daisyjonesgf - Tumblr blog

daisyjonesgf · 14 hours ago

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oh my god this is so sweet, I'm obsessed 🥰

𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

pairing: haymitch abernathy x reader

summary: will haymitch heal with you or without you?

warnings: angst, semi happy ending

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

gracie abrams songfic challenge

The first time you saw Haymitch Abernathy after your Games, he was drunk. Not just tipsy or slurring. He was blackout, stumbling, yelling-at-the-walls drunk.

It was at your Victor’s interview.

You’d barely had time to scrub the blood from your skin before they painted you pretty and sat you under Capitol lights, pretending the cracks in your voice weren’t from screaming in the arena. Haymitch sat two chairs away on the panel of past victors, his head tipped back like the ceiling might drop another arena on him. He paid little to no attention to anything you said. Of course, Effie had, and she had a lot to say after.

He didn’t ask you a single question. Didn’t look at you once. You told yourself you didn’t care. But you knew who he was. Everyone did. The boy who tricked the Capitol’s own arena. The one they hated most because he didn’t die like he was supposed to.

You were twelve when he won. You remembered the way he smiled—sharp, bitter. The Games didn’t make him cruel. They made him right. And you thought maybe he’d see that in you, too. You weren’t wrong. You just didn’t know how long it would take.

The first words he ever said to you were: “Don’t look at me like that.”

You’d been staring at him in the train’s dining car, a glass of untouched wine in your hand and a thousand questions in your head. “Like what?” you asked, startled. He’d never said anything to you, even before your Games. That was all up to Effie. He was blackout drunk the whole time. You were surprised he sobered up a little during your Game. Maybe it was from the surprise that someone else from twelve had won.

“Like you’re hoping I’ll say something kind.”

You blinked, mouth half open. “Why would I expect kindness from someone who hasn’t said a full sentence sober since he was seventeen?”

Haymitch’s laugh was humorless. He didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride. Still, he started sitting next to you in the dining car after that. Silent, bitter company. Better than being alone. You weren’t sure if you had offended him or not. If you did, he didn’t give any signs of being hurt. He was probably numb to the pain, anyways.

Your first reaping as a mentor, you didn’t sleep. They gave you a boy. Small, angry, fifteen. He looked like he was scared out of his mind. He died on day 3. You cried in the shower that night and didn’t leave your room for two days.

Haymitch didn’t knock. Just left a bottle outside your door and a note: “Don’t drown. They’ll replace you.” You threw the bottle at the wall, a moment of anger and hurt taking over, but you kept the note. You still have it.

The Capitol parties were the worst. Everyone touching, smiling, cooing over your scars like they were charming. You learned quickly: if you stood near Haymitch, no one approached. He was too loud, too drunk, too mean to be worth the effort. So you started clinging to his side at every party.

You’d hover behind him, drink in hand, pretending you belonged there while he scared off every potential sponsor and suitor. Once, he leaned over and said, “You think I’m your shield, sweetheart?”

You sipped your drink. “No. I think you’re a minefield I know how to walk through.” He smiled then—slow and real. It was the first time he looked at you like he might understand.

He kissed you three years after your Games. It was after the reaping. Another one. Another child you’d send to die. You’d tried so hard on this one. They were both seventeen, they both had a shot. It was too bad the arena had it out for them. Maybe that was the whole trick–the Capitol didn’t want twelve to win, so they took out any good competitors early to ruin their chances.

You sat together on the roof of the Training Center, passing a bottle between you. The lights of the Capitol were too bright. You said, “Do you ever wonder if they’ll just stop reaping? If someone will finally say enough is enough?”

Haymitch looked at you. He had a knowing, doubtful look in his dull eyes. “They never will.”

You nodded. “I know. Just wishful thinking.”

He kissed you then, hard and desperate, like he wanted to stop time, stop pain, stop everything. You kissed him back like you knew it was the first and last time it would be simple. It wasn’t simple after that.

You didn’t define anything. Not out loud. It was glances across train cars, hands brushing in hallways, stolen moments in the quiet spaces Capitol cameras didn’t reach. He’d show up at your house in District 12 sometimes, silent and stormy, and you’d let him in without asking questions.

You weren’t naïve. You knew it wasn’t love, not exactly. You were two people shattered in different ways, pressing your broken edges together to keep warm. But some nights, when he whispered your name like it was a prayer, you let yourself believe he could love you.

That you could be his person. The one who made it all less awful.

Wishful thinking.

The turning point was your girl. She was sixteen. Smart. Too smart. Too pretty. She looked like she could’ve survived—really survived. She made it to the final four. They blew up the lake, and her body was never found.

You screamed when it happened.

Haymitch held you back from attacking the screen, arms around you like chains. That night, you left the Capitol without saying goodbye. You didn’t see Haymitch again for months. You locked yourself away, blaming it all on you. I should’ve told her to stay away from bodies of water. I should have told her to watch out for the arena. I should’ve told her more. I could’ve done more.

When he came to your door that winter, he looked different. Not cleaner. Not kinder. Just.. worn. You were sure you looked the same, if not even worse. Self-care was not on your to-do list that fall. You opened the door and stared at him. He didn’t speak.

