#colors of california shoes

[hilaryduffwardrobe]

WHERE: Out in Sherman Oaks

WHEN: October 25, 2022

Colors of California Two Bands Slipper in Taupe - $51,95

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Rich Cougar in her late thirties.

Sees hot older man in a beat up vehicle.

Clearly doesn't give a shit.

She senses big dick energy

[abibliophobiaa]

One word prompts are so hard for me cause they could go an infinite direction but what about the word Cherry with Steve?

don’t you call him ‘baby’

steve harrington x f!reader. angst with a happy ending. [2k]

——

There’s a cherry red stain on the edge of the grainy photo. The color of your favorite lipstick — the same color still on the collar of his old jean jacket. He'll never get rid of it, he’s decided long ago now. You’re smiling back at him, captured forever in this picture, the sunset behind you, a hand hiking up one side of your flowing dress, the fabric backlit by the orange sky, highlighting the curves of your silhouette. He doesn’t even need the photo to remember the way it feels for his hands to travel the pathway of your side, your hip, the contours of your thighs. And the memories of that day hit him like a freight train all the same, like it was only yesterday.

Your hand is in his as he peels away from the curb at Max and Lucas’ new place in California. Sun streaks across the sky still, his sunglasses perched high on his nose. He feels you squeeze him tighter, thumb stroking lovingly along his knuckles. He turns his head and captures your gaze, your mouth a firm line, eyes round and soft. Sad.

“You okay?” you ask, and he realizes that sadness is for him. Heart practically shatters at that, because you know him deeply — just as you’ve always known over the years without him ever uttering a word.

His lip wobbles, but he doesn’t cry, tries not to at least. Even so, you gather the tear that eventually streams down his face. Thumb it away so tenderly it’s like you’re trying to capture it — to encapsulate this moment. Max is gone, Lucas is starting a new career, Dustin is off to college with El, Will, and Mike. Robin’s getting married soon. And he’s peering at everyone through the window, wishing them well, watching them slip away with the passing of time.

Everything is changing, yet you remain, and though it aches to see his life changing so quickly and suddenly, you’re a constant. The thought alone has him leaning over at a red light and kissing you soundly on the lips, hands in your hair at the back of your head, his cheeks flaming hot when the light turns green and someone slams on the horn behind him.

“Let’s go somewhere,” you muse softly, a little to yourself, head against the doorframe, free hand twirling in the wind out the window, catching sunlight in the palm of your hand. “That sign says there’s a beach up ahead. I want to put my feet in the water.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand, thinking how he can’t wait to marry you one day. “Okay, honey.”

Soon enough you’re both running along the beach with your hands tangled together. You’re spinning. Twirling. Laughing as he turns you round and around on the beach, sand between your toes, sun kissing his skin, blissful words punctuated by lingering kisses. There’s a blanket strewn out nearby you brought along and laid out, shoes discarded, your newest book propped open on its front. Beside that is the camera he brought along for the trip, the same one he rushes away to grab, chest splitting in two at the wide smile that breaks along your face.

You’re perfect. Everything he could ever want and more in a person. Beautiful beyond whatever measure a camera could ever capture you within. The photo slides out and slowly develops. The same photo you hold pinched between your fingertips as you later drive back to your hotel, bringing your lips to the bare corner, leaving a cherry red stain behind.

“Give me your wallet,” you reach an arm out and he slaps the leather within, the picture sliding into an empty slot. “Now you’ll always have me with you.”

Such sweet words — if only you had known.

He’s not sure how it happened. How that one perfect day became a memory. He still remembers the feel of your warm skin after hours on the beach spent kicking up sand, dancing in the waves, falling into fits of laughter as you eventually fell back onto a blanket, hands tangled together as tightly knit as your hearts. Later you’d pulled him down against you in that hotel bed, blocked out the rest of the world, and relished the feel of two souls wound together like one. You whispered forever against his throat as he later curled you against his chest, with the sound of his heartbeat a promise to lull you into sleep.

But things changed. His anxiety after Vecna grew, he buried himself in a job he didn’t even want at his father’s company to run from it. Work became too much — distance between you grew, him on trips that drew him further and further away from Hawkins. He pushed you away, he knew it, you knew it, though neither wanted to admit it out loud. At first you fought about it, about how you wanted forever but forever couldn’t look like this if you wanted it to stand the test of time. And then the apartment grew silent. Screaming matches turned into quiet sobs before bed, when you thought he couldn’t hear you, but he did every time. The distance became a chasm, too far to broach.

Then you left. Packed your things one morning and chose yourself. He understood. Of course he did. Still it didn’t make anything better. Didn’t make his heart hurt any less.

Now he sits in the middle of your — his — bed staring at the photo of you. The box of things he kept of yours through the years stored beneath his bed, even after Eddie suggested he might want to put it away in a closet or something. It’s been six months, six months of not turning over every morning to find you already awake and propped up beside him, wanting the first thing he sees every morning to be your smiling face. Six months of wondering what you’re doing, wondering who you’re talking to, wondering if you’ve moved on.

