cold apparently caused some pipes to burst at the ICE-E's back home, and the owners were threatening some sort of lawsuit against the city… so my mom had to get back as soon as possible and "sue them harder." It was barely past midnight when we left… mom wanted to make sure we were back in town before the sun was up. Driving back home, once again, the city came up over the horizon… we were nearly about to pass it, when my dad suddenly took the exit into the city, much to my mother's dismay. My dad insisted we needed to eat before driving back home. He wanted to take us to a diner he went to as a kid. He was so excited to show us. He couldn't stop praising their "unbeatable cheese sticks"… but when we pulled up, there was no diner. In the diner's place, however, was a Burger Belle… there was no drive-thru, so my dad went inside while my mom and I stood outside against the car. She took this time to make some more calls back home. Her voice quickly faded away as I took in the city sounds around me. It was late, there was barely anyone out, yet there was still so much to take in… the distant cars, distant music, the not-so-distant clanking in the alleyway. I could barely even feel my ears freezing off. I don't think I would've cared if they did. Before I knew it, my dad was already back out, and we got back into the car, quickly leaving the city. I've never been back since then… maybe one day I'll get to truly visit. Maybe one day, I can finally live my dream… our dream. Maybe one day, we can live our dream.

Stream my new song, skyline, out now. -holidaygirl1224

[nexus-nebulae]

every day i wish that Rats SMP was a cartoon bc it would make the greatest show ever i think

[itsalwaysdark]

i was gonna make a post abt how i dont rly like like. Genre changing covers of songs and then realized upon introspection is that i sort of just dont like rock covers of songs generally