You whispered, “Why did you come?”

He ran a hand over his face. “Because I keep thinking about what you said. About someone saying enough.” You let him in. He didn’t leave for weeks.

You didn’t talk about love. It wasn’t in the way either of you worked. But you started building something, quiet and fragile. A rhythm. He fixed the fence around your garden. You made him coffee in the mornings. Sometimes he read to you—half-drunk, slurred poetry in the dark. You’d fall asleep before he finished. It was almost peace.

But he was always one reaping away from disappearing again.

Year after year, that’s how it was. Quiet nights, wistful stares, thoughts that were shared but unspoken only to be ripped away after every Game. Every year it was the same old story between you two. You knew how badly Haymitch had suffered after his games. It wasn’t hard to tell the Capitol had it out for him. You shouldn’t have been surprised when he put distance between the two of you, but it was hard not to when you felt for him as strongly as you did.

Then came the girl on fire. Katniss Everdeen. The baker’s son. Peeta Mellark. The moment you saw her on that screen, holding her little sister’s hand, something inside you cracked wide open. Then it was the way they nearly ate those berries together in the arena. It was like watching a match being struck in a room full of gas.

You knew—deep in your bones—that everything was about to change.

And then you saw Haymitch again. Really saw him. Sober. Sharp. Speaking clearly in a way you hadn’t heard in years. You knew that he knew the rebellion was finally coming. He was the spark that lit the girl on fire. You should’ve been proud. Instead, you felt like you were losing him all over again. Because this time, he wasn’t surviving anymore—he was fighting. And he wasn’t doing it for you.

There was one particular night in District 13 you went against the rules and found yourself going to him for once. He stared at you, trying to get a read on you before you spoke. I had a bad dream, you’d said, feeling like a small child crying to their mom and dad after a nightmare. But you didn’t have nightmares–you had memories.

Haymitch let you in without a second thought, not saying a word, but stepping aside to let you into the room.

The more sober he became, the more you saw the real him. The him that had so much heartache and hurt. It hurt you to see him like that. But he was fighting again, he was trying, and that was all that had mattered to you.

You had always known he loved you, even if he’d never said the words. And the truth was, you hadn’t said them either. That wasn’t how you two worked. You didn’t need words to understand each other. It was in the quiet moments, the ones when no one else was looking. It was in the way he’d always show up when you needed him, the way his hand would find yours in the dark.

But you also knew he was slipping further away into his own darkness. He was trying, yes. But you couldn’t help but wonder if, for once, he would fight for you too—not just for the fight, not just for the cause, not just for survival.

There were nights you would lie awake in your bed, listening to the quiet hum of District 13, wondering if he could ever be the man he once was. If he could ever let down the walls that had built up around him over the years. You wondered if maybe you could find your way back to each other, to a place where the silence wasn’t heavy with regret.

But it wasn’t that simple. He was trying to rebuild himself. And maybe, just maybe, you could learn to rebuild alongside him.

You let him keep his distance for a while, though it didn’t feel like a choice. It felt like the only way to keep him from breaking all over again. But then came the moments—the quiet, fleeting moments—when he would look at you as if you were the only thing that could keep him grounded. You would sit together, a comfortable silence stretching between you two, neither of you needing to speak to understand the weight of it all.

And there, in those stolen moments, you began to think maybe you could rebuild, together.

Maybe not the way you once imagined. But in the broken pieces of what remained, there was still something worth fighting for. Maybe it was time to stop waiting for him to be something else and start seeing what was there, right in front of you. The person he was now. The man who was still fighting—not just for freedom, but for a future.

For you.

In the stillness of those quiet nights, you realized you had never truly seen him—really seen him—until now. The man who had fought so hard for his survival, the man who had kept a piece of himself hidden away, now more exposed than ever. Haymitch had always been this complex enigma, a contradiction wrapped in bitterness and pain, and somewhere beneath it all, a man who still had the capacity to love, even if he had never been able to say it out loud.

You could see it in the way he looked at you now, in the way his hand would brush against yours when the world around you grew too loud, when the chaos of rebuilding became too overwhelming. It was the quietest of gestures, but it meant everything. In those moments, you didn’t need him to speak. You didn’t need him to promise you anything. It was enough to know he was here, present, with you.

There were no grand declarations, no sweeping gestures. It was something quieter, something more enduring—this slow, steady rebuilding of trust. It was taking the time to sit with him in the silence, to share the weight of all the things you had both lost, and all the things you had gained.

You had learned that survival wasn’t just about enduring the storms—it was about finding the calm in between, the spaces where you could breathe, where you could allow yourself to heal.

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself slipping back into a rhythm with him, a rhythm that wasn’t perfect, but that worked. You spent your days working together, your hands touching on the same tools, sharing the same tasks, the same goals. There were no labels for what this was. You didn’t need to define it. But it was a kind of peace you had never imagined would come after all the bloodshed, all the loss, all the pain.

He didn’t need to be the hero you had once dreamed of. And you didn’t need to be anyone else either. You could both just be who you were: two broken people, living in a world that had been torn apart and was slowly, cautiously being put back together.