He gets his answer that night.

Eddie’s shoving Steve along beside him. Clothes cling to sweaty bodies in the packed bar. Robin couldn’t make it, so the two decide on a ‘boy’s night out.’ They’ve not had one in a bit, since Chrissy’s just given birth to their first baby a couple months ago. But she practically pushes him out the door that night, promising her and their new son will be fine, that he deserves a fun night with his friend.

Only it’s far from fun. With July came the hottest weather Hawkins has seen all year. ‘A record breaking high,’ the news stations tout. All Steve knows is his jeans feel tighter than usual, his skirt is stuck to his sweaty back, and the woman he loves is standing at the bar with a man Steve doesn’t recognize.

“Don’t look,” Eddie warns, as though it’s not already too late. As if Steve’s not drawn to you like a magnet, even after all this time. “He could be a friend, or something.”

He could be. But the man is reaching over to rest a hand over your forearm, head bent low, eyes wide, and clearly engaged in whatever story you’re telling him. Steve’s not surprised. It’s one of his favorite things about you: this way you seem to captivate every room you walk into. Like he’s in your orbit, circling around you, pulled in close by your mere aura. Anyone who knows you loves you, he thinks — and they’re lucky for it. He’d been lucky for a time, too.

“Steve, stop torturing yourself,” Eddie says, giving his friend’s shoulder a little wiggle. “Here — let me go grab us some beers. I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything hasty.”

Steve shakes his head. What’s he going to do? Scream. Cry. Beg for you to come back. No — instead he watches. Feels his chest ache as you throw your head back in a laugh at something your date must say, hiding your smile against the lip of your glass, suddenly bashful when your eyes flicker up and clash with Steve’s. The drink in your hand falls and shatters and people rush to clean it up. Your date scrambles to find a stack of napkins, dabs at the front of your blouse, the gesture lost to you as you stay staring ahead, held in place by a ghost of your past.

Suddenly, like a light bulb flashing in your mind, you snap back to attention. He watches the bob of your throat on a swallow, the long rise and fall of your chest on your deep inhale and exhale, the forceful smile that curls your lips as you return your focus to your date.

The moment slips away as Eddie returns to the table, glasses in hand.

——

He’s not sure how he ends up here. Standing in your doorway, the ‘exit’ sign at the end of your hall flickering in the night. Your palm splays against the open door, mouth agape, eyes on his face, blinking frantically like you might think he’s an apparition.

“Please don’t tell me he’s your boyfriend.” Please don’t tell me you call him ‘baby.’ He hates himself for the tears that glimmer like pools in his eyes, hates as you reach up to cover his cheek when the first spills down his skin. “Damn it — I had a whole speech and I —” His voice breaks, throat closing around his words. You’re on your toes, face in his collar bone, clinging to him like he’s the very thing keeping you afloat at sea. “I quit my job, I started therapy, I’m not saying it excuses anything but —”

“Come with me,” you whisper, dropping back onto your heels, pajama shorts ruffling around your thighs.

Heat blooms in his belly as your fingers knit with his, dragging you further into an unfamiliar apartment. It’s very you. All your favorite colors and things, movies strewn about the living room floor, the grainy static humming on a television screen. A pot of half-eaten macaroni is left on a stove top, a plant on your kitchen table, books on a little shelf on a corner leading to a hallway. Lived in.

“Sit on the bed,” you demand as he slips inside your bedroom.

The blankets are messy, like you’ve risen from a nap recently. A stuffed animal he won you at a carnival rests beside your pillow, well-loved, as the fur is no longer as fluffy as it once had been. He watches stiffly as you reach down beneath your bed and pull out a shoebox. In your lipstick, you’ve written “Us” and decorated the top of the box with dozens of little stickers accumulated over the years. In awe, his gaze trails your hands as they pluck item after item collected throughout the years together. That first Scoops Ahoy napkin where he wrote his phone number down, that strip of photos at the photo booth at a carnival, your plush toy between your bodies as he kissed you that first time, a shirt of his from high school days that still smelled like him when you breathed deep enough, the little stack of Polaroids with all your memories scattered within. Early dates, holidays, Valentine’s Day, trips out of town with Robin, photos with the kids. Memories frozen in time of a life that feels so long ago — a life he still craves more than anything.

“I never got rid of them,” you mutter thoughtfully, holding up a photo of him napping on a lawn chair at his parent’s house, skin tanned, chest bare, marker scribbles by the kids on his face in the shape of glasses. “He’s not my boyfriend. I haven’t dated anyone since…”

“Me neither,” he swallows, inhaling sharply as your forehead rests against his. “I know I can’t…I know I messed up and I can’t take that back. But you deserve the world and I want it to be with me.”

“You’re going to give me the world, Harrington?” You tease, and he can almost hear the laughter in your voice as you reach down between the two of you to shove the memory box aside.