Some nights, you would catch him staring out at the horizon, his face somber, his thoughts distant. And you would wonder, for just a moment, if he was still battling the demons of his past, still fighting with the ghosts of the arena and the Capitol. You would wonder if he ever truly found peace.

But then, in those moments, he would turn to you—his eyes softening as if he had found his way back from whatever place he had wandered to. And in that look, you knew that despite everything, despite the scars that would never fade, despite the struggles that would continue to challenge both of you, he was there. And so were you.

And that was enough.

Maybe it wasn’t the life you had expected. But it was a life. A life where you could rebuild, together. In the quiet moments, in the shared silences, in the fleeting touches of hands that didn’t need to speak, you found something worth holding onto. Something that no amount of pain or loss could take away.

It wasn’t perfect. It never would be. But it was yours. And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of what came next. Because you knew you could face it. Together.

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daisyjonesgf · 19 hours ago

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you get me closer to god

alistair ryle x reader

tw for smut!!!!!!!!! no plot just vibes. spitting, choking, slapping, toxic ali and reader! drinking & drug use mentioned, pics taken during sex!

the riot club - the worst men on campus, the worst men you knew. and at the center of it all, alistair ryle. he was, in more ways than one, the other half of you. your counterpart, on a bad day. your lover on a good one. he set you on fire in a way no one ever had, lit under your skin with practiced ease, drew tears and screams from you as if it were nothing. you’d had months of secret meetings, rough encounters in closets, angry kisses in his ridiculous car. he was, you knew, not a good person. but then again, neither were you.

the night it all fell apart, the undoing of you both, alistair was drunk, or high, or both. you couldn’t keep track anymore. he’d called you, slurring and needy, demanding for you to come to some low class bar outside of the campus. you could hear the other boys in the background, yelling and laughing, irritation forming before you’d even left your house. but when alistair called, you came, like a loyal servant, like a dutiful wife. he’d never love you, no, and you weren’t sure you could ever love him. but in all the ways that mattered, you belonged to him, and him to you, for better, or often times for worse.

by the time you arrived, there’d been some sort of altercation. the boys were filing out of the bar, still holding bottles, some bloodied and bruised, others without a hair out of place. your ali, though? he was the worst of them all, his suit in complete disarray, blood dripping from his knuckles, a half empty bottle dangling from his hand. “what the hell happened?” you asked as he slid into the passenger seat of your car, immediately moving to kiss you, jaw tense. “fight with the barkeep,” he shrugged it off, as always, reaching over to pull you down to him. he kissed you like he missed you, and for a moment you let yourself pretend he had, getting lost in his lips. he tasted like whiskey and blood, absolution and chaos, salt and warmth.

you let it slide, didn’t press it as you drove the both of you back to his apartment, using your own spare key when he was too far gone to find his own. he had you stripped in minutes, standing over you in his mussed suit, his signature cocky grin on his lips. “you’re so easy for me,” he traced his thumb over your jawline, laughing when your lips fell open, sucking the pad of his finger onto your tongue, “dirty fuckin’ thing,” you glared up at him, tongue working along his finger all the same, humming as his grip on your face tightened. your eyes fell closed, skin prickling with anticipation when you heard the familiar sound of his zipper, and soon he was pulling his thumb from your eager mouth, tapping his cock against your lips. “you want it?” his voice was thick, heady, “open up for me, slut,”

you did what you always did when alistair was involved- obeyed. your lips parted, tongue laving at his length as he slid past your spit-slicked lips, bottoming out against the back of throat in one thrust. “oh, there you go,” his head was undoubtedly thrown back, eyes rolled into his head. he kept a steady grip on your hair, pulling hard enough for tears to sting your eyes as he used your mouth, chasing after nothing but his own pleasure. he pulled out suddenly, leaving you panting, mouth open as you caught your breath. his free hand came to clench your jaw, forcing your mouth further open, and a trail of spit left his own mouth, dripping down onto your tongue. “swallow it,” he instructed, tapping your cheek, “go on,” you did as you were told, swallowing the familiar taste of his spit, whining as he thrust back into your mouth, rough and quick.

“god, trained you so good,” he groaned, hips snapping into your mouth, thighs trembling under your grasp, “perfect little whore, aren’t you? suckin’ my cock like you were made for it, shit,” his grip on your hair tightened, and you knew he was close, could tell from the way he twitched, the way he handled you rougher and rougher with each thrust. just before he hit the edge, he pulled out quickly, holding your jaw tight as he leaned down to kiss you. the taste of his spit mingled with the precome swirling on your tongue, a satisfied hum dying on his lips pressed against yours.