“If you’ll let me.”

“You have a lot of groveling to do,” you murmur, and he can feel your lips brush his, just a whisper, softly enough he wonders if he’s dreaming, “starting with this.”

He kisses you. One for every day he’s gone without. Until you’re falling onto your back and gazing up at him with stars in your eyes, fingers trailing his bare chest, lingering along the heart that thumps wildly beneath, singing of a forever.

——

[dazedandconfused-15]

Heaven's in your eyes (Part 4)

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who took the time to comment and reblog this story, I'm really glad you're sticking with me on this journey!!

If you're enjoying it, a reblog would mean a lot to me and really helps get this fanfic out there! 🫶

Enjoy...

Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.

Link to: Part 1 Part 2, and Part 3

@tatumrileyslover @littlenosoul @nocturnest @the-freak-cassie-313 @rainy-darling @nina-from-317

From then on, you become much more observant. Billy and you meet up after school to do homework, go for walks, grab some food or just hang out. You start noticing small details, like how sometimes his shirt is buttoned up a bit higher than usual, even in warm weather. Occasionally, you catch sight of a bruise on his skin. You refrain from bombarding him with questions, but it's challenging to stay silent when the wounds are obvious. Thankfully, it's never as severe as that night he showed up battered. You quickly understand that this topic is off-limits for him, so you let it go, hoping that someday, he'll feel comfortable enough to open up to you.

For the first time in what feels like ages, happiness seeps into your days. Suddenly, the world seems brighter, nights feel less daunting, and even the mundane surroundings regain a hint of color. But deep down, you know this fragile balance won't last. 

And just like that, everything shifts during a Wednesday afternoon gym class. You're deep into a basketball game. A teammate passes you the ball, and with quick reflexes, you snatch it and charge towards the basket. It all happens in a blur, catching you off guard, until a sharp pang shoots through your knees as they collide with the unforgiving, polished wood of the gym floor. Your heart races as you instinctively extend your arms, just in time to protect your face from the impact. Amid the chaos, the coach's whistle cuts through the noise, and through the fog of pain, a pair of trainers come into focus right before your eyes.

“What happened?” 

“She tripped, Coach,” says the voice belonging to the person in those shoes. Your gaze shifts upward, meeting the mocking eyes of Tina Williams. She stands with one hand on her hip, casually chewing her gum. A moment later, she steps aside as the coach kneels in front of you.

The contrast is stark—where there was once the commotion of squeaking shoes and shouts, there's now a hushed stillness. Half the class has gathered around, watching in silence.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?" the coach asks you, resting his hand on your arm. 

deliberately tripped you, sending you crashing to the floor. The pain in your knees isn't unbearable, but your skin is clearly scraped. The sting from where they hit the ground and slid across the floor is still sharp.

"Oh man, we need to disinfect these," the coach remarks, examining your peeling, reddened knees where raw flesh is visible. "I'm taking you to the nurse's office."

"No, no. It's fine." you say, your voice slightly shaky as he helps you to your feet. "It's not that bad."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," you murmur, catching the faint snickers of Vicky Muller and Carol Perkins as they whisper to Tina, their voices low but filled with amusement.

The coach makes you sit on the benches for the rest of the hour. As the game continues, you become a spectator in every sense—watching the game and the entire situation unfold, feeling completely disconnected from your own body. Your mind drifts, detaching from everything around you. You’re certain Tina tripped you on purpose, but the reason eludes you. Anxiety gnaws at you, leaving a pit in your stomach. When the game finally ends, you follow your classmates into the locker room, keeping your eyes downcast, avoiding any confrontations. All you want is to leave, to escape this uncomfortable situation.

But as you open your locker, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. Reluctantly, you turn, only to find yourself face-to-face with Tina. Vicky stands beside her, arms crossed, with an expression that clearly shows she's anticipating some entertainment, barely able to contain her laughter.

Tina nods toward your knees. “How are your knees?”

You want to snap back, to demand what her problem is, but instead, you choose the path of least resistance. Maybe if you play along, this will all blow over.

“It’s nothing serious. It’ll pass,” you say, forcing a small smile before turning back to your locker.

Tina snorts, and there’s a brief, tense silence. “What’s your deal with Billy?”

Your hand freezes in mid-motion as everything suddenly clicks into place. Slowly, you turn back to her, realizing there’s no avoiding this conversation.

You decide to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Did I stutter?”

You swallow, taking in her mocking expression. The locker room falls silent as your classmates stop what they’re doing to watch the scene unfold. In the background, Carol wears a wicked smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I barely know him,” you say, trying to diffuse the situation, not wanting any trouble.

You know that Billy had gone out with Tina a few times not too long ago. It was supposedly nothing serious and ended as quickly as it began. Rumor has it that after they’d hooked up in his Camaro, he drove her home and never called her again.

“Please. You think we’re dumb?” Vicky chimes in. “We’ve seen you hanging with him.”

“I…”

“Listen, honey,” Tina cuts you off, unfolding her arms and stepping toward you. Her tone is anything but sweet, almost aggressive. “I don’t care what the hell you’re up to. But stop it.”

“Wha…”

“You really think he’d be interested in someone like you? Take a good look at yourself,” she sneers, her gaze sweeping over you, making you instantly self-conscious. “Make sure you’re not carrying fleas before you get near guys like Billy. God knows what’s lurking in that cesspool you call home.”

“Or STDs,” Carol chimes in with a smirk. “Like mother, like daughter.”

The comment hits you like a punch to the gut, the pain in your knees forgotten as a deeper ache settles in. The room is filled with your classmates, yet you’ve never felt so alone. Some stand in silent shock, others hold back amused grins, enjoying the spectacle.

“So yeah, stay away from him. Got it?” Tina snaps her bubble gum, her eyes daring you to respond.

They don’t wait for an answer, turning away and leaving you frozen in place. As you open your locker and reach for your clothes, you realize with a sinking feeling that they’re soaked. Water drips onto the floor, soaking your sneakers, and panic rises in your chest. You quickly grab your backpack, hoping it’s unharmed, but find it just as wet, the contents inside ruined.

Murmurs and giggles fill the room as Tina’s voice drifts over again, soft but cutting. “Sorry about that. Maybe next time you’ll know your place.”

You leave school wearing your damp clothes, shivering as the rain falls down on you. The thought of enduring two more hours of English literature is unbearable. Despite your efforts to dry your clothes and backpack, the dampness clings to you, making the weight of it all feel heavier. The mile-long walk home feels endless as your mind replays the scene in the gym and locker room. You wonder how you could have been so naive, so foolish to think you could find a bit of happiness without something going wrong. The cold air stings your wet cheeks, and you wipe them with the back of your hand, your eyes fixed on the ground. Your knees burn, but nothing compares to the deep, burning shame inside you.

When you finally reach home, you’re grateful your father is still at work, sparing you from having to explain why you’re home early or why you look so miserable. You retreat to the shower, letting the hot water pour over you until the steam is so thick you can’t even see the tiles. Later, you curl up on the couch under a blanket, staring blankly at the TV, your mind far away. The phone rings, breaking the silence, but you don’t have the energy to answer it. Whoever is calling is persistent, though, and the ringing continues.

Taking a deep breath, you finally pick up the receiver, trying to keep your voice from sounding hollow.

“Hello?”

“It’s Billy.”

His warm voice is like a balm, soothing your frayed nerves, but it also brings back the harsh memories of the day. The ugly events replay in your mind, and guilt washes over you as you imagine him waiting by his Camaro, only to realize you wouldn’t be showing up.

“I’m sorry. Sorry about that,” you croak, clearing your throat. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“What happened?”

“I’m just under the weather. That’s all. I think I’m getting sick.”

A heavy silence hangs between you as you twist the phone cord around your fingers, the tension in your grip turning your skin white. You can only hear your own breathing, and you hope desperately that he believes you, that he won’t push for more.

“You sure?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, I promise. I just need to rest.”

“Alright,” he sighs. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Hey, Billy?” you blurt out, stopping yourself before your voice cracks. The knot in your throat tightens as you struggle with the urge to be honest with him. It doesn’t seem fair to lie, knowing this might be one of the last times you hear his voice. “Thanks for calling,” you manage to say once you’re sure your voice won’t break.

“Don’t mention it. Bye, sweetheart.”

You hang up before you can respond, the warmth of his endearment slicing through you, leaving you on the verge of tears. It’s not just him—it’s everything. The whole situation weighs on you. You glance at the picture of you and your mom on the hall shelf, taken when you were just two years old in her arms. Your dad still keeps it, a reminder of the past. Billy has managed to make your life easier, not by making you forget, but by showing you that happiness was still possible. But today, all those old wounds are reopened. The void left by her, and now by him, feels deeper than ever. That’s the risk of letting people into your life—they eventually leave, and all you’re left with is the emptiness they once filled.

You stay home for the next two days. On Friday, it still hasn’t stopped raining. The day drags on endless, each hour feeling like an eternity. You struggle to find the strength to peel yourself out of bed, your stomach tied in knots, rendering breakfast an impossible feat. As rain continues to patter against the window, casting a dreary backdrop, you find yourself lost in a numb trance, gazing blankly at the vivid greenery outside. Only in the afternoon does your hunger finally overpower the turmoil within, prompting you to rustle up a simple cheese toast to appease your growling stomach. Settling in front of the TV, you attempt to distract yourself from the weight of the day's events. By the late afternoon, as your dad arrives home, you force yourself to summon a facade of composure, determined not to burden him with worries. Then the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your trance, and you get up to see who's there. 

As you open the door, Billy is standing here, his hands on his leather jacket pockets, his gaze wandering off to the side, but turns to look immediately at you. He’s as pretty as the last time you saw him. His eyes lock with yours, making you weak in the knee. 