“beg for me,” he told you, losing the rest of his clothes, aimlessly tossing them aside, “tell me how badly you need me, baby, go on,” “alistair, please,” you gave in so easily, knew the game so well, “just fuck me, need you so badly. miss that fucking cock,” he pushed you down on the bed in one motion, sitting on his knees above you, grabbing the bottle from the nightstand as he swept his eyes over your body hungrily. you watched through lidded eyes as he took another long drink, his free hand coming to hold your mouth open again, “drink up, love,” he murmured, grinning as he poured a mouthful of the whiskey down your throat, wiping your lip with his thumb to clean the missed droplets, “that’s a good girl, yeah? obedient little thing,”

he discarded the bottle, all his attention centering back on you as he pushed your legs apart, slipping between them. he gave you no time to prepare or adjust, fucking into you hard and rough, greedy and selfish as he usually was. his hand came to your throat, pressing just tight enough to leave you gasping, your nails raking red lines over his chest as you writhed beneath him. “pretty fuckin’ girl,” his voice was ragged, breathless, and then he was releasing your throat, fumbling at the nightstand until he produced a small disposable camera, his thrusts only slightly faltering, “you wanna pose for me, slut? make a pretty picture?” you just nodded, too far gone already, dazed and needy on his cock.

the camera shuttered, the flash stinging your eyes, a small, hazy smile on your lips, “there ya go,” he let out a hoarse laugh, his hand coming back to your throat, “my little porn star,” he had his fill, taking a few more before tossing it aside, pushing your legs up to your chest and fucking you hard enough to have your vision spotty, his name repeated like an anchor, your nails marking him up anywhere you could manage. “take it,” he demanded, breath fanning over your ear when you arched your back against him, “be good and fuckin’ take it, baby, know you can,”

he sat back, resting on his knees, watching himself sliding in and out of your dripping cunt as he fucked you, one hand on your hip and the other coming to rest his thumb on your tongue once more, cock twitching at the way you eagerly sucked him further into your mouth. “gonna fuck you full,” he gritted out, his grip on your hip tightening, “you want that? god, know you do, fuckin’ whore,” he was nearly incoherent with desire, muttering anything he could, desperate for his own high. “god, look at you. so desperate, you fuckin’ love me, don’t you?,” the hand on your hip trailed down to your clit, rubbing small circles against you, a choked moan leaving his throat when you clenched around him, “god, come on, fuckin’ come on it. let me feel you,”

his thrusts grew rougher once again, and soon you were falling over the edge, nearly screaming his name as you came. your thighs shook, and he held you down with one arm, keeping you in place as he fucked you through it, shaking with need. “oh, fuck,” he threw his head back, his hands wandering all over your body, one grabbing at your chest, the other smacking at your cheek just enough to catch your attention once again as your eyes rolled back, then drifting down to your overstimulated clit once again. “oh, god,” he came with a shudder, fucking into you recklessly, his breath coming out in whines and groans. he fell over you, his body enveloping yours as he caught his breath, pressing a brief kiss to your shoulder. “you alright?” he asked, a rare moment of concern for him. “mm,” you nodded, “m good,”

he sat up, wiping himself with his sheet before cleaning you off, grinning as you trembled, “you all fucked out, hm? need to go to sleep, baby?” you just nodded, letting your legs fall closed, humming contently when he laid down beside you. “i’ll leave in the morning,” you told him, already half asleep. “yeah, alright,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “night, love,” “night, ali,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest, letting yourself pretend for a moment that you were a normal couple, that this was a normal routine. in the morning, he fucked you again, sleepy and hungover, greedy and needier than usual. a normal routine.

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daisyjonesgf · 21 hours ago

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good job isa! ily, and you deserve it queen mwah 💋✨️💕

ALSO WOW GUYS WE HIT 500!!!!

im so grateful and thankful for all of you i'm so sorry for being inactive this past week!! i've been traveling but im currently working on a few things to get back into posting regularly!!

500 is insane like what where are all of you guys coming from

again thank you so much, especially to my amazing moots and my anons, i love you all <333

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daisyjonesgf · 22 hours ago

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ty for the tag mwah! 💋

tags: @nomorespahgetti @norapetals @noisyalmonddreamer @camilaswife @auroralwriting @cr3stawrites @emmynemm @roses-tired @ssweeterthanfiction @pinkanon-com

new tag game!!!

find a picture of your favorite actress/actor, city, and a book on your tbr list. ready, set, go!!!

tags: @angelinloove @lydiasfalling @cupidsremedy @haeerizm @caramelmiacchiato @cowboylikemily @xoxorory @anneberrieess @jjsblueberry @catacombspooks @noflowerwithoutrain @m3hlia39 @anyssaa @nanamoonnight @amrplastique @poetryinthesea @fwrails @blvndscr @shootingstargirl2001 @mia-is-delulu @jokerandthethief + anyone else who wants to do it

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daisyjonesgf · 22 hours ago

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ty for the tag mwah 💋

1. locked out of heaven - glee cast (😔)

2. go your own way - fleetwood mac

3. let me down easy - daisy jones and the six

tags 💕 @nomorespahgetti @norapetals @noisyalmonddreamer @cr3stawrites @camilaswife @auroralwriting @ssweeterthanfiction @emmynemm @pinkanon-com @etherealily @roses-tired

MUSIC LOVERS ASSEMBLE!!

i feel like starting a tag chain so i hope this works out :)

reblog this with 3 songs:

the song your listening to right now (or last one you listened to)

your current favourite song

a song of your choice

______________________________________________________________

mine:

its now or never - elvis presley/love in the dark - adele

trastevere - måneskin

nevermore - queen

______________________________________________________________

tagggzzzz: (np ofc) @heartstopper-lover123 @s0lit4ir3 @ali-da-demon @vicwritesfic @skeelly @charliethinks @tori-my-love @chronic-skeptic @toulouseradiosilence @stewpid-soup @nine-frogs-in-a-trenchcoat @pessimistic-gh0st @theshyqueergirl @crowleybrekkers @a-bowl-of-soop @frogfairy444 @robinheaney12 @fairyghostgirlgaming @thatsawesomedontyouthink @venusplanetoflove2 @thelovelyvie @abookishshade @spir4nts-lun4r @i-have-no-idea-111 @kit-the-queer @a-wondering-thought @scatteredraysofhope @coco6420 @softlyunbreakable @givennnnnn @far-beyond-saving @darling-im-wonderstruck @heartstoppernerdsstuff @nonbinary-idiot-obviously @rebelrobinrules1984 @daydream-of-a-wallflower @leonine-elizer @angel-devil-star and anyone else who wants to join!!

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daisyjonesgf · 2 days ago

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was listening to tolerate it and was thinking a little bit, was there ever maybe a time when atleast daisy and muse and probably a few others went out without billy (idk why dont ask me) but he was supposed to pick up muse but, big shocker, he doesnt, so after waiting like an hour of muse being like “id rather wait for billy” or “i dont care what groupie he’s with he can do whatever he wants and gets me after”😕 daisy finally talks her into letting her just drive her over to her place where she tries to distract muse but she just isnt having it and wants billy (and maybe calls a crazy amount of times like i do when im having a crashout🌚) and muse just kinda waits by the phone or door waiting for billy (eventually like crazy late he calls because he was gunna ask daisy if she ended up getting muse then he comes and picks muse up and i think she would be too tired/sad to argue)

HEY YO- HELLO????

I foster an environment of sadness, grief, and heartbreak, I'm so proud of us 😌🙂‍↕️

muse, my shayla, going out with daisy, billy saying he'll pick her up, he literally dropped her off, big kiss on the lips and then when he's supposed to pick her up, he's not there, and she's stubborn. because right now she wants to believe he'll come, that he didn't get too distracted or drunk or want someone more than her so much that he forgot about her, she doesn't want to believe it's that bad because she is clinging onto any piece of hope for their relationship that she can

she even gets annoyed with daisy for suggesting he's not coming, she sits on the curb, smokes a cigarette and just waits. daisy feels terrible because she knows it and she knows muse know it too, that billy is not just running a few minutes late, best case scenario he got so caught up writing a song and forgot about what he said and worst case scenario the gnawing fear he has had settled in again so he'd found a girl to distract him for the time being or he was drunk off his ass.

worst part is she's in a mood to defend him right then, when daisy tries to make a snide remark about him, "there he goes again, messing around with some random girl instead of-"

"you don't know him, daisy." muse is snapping at her because she knows daisy is right and she doesn't want daisy to be right. she craves the fantasy.

and a lot of comments like

"you don't get it daisy, he loves me, he does, he just is scared to."

"he can, I don't know, fuck whoever he wants, at the end of the day he's mine, he's with me, and that's enough. I mean, shouldn't that be enough?"

and daisy is looking at her like no, it shouldn't be enough and it's not, this is fucked up

and finally convinces muse to go back to daisy's place, saying they can wait and swim and drink something

so muse does but yeah she calls like so many times when she gets to daisy's and he does not pick up, and she's still trying to defend him, just sits by the phone and smokes so so so many cigarettes, then late at night billy calls and she picks it up and he's kind of annoyed

"why are you at daisy's? Jesus, do you know how late it is?"

and she's so exhausted by now she just let's him be, "sorry, can you pick me up, I don't wanna get a cab this late?"

he's sighing, still annoyed, "why didn't you get one earlier?"

obviously because he said he was gonna pick her up but she feels guilty about making him feel guilty so she doesn't say that, "I ran out of cash." she lies through her teeth and he begrudgingly agrees to pick her up because he doesn't want her spending the night with daisy and doing god knows how many substances

and she gets off the phone and just gives daisy the most heartbroken look and daisy goes, "oh, chickadee..." and muse starts bawling and daisy is comforting her.

when billy gets there daisy makes him get out of the car fr and he rolls his eyes, so annoyed, but he does it. muse gives daisy a hug goodbye and gives billy a kiss on the cheek and a small, "thanks."

he sighs and goes, "yeah, baby"

but when muse is in the passenger side, door closed. daisy is on that man, slaps him across the face fr and billy is what the hell

and daisy is all, "you're fucking pathetic, man."

"what the hell, daisy!"

"you left her waiting for hours and then it's some big inconvenience for you to do what you said, hours later? are you just that caught up in your own world?"

and that's when it hits him that he had agreed to pick muse up and that when he didn't she still expected him too, honestly he probably remembered like an hour later and just thought she'd have gotten a ride and yelled at him when she got back and then moved on. but she wanted him too, she wanted to not be a toy he decided when he wanted to play house with and when to let gather dust, but that's exactly what he made her.

the car ride home is silent and billy feels like shit knowing that she waited and wanted him too so badly, his hand on her thigh the whole drive. and then when they're home and in bed he cuddles up next to her, so sweetly, kisses on her face until she giggles fr, and then eats her out fr, hoping she'll just forget ab what he did, and it works. even if to him it just reinforces the idea that they can't really be together bc look at what he can do to someone he knows he loves.

tolerate it is literally their song fr oh my god 😭 sorry this took so long to answer pookie forgive me 💋

#wanda 💋#djats x reader #billy dunne x reader #billy dunne #anon #muse 🏵

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daisyjonesgf · 2 days ago

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I actually sat straight up and bed when I got this ask fr, it made my week, my month on god

re-watching anne boleyn’s season of the tudors and now i wanna know which historical event/figure the readersonas’ are obsessed with

mine are anne boleyn and kathrine howard, what’s urs?