“Oh. Hey.” you softly say, completely taken off guard by his presence on your front door. 

“Hey.” 

“Uh, what are you doing here?” you ask, trying your best to not sound rude. You’re just confused. 

Billy shrugs. “You didn’t answer when I called. Figured I would come to you instead.” 

His response leaves you speechless. You’re struck by his persistence, amazed that he hasn’t grown tired of you, given his tendency to quickly lose interest in people. He says it so casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and it stirs something inside you that you can’t quite put into words.

Amusement flicks over his face. “You gonna let me in, or what?” 

You excuse yourself by straightening up from your position against the door, opening it wide to let him in. Billy wipes his shoes on the doormat before stepping in. A strange energy seems to be unleashed when your bodies are close to each other. It makes you feel electric. You’ve never believed in those things, but it’s almost like your auras are touching.

You look up at him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you look at each other.

“Sorry, my dad’s here,” you say as you see him look up behind you toward the living room.

Although very subtle, you notice how his body tenses up when your father approaches him and you introduce Billy to him. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Your dad shakes his hand, a warm smile on his face. “Ah, so you must be Billy. She keeps talking about you.”

Billy lets out a nervous chuckle, briefly glancing at you. You find yourself looking at the ground, cheeks flushed. "Hope she said good things."

“All I can say is that you’re good to her, son. Haven’t seen my daughter smiling this often in a long time. She never talks to me about her friends.” he rests his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” you can feel Billy’s eyes on you, boring a hole through your skin. “She’s good to me too.”

Your dad gestures toward the kitchen. “Have you had dinner yet? We made some roasted chicken tonight, it’s delicious.”

Billy shakes his head. “Thank you, sir, I had dinner earlier.” 

“Come have a drink then.” your dad already walks backward to the kitchen. “What can I get you?”

“Dad…” you softly say at his enthusiasm. You never have people over. It’s been a long time since you had them. Not since…well. And you understand your dad lights up as a candle with joy. He’s getting too enthusiastic already.

“You look over eighteen. Beer? Some red wine?” 

Billy glances at you, his hand in his pockets, then slowly follows him to the kitchen. He looks like a wary animal taking in his surroundings.  “Beer is fine. Thank you, sir.”

You follow behind Billy, feeling suddenly so uneasy in your own house. Your eyes follow his broad back as he enters the kitchen, the air already smelling like leather. Like him. 

Your dad, with a casual wave of his hand, says, "Ah, don't bother with all those formalities around me.” 

Billy leans against the counter as your dad extends an uncapped bottle of beer, clinking it against his own. You notice how he stiffens slightly again when your dad mentions remembering his last name, knowing his father. His attitude becomes more reserved, and he answers with small sentences. Especially when your dad mentions how despite having talked to him only a few times at Melvald’s downtown and the bank, he looks like a tough guy. However, your dad is easygoing and his attitude warm, and slowly, throughout the conversation, Billy seems to ease up too. His shoulders relax, and a real laugh escapes him a time or two. You knew they shared some interests, but you didn’t expect them to talk about California for so long. Your dad recounts his younger years living in there, how he spent his days surfing and working in a garage for his own dad’s friend to get some money. Billy did the same back there. He tells your dad how you mentioned some of it to him, then how many more people there are since the 60s, how Will Rogers State Beach is now crowded with tourists. 

“You’re sure you don’t want anything to eat? Hell, there’s plenty of that chicken and it’s only the two of us.” you dad offers again. 

Billy settles the empty beer on the counter. “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you. I was hoping to take her on a ride, to get some fresh air if that’s alright with you.”

Your dad looks at you and you give him a small smile, though you didn’t expect or plan any of it. He nods in approval.

“Sure, kids. Be careful, yeah? It was nice to meet you Billy.”

“Same. Thank you for the beer.”

Your dad winks at him. “Anytime. You’re always welcome.”

At first, silence hangs between the two of you. Billy doesn’t mention it as he drives you toward downtown, and your mind is elsewhere. You’re there physically, but your thoughts are consumed by how wrong it feels to be in the car with him. Your plans to keep your distance have been shattered by his unexpected presence. His decision to come to you makes everything ten times harder. You’re unsure how you’ll find the right words to express yourself without offending him—or worse, hurting him. But then again, maybe you’re overthinking it. Perhaps he doesn’t feel as connected to you as you do to him. Chances are, you’ll be the one left hurting in the end.

Billy casually suggests getting a milkshake at the diner, then lapses back into silence, leaving you unsure whether to thank him or ask him to break the quiet. He doesn’t make it easy. When he parks in front of the diner, he opens the passenger door for you. Physical contact has become second nature between you two—small, almost unconscious gestures, especially on his part. But they always send your heart racing. This time, as he touches your back, gently guiding you inside while holding the diner door open, your heartbeat spikes dangerously.

You usually have a sweet tooth, and the milkshakes at Starlight Grill are delicious, but today, your thoughts have robbed you of your appetite. Billy insists you get something, and when you hesitate, he suggests sharing a milkshake.

When the waitress brings the milkshake along with the bill, Billy takes the first sip. You reach into your pocket for some coins.

“What are you doing?” 

“Just, paying.” You murmur absent-mindedly, counting the coins. Billy's hand appears in front of you, putting them aside.

“Put that away.”

You sigh, meeting his gaze. "Billy."

He casually slides the milkshake in front of you, his half-lidded eyes locked on yours, completely unfazed by your feeble attempts to resist. The purple lights of the diner cast a soft glow, highlighting his features and making his mustache stand out more than usual. You can't help but marvel at how effortlessly handsome he always looks. Meanwhile, you feel out of place in your loose jumper, with no makeup and your hair barely combed.

You notice that there is only one straw in the milkshake. “Oh, they didn’t bring another one.”

“It’s fine. Drink it,” his features shifting to an amused look.  “Unless it grosses you out.” 

“No, no! Of course not.” you hastily assure him before bringing the straw to your lips. The rich taste of chocolate floods your senses with a pleasant sensation, despite your lack of hunger. You resist the temptation to indulge in a bit of the whipped cream from the top of the milkshake.

“Feel better today?” he asks as he watches you, leaning back against the bench.

“Uh, yes. A bit better.” you lie, your eyes on the table. You’re unable to look at him.

You instinctively tighten your grip on the cold glass of the milkshake, startled by the sudden warmth of his palm on your forehead. 

“Yeah. No fever, anyway,” he says.

“How did you do on the test yesterday?” you ask instead, eager to change the topic.

Billy leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he brings the milkshake closer to himself, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Eh, not bad. I think I passed," he replies before taking a sip from the straw. “Jesus, this shit is sweet as hell.” he mutters, peering down at the milkshake as if it personally wronged him.

You let out a soft laugh at his expression. When you sat down, he asked you what flavor you liked and ordered it without hesitation. You realize with a pang of guilt that you hadn't even bothered to ask him if he liked it. 

“Sorry… too much?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Just a bit sweet.” he pushes the milkshake toward you, your fingers brushing each other as you take the glass. “I’m more of a savory type of guy.”

"Oh," you sheepishly respond, brushing your thumb against the cold glass to clear away some moisture. “I’m more of a sweet type of girl.”

"You are," he says, his voice carrying a subtle warmth that catches your attention. 

You lift your gaze toward him, struck by the underlying tone in his words. Billy dips his pinky in the whipped cream and brings it to his mouth. Red lips suck around the skin, his tongue licking the whipped cream away. You take a sip of the milkshake to distract yourself from the stirring movement in your lower belly. 

“So what’s your favorite?” he then casually asks, as if he didn’t just do the most provocative thing ever. 

“My what?” you ask as if coming back to reality. 

“Your favorite dessert.”

“Oh uhm, I guess my mom’s tiramisu,” you stop to think about all the summers spent eating your mom’s tiramisu in the back of your house in the garden, the happy memory becoming bittersweet. “I didn’t like it when I was younger, I used to make all of those faces when I tasted the coffee.” Billy snorts a soft laugh as he looks at you. “She used to make it all the time when it was warm outside.” you say as you play with the straw.”

“You know how to make it?”

“Yes. She taught me.” 

“You’ll have to make me one, someday.” 

You meet his eyes, still intently on you, and you lower your gaze while stretching your lips into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. How you wish there was a chance to do this. 

“What’s yours?” you ask instead, ignoring how your heart is aching.

Billy hums thoughtfully, dragging the milkshake toward him. “I’d say the tacos from the Mexican joint in Mission Beach. Hands down.”

“What do they put in them?” 

Billy sucks on the straw before setting the glass aside. “Okay, so picture this,” he leans his elbows on the table. “They have this way of cooking the beef, it’s tender and juicy ‘cause they dip it in the stew, and it’s seasoned just right." 

A smile slowly spreads on your face without you realizing it as he gets enthusiastic about it.

“Then they sprinkle some lime on it.” he mimics the sprinkling, his eyes squinting a tiny bit. "And then there's the crunch of the shell, just crispy enough to contrast with the beef. Then they top it with cheese and jalapeños. Man,” you giggle as he lightly slaps his palm on the table. He turns his head to the side, momentarily lost in thought as he contemplates. “It’s something else.” 

“It sounds delicious.” you nod, a laugh escaping your lips.

As Billy looks back at you, his face is closer to yours as you leaned on the table too. His blue eyes bore into yours. “It’s five-star type of food, babe. Unmatched.” 

His voice is warm like dripping honey and your stomach flips, his half-lidded gaze trapping you there is both charming and dangerous. You’re scared of the things your body is feeling.

“I wish I could try it.” 

“You will. Told you I would take you there.”