-❤️‍🩹

me coming out of my slump and ab to go to bed just to answer this bc I study anthropology and history as my focus 🧚‍♀️😍

ily for this mwah and I love the tudors (show and history) I've been watching documentaries ab the tudors literally since I was in elementary school, same with princess diana, also the romanovs (my favorite book in middle school was a biography about the four romanov sisters and the author and I have actually emailed each other before), I do just adore learning about royals and always have I do know more about British royals but all around I love learning about different royal families. my essay of choice for the first year requirement history class at my university was actually about queen victorias impact in keep the royal family as an institution from going away during a period of uncertainty for a lot of European royal families bc people were more vocally getting fed up with financial inequality and the role the monarchy played in this, and people were willing to do something about it. so what queen victoria did to keep the British monarchy alive and what this can teach us in the modern era when it comes to charles being king.

oh my god I'm sorry I just actually love history, always have, I was always my history teachers favorite student in high school for real and I eat up history essays for real (mid term essay that I turned in later about world war ii got 101/100 fr)

anyways yes let's talk about the readersonas and historical things I think they would love

sweet girl: the triangle shirtwaist factory fire, I said what I said and I stand by that

muse: catherine the great

bombshell: the titanic

whimsy: ik you probably think I'm gonna say the salem with trials, but it's actually the Crusades 🤷‍♀️

angel: cleopatra vii and the whole mark antony and ceaser history, every last bit of it

buttercup: the donner party

sweetheart: queen lili'uokalani

starlet: madame de pompadour AND also the affair of the diamond necklace iykyk

dove: the brontë sisters

honeybee: joan of arc

rose: mary queen of scots

anyways I said what I said and geeked out while doing it, I've let the history nerd in me stay quiet for too long fr 😔💋

ty for this actually

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daisyjonesgf · 2 days ago

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re-watching anne boleyn’s season of the tudors and now i wanna know which historical event/figure the readersonas’ are obsessed with

mine are anne boleyn and kathrine howard, what’s urs?

-❤️��🩹

me coming out of my slump and ab to go to bed just to answer this bc I study anthropology and history as my focus 🧚‍♀️😍

anyways yes let's talk about the readersonas and historical things I think they would love

sweet girl: the triangle shirtwaist factory fire, I said what I said and I stand by that

muse: catherine the great

bombshell: the titanic

whimsy: ik you probably think I'm gonna say the salem with trials, but it's actually the Crusades 🤷‍♀️

angel: cleopatra vii and the whole mark antony and ceaser history, every last bit of it

buttercup: the donner party

sweetheart: queen lili'uokalani

starlet: madame de pompadour AND also the affair of the diamond necklace iykyk

dove: the brontë sisters

honeybee: joan of arc

rose: mary queen of scots

anyways I said what I said and geeked out while doing it, I've let the history nerd in me stay quiet for too long fr 😔💋

ty for this actually

#wanda 💋#djats x reader #billy dunne x reader #❤️‍🩹 anon #muse 🏵#whimsy 🔮#bombshell 🪩#angel 🪽#buttercup 🌼#sweetheart 💋#dove 🕊#starlet 🌟#honeybee 🐝#rose 🥀#sweet girl 🌊

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daisyjonesgf · 2 days ago

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okay so lace and warren first meet when she is introduced to the band for a first fitting. lace probably already has their measurements and has some general outlines of clothes made for each of them.

they probably went to her studio somewhere in L.A. to try on some of her stuff. she meets with them one by one until she gets to warren. he's instantly taken aback because she's absolutely beautiful and looks like she could model in her own designs.

lace takes in how the outfit she made for him looks and she's locked in fr. she's biting her lip, squinting. finally, she tells him to take off the shirt and just leave on the vest. so, he does it. instantly her eyes light up and she makes a comment about how shirts were not made for him, which he takes as her saying he looks better shirtless. it's exactly what she had meant.

he'll never wear another shirt on stage ever again.

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daisyjonesgf · 2 days ago

Text

vienna felt violent with this one fr 😔

𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴

pairing: billy dunne x reader

summary: when billy can't seem to remember you, you decide to leave him in your memory for good

warnings: angst angst angst, no happy ending, billy sucks as per usual

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

gracie abrams songfic challenge

Billy Dunne stood on stage, his guitar slung low, his fingers strumming the chords of a song you knew by heart. You had always loved watching him perform—seeing him lose himself in the music, in the crowd. But tonight, as the spotlight hit him, it felt different. You felt different.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t remember the last time you truly saw him, or if he’d ever really seen you. The distance between you had grown so wide, it was hard to know how or when it started. But here you were, standing in the back of the room, trying not to let the ache in your chest show.