He scans your face, catching each of your reactions from up close as your breath hitches in your throat. “I thought you were joking.” 

“I never was.”

You wonder what would happen if you just listened to your instincts right now. If only he lifted the sleeves of your sweater, he’d see the goosebumps on your arms. If he could press his ear to your chest, he’d hear your heart racing. But following your instincts feels too risky. A little voice inside reminds you that all this chemistry between you two might just be in your head. You're building castles in the air; your deluded heart is playing tricks on you. Tina’s voice chimes in too: “What would a guy like him want with someone like you?” So, you pull away, and as you do, your heartbeat slows down a little.

You clear your voice, grabbing the milkshake. “Anyway, I better get home soon. It’s almost ten.” 

With only a little milkshake left, you finish it without meeting his gaze, deciding to switch the topic to how you caught up with homework while staying at home. He doesn’t comment on it, biting into it and telling you about the history test on that Wednesday.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” he asks you once on the drive home.

He lowers the volume of the radio, Eagles’ ‘Take it Easy’ reduced to background noise. You hesitate. You don’t know how to tell him. You’ve never been good at cutting ties with people. You’ve never been ready. You never will be.

“I’m just not in a good place right now.”

"Yeah, I gathered that much," Billy responds, his voice low and steady. "But what's got you feeling this way?"

You figure that the best way is to be straightforward, though. 

“I know this might sound weird," you begin, already feeling a pang of regret for how you're about to phrase it. Your nails press into the palm of your hands as you twist them together, your eyes locked on the shifting scenery outside. “You’ll probably don’t understand it. But I think we have to stop seeing each other. Hanging around together.”  

At first, your words hang heavy in the air, met only with silence that feels like a weight on your chest. You can't help but replay what you just said in your mind, wondering if you came off too harshly. It's a familiar feeling, the aftermath of saying something you can't take back, and in this moment, it feels far too aggressive.

As you battle with yourself, searching desperately for the right words to soften the blow, you find that every script you rehearsed in your head falls short. Billy's silence only adds to your internal turmoil, leaving you mentally slapping yourself for the brutal way you phrased it.

Billy licks his lips. “If I did something wrong,” he starts.

“No, it’s not that.”

“...Or if I made you feel uncomfortable, you gotta tell me.”

“No. Billy, please don’t think that. You haven’t done anything wrong.” you interject quickly, reaching out to touch his arm in reassurance.

He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road, his expression unreadable. The tension in the car is palpable as he waits for you to explain further.

“I just…” you begin, running a hand through your hair in a nervous gesture. “I don’t think it’s good for you to be around me."

"Huh," he responds, his tone indicating he finds your reasoning perplexing. "What does that mean?"

You begin cautiously, choosing your words carefully, "I'm just not... I'm not exactly the embodiment of happiness, you know? And I don't want to bring you down with me."

"You think you're gonna bring me down?" 

You nod slowly, unable to meet his gaze. "I just don't want to drag you into my mess," you admit quietly. “I have a lot to deal with myself. Please believe me when I say that it’s not a good idea.”

"That's it? That's why you think we should stop hanging out?" Billy's voice carries a blend of disbelief and skepticism as if he's attempting to peel back the layers of your explanation.

His response catches you off guard. Shouldn't your reason suffice? After all, it's what led to the end of friendships with Nancy and Claire. They understood and let you go. And deep down, you understand that too.

“No, it’s not just that…” you feel increasingly frustrated with the situation, it feels harder than you anticipated.

"Hey, if I'm not your cup of tea, or if I'm making you feel awkward, just say the word. No hard feelings. We can't all be everyone's favorite flavor. But let's keep it real, yeah?"

"No, it's not that at all, Billy!" you blurt out, your voice rising slightly with surprise. "I like you. I really do," you continue, your voice softening as shyness creeps in at the urgency of your confession. As you speak, Billy pulls the car to a stop in front of your place. "More than anyone else in this whole town."

Billy doesn’t talk for what seems like an eternity. You don’t dare to look at him. After almost a minute, he finally breaks the silence. “Okay, what is it, then?”

“It’s just…wrong.”

“Wrong?” he says. “Look, it’s not like I have a girlfriend and I’m ditching her to hang out with you or something.”

“Well, Tina doesn’t seem to be on the same page,” you mumble to yourself out of instinct. 

Billy frowns. “What?”

That’s when you realize you talked out loud. You sigh, looking out of the window. You really hoped to avoid this conversation. It just feels wrong to use a lame excuse. You don’t wanna do that. It’s not working, anyway. You figure the best way to put it without having to unravel the whole thing. 

“I don’t know what you guys are to each other-…”

“I fucked her once. That’s it.” 

You wince at his words, carrying on. “...but she made pretty clear that I should stay away from you.”

At first you’re met with silence, but then Billy's reaction is a mix of disbelief and irritation. He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “She's nuts," he mutters, his tone laced with frustration. "Can't believe her. Jesus."