Billy’s eyes scanned the crowd, landing on you for a brief moment. You felt your heart skip, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. You had learned to stop pretending.

The song was familiar, the lyrics hitting too close to home. “I just can’t keep pretending. Like I’m okay.” You didn’t have to close your eyes to hear it. You had lived it for months. The pretending, the silence, the way it felt like he was standing in front of you but a million miles away.

As Billy sang, you thought back to the early days. Back when it was easy. When you’d sneak into the studio while the band practiced, when Billy would pull you close after every performance, pressing a kiss to your forehead as if the world would never change. Back when there was no space between you, no walls.

But that was before the tour, before the late-night conversations became fewer, before you stopped being his first thought when he woke up in the morning. Somewhere along the way, you had become a shadow in his life, and no matter how much you tried to love him, it felt like you were loving someone who wasn’t there anymore.

The song ended, and the crowd cheered, but you could barely hear it. The ringing in your ears was louder than the applause.

Billy stepped off the stage, his eyes immediately searching for you in the crowd. He knew you’d be here. But you had stopped being the person he looked for. You had stopped being the person he needed.

He made his way through the crowd, and when he reached you, he stopped, hesitating for the first time. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his lips parted, like he was about to speak but didn’t know how.

“Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse, and you hated how much it still affected you. How much you still wanted to run into his arms like you had when everything was easier. But you didn’t.

“Hi,” you replied, the word feeling empty between the two of you.

Billy looked at you, his eyes flicking down to your hands before meeting your gaze again. “I—I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

You swallowed, trying not to let the frustration build. “Yeah? That’s funny, because I’ve been thinking about you too. A lot. But it’s hard to think when all you do is disappear.”

His face tightened, like you had just struck a nerve. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you didn’t,” you cut him off, trying to keep your voice steady. “But you did. Over and over. And I don’t know how much more I can take, Billy.”

Billy’s eyes softened, a flicker of guilt flashing through him. He reached out like he was about to touch your arm, but stopped himself. His hand hovered in the air, unsure. “I never meant for this to happen,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. But it’s like… the more I pulled away, the more I kept hoping you’d come after me. I was scared of losing you, but now I’ve already lost you, haven’t I?”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “It’s not about me coming after you. It’s about you showing up. It’s about being there. You stopped doing that, Billy. You started disappearing, and I… I couldn’t keep waiting for you to come back.”

His shoulders sagged, and he looked away, his gaze distant. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to… to lose you. But I was too afraid to try and fix it. And now, here we are.”

You both stood in the quiet between the noise of the bar, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused. The ache in your chest was almost unbearable, the memories of the love you once had flooding back.

But then, as if the weight of everything became too much to carry, you finally spoke the words you’d been holding in for so long.

“I can’t love you like this anymore, Billy,” you whispered, the pain in your voice unmistakable. “I can’t keep waiting for you to show up when you’re already gone.”

Billy flinched, his eyes shutting for a brief second, like the truth had hit him harder than he expected. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words barely escaping his lips. “I’ve always been sorry.”

But it was too late. The apology didn’t mean anything anymore. You couldn’t fix something that had already broken. You couldn’t put the pieces back together when they didn’t fit the same way anymore.

You looked at him one last time—really looked at him. The boy you once knew, the boy you once loved. And then, you let him go.

“I need to go,” you said, your voice steady now, the finality in it clear.

Billy didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t reach for you or beg you to stay. He just watched as you walked away, and when you looked back one last time, you saw the same emptiness in his eyes that had been there for so long.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and you knew that this time, there would be no turning back.

Billy’s face still lingered in your mind, the way he looked when he said he was sorry—like it was just another apology in a long string of them, none of which had ever been enough. None of which had ever brought you back. And maybe that was the point. Maybe it had all been too far gone the moment he stopped trying.

You didn’t hate him for it. You couldn’t. You still loved him. But that love had become a weight, a burden you couldn’t carry anymore. You had tried for so long to make it work, to ignore the little cracks that started to form, to pretend that everything was fine even when it was breaking you from the inside out.

But Billy? He had stopped trying. He had stopped showing up. And now, you were the one who had to let go.

The cold air bit at your skin, but it didn’t matter. You were numb. The city lights blurred as you walked aimlessly through the streets, your mind stuck on him—on what could have been, on the love you thought would last.

You reached a street corner and waited for the light to change. Your fingers fumbled in your coat pocket for a cigarette, and you lit it with a shaky hand. The smoke swirled around you, thickening the fog that had settled in your mind.

Love just wasn’t enough when it wasn’t reciprocated in the way it needed to be. And love wasn’t enough when the person you once knew seemed so distant, so different, that you couldn’t even recognize them anymore. You’d stopped being the person he reached for, and he’d stopped being the person who had once made you feel like you were the only one that mattered.

The sound of your footsteps seemed to follow you as you walked down the empty street. The glow from the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, but you didn’t pay attention to them. All you could think about was that phone call.

You had received it an hour ago, and you still hadn’t made up your mind. You hadn’t called him back. You knew he wouldn’t call again unless you called back. That’s just how he was. You didn’t know if you should. The last time you had talked, the words felt like they were suffocating you. The apologies, the promises that everything would be better next time—every single one of them had felt like a lie.

You reached the park and sat down on one of the benches, staring out into the quiet. The rustling leaves seemed to be whispering to you, as if the world itself was trying to calm you, trying to tell you everything would be okay.

But you knew better.

You pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders and closed your eyes for a moment, the quiet of the night filling your mind. You knew Billy had meant everything he said. You knew he didn’t want you to leave, but he had let you go just the same.

A distant part of you hoped he would try harder. That he would come running to you, apologize for everything, and beg you to come back. But you knew that wasn’t who he was anymore.

You knew what love looked like, what it felt like. And this? This wasn’t it.

The air was getting colder, and you could hear the distant hum of a car engine. It was strange, how everything seemed to move around you so fast when you felt like you were standing still.

You pulled out a piece of paper and started to scribble on it, your words messy and uneven as the moonlight danced across the page. You didn’t know why you were doing it, but you felt compelled to. You had always been a writer. It was the only way you knew how to make sense of things. Like Billy and his music, you had your words, your poetry.

And so, you wrote.

Billy, I know you’re sorry. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. But I can’t keep waiting. I can’t keep holding onto something that’s already slipping through my fingers. You say you love me, but love isn’t enough when you don’t try to hold on.

You paused, your fingers hovering over the paper. The weight of your own words hit you like a wave, and you wiped away the tears that had started to slip down your cheeks.

If you loved me, you wouldn’t have let me go. You wouldn’t have left me alone on late nights. You wouldn’t have made me feel forgotten and displaced. You wouldn’t have let me walk out of that venue that night if you really still cared for me.

The world seemed so much quieter now, the noise of your heart pounding louder than anything else. The idea of walking away from him felt like the hardest thing you would ever do, but you knew you had to.

You folded the paper carefully and slid it into your pocket. Your cigarette was burning low, the ashes falling to the ground, but you didn’t care.

Your mind was set, but your heart—your heart was still in pieces. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. You didn’t know if you would ever see Billy again. But you knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t keep doing this.

With a final, long breath, you stood up, brushing the leaves off your coat. The park was empty, the air colder than before. But you didn’t look back.

You kept walking, the echoes of your footsteps following you into the unknown.

It had been a year. A whole year since you had walked away, since you had left behind the life you thought you were going to have with Billy.

A year filled with attempts at moving on, finding new places to call home, new people to meet. You had thrown yourself into work, into friendships, into things that would distract you from the ache that never quite faded.

But nothing felt as real as the time you had spent with him.

And nothing—nothing—felt as impossible as the thought of seeing him again.

But here you were, standing in the crowd at the concert hall, the lights above you dimming as the noise in the venue shifted from a dull hum to an electric buzz. The anticipation in the air was thick, the energy of the crowd palpable. It had taken every ounce of courage to buy the ticket, but here you were, standing in the back, watching as the stage lights flickered to life.

You didn’t even know what you expected. Did you think you’d go through the motions and just enjoy the music? That you could hear his voice again and pretend like you hadn’t spent so much time missing him, trying to forget him?

But as the first chord rang through the speakers, you felt it—felt the familiar tug of something inside you that you couldn’t ignore. His voice, raw and powerful, filled the room, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe it in.

You hadn’t seen Billy in over a year. You’d watched from afar as his band grew, as their fame exploded, as the world embraced their sound. But seeing him here, in person, standing on that stage, it was like no time had passed at all. He looked different—more polished, more confident—but when he sang, you could still see the boy you had once known. The boy who had made you believe in love, in a life you thought you would share.

Your heart clenched in your chest, and you forced yourself to take a step back. You told yourself you were fine. You weren’t going to make a scene. You weren’t going to get caught up in the past, in the feelings that still hadn’t completely faded.

But it was too late. He’d seen you.

The moment his eyes caught yours from across the stage, everything seemed to still. The world faded away until it was just the two of you, and for the briefest second, it was like nothing had changed. Like you were still that girl in the front row at the small bar, holding his gaze as he played his guitar and whispered lyrics meant only for you.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone.

Billy’s fingers trembled against his guitar strings, but his voice didn’t falter. He sang the next note with all the passion you remembered, but you could see it in the way he looked at you again, that subtle recognition—the shock, the wonder, the hope. But you couldn’t stay.

You turned, your heart pounding in your chest. You had always known that seeing him again would do something to you, but you hadn’t realized just how deeply it would hurt. You hadn’t realized how much you would want to run to him, to be with him again, to say all the things you hadn’t been able to say.

But you couldn’t.

Not like this. Not after everything that had happened.

You pushed through the crowd, your breath quickening as you navigated your way to the back exit, trying to keep your composure. You told yourself you couldn’t go back to that place. That place where everything was uncertain and nothing was ever guaranteed.

When you reached the door, you stopped for just a moment, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You could hear the crowd cheering, could hear the music from inside, and you wondered, for just a second, if he was still looking for you. If he was wondering why you’d left.

But then you stepped out into the cool night air, and the door shut behind you with a finality that echoed in your chest. You hadn’t gone back for him. You hadn’t gone back for any kind of closure. You hadn’t gone back to start things over.

You had gone back because you missed him. And that was the most painful thing of all.

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