As you fidget with your hands in your lap, a sense of resignation washes over you. That doesn’t change things. You made up your mind already. They succeeded pretty well in making you see things for what they are. In a very sadistic way, that’s for sure. It is the reality nonetheless.

“Listen, don’t pay attention to her.”  

You let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s kinda hard, she’s really committed to making my life a living hell.”

Billy's expression shifts, his gaze now fixed on you with newfound seriousness. “What do you mean?” 

“Nothing, just…” you sigh. “It’s just what I said. Bottom line is, I’m not good for you, Billy. I’m messed up and I can’t give anything good. You should be spending time with people who are stable, who have something to offer.”

Billy turns his attention back to the trailer ahead. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he pieces together the puzzle. Before you can prepare yourself, he's already connecting the dots.

He scratches his chin, then looks back at you. “Does it have to do with you ditching school for the past days?” his tone calm but unwavering.

Your answer is instinctive and almost too immediate. "No, that's..." you start, but Billy cuts you off with a knowing look.

“Don't lie to me.”

You know if there’s one thing he doesn’t like, it’s when people lie to him. He told you that before. There is no way out of this. If anything surprises you about Billy, it’s his emotional intelligence. His ability to understand what you feel just like that. How he easily and often picks up what’s on your mind. You explain everything that happened to him, noticing how his face hardens progressively as you recount the events that have weighed heavily on you. From that moment Tina deliberately tripped you up in gym class, sending you sprawling to the ground in front of everyone, to the tense confrontation in the locker room. You feel drained after talking, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. 

“Fuck those bitches.” he growls, his voice thick with anger. 

“They’re right though. We really are different.”

“Different in what? I’m a guy, you’re a girl. But then?” 

“It’s not about that,” you mumble, your eyes fixed on the window.

“Well, tell you what, I like spending time with you. That’s all I know,” you turn in surprise at how bluntly he said those words. “Did we ever argue or anything?”

You think back on all the times you've spent together. Whenever you were with him, it felt like everything else faded away, and it was just the two of you against the world. There was never any arguing or discord between you; instead, he had a knack for making you forget about any troubles or worries you had. Being with him was like finding a safe haven, a place where you could just be yourself and feel at peace.

“No,” you admit, feeling a knot form in your throat.

“Do you feel any different when it’s just you and me?”

“No.”

“Are you ever bored when we hang out?”

“No, never.” you breathe out, shaking your head.

“Me neither. So it’s sorted.”

“Billy, I’m…I’m complicated. My life is complicated.” 

He shrugs, shifting in his seat. “I like complicated.” 

Billy's stubbornness despite the doors you're trying to close between you is overwhelming both in the best and worst way.

“I just don't think you really know what you're doing," you protest weakly, unable to shake the nagging doubts that linger in the back of your mind.

“Pretty sure I do.”

“Billy,” heat rises in your cheeks as shame gnaws at your insides, your heart weighing heavy. It's hard for you to acknowledge it, let alone put it into words. “Look at me,” you point at yourself, your throat burning.

Billy's eyes scan your face, a hint of amusement dancing in his features. “I am.”

You shake your head, your throat feels ready to burst from how much it hurts. “No. Look at you, then look at me. Look at this,” you gesture toward the darkened trailer.

“You serious?”

“I am. Trust me, you don’t want to…”

“Hey, hey. Sweetheart. Come on, now. Look at me.”

You realize Billy has leaned over the console as he gently grasps your chin. “I don’t care. All I know is that I like you, alright? I don’t give a shit about the rest.”

His words cut through you, threatening to shatter the fragile barrier holding your emotions at bay. His thumb delicately traces the curve of your chin as his piercing blue eyes search yours. Frozen in place, you dare not move or speak, afraid that the slightest exhale might betray the storm of emotions raging within you.

“You hear me?” he drops his head slightly, as he softly shakes your chin to get your attention, his eyes finding yours. “I don’t care.”

You content to nod, a tear breaking free and running down your cheek. Billy licks his lips, his face inching closer to yours. “C’mere.”

He leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that feels as ancient as time itself, as though you've shared this in a thousand other lives. It's tender, lingering, filled with an unspoken longing that resonates deep within you. As you lose yourself in the kiss, his breath dances with yours, and you taste tobacco, mint and something distinctly him on his tongue, sending a wave of euphoria through you. Your hand instinctively rises, fingers curling gently around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, yearning for more. Your heart is beating so fast you swear it’s going to explode. As you break the kiss first in search of oxygen, you’re vaguely aware of his mouth seeking yours, his face tilting forward, his half-open eyes unfocused. His fingers travel on the back of your neck, curling around it and pressing your lips more firmly against his. It’s so good that it doesn’t feel real, your body is the only thing you're aware of. It's ablaze, your heart thundering in your chest, your breath resonating in the car. But he’s here too, he’s real. Real as one can be when you feel his hot skin against your fingers where you’re holding his shirt, as his mustache tickles your mouth, then your cheek, your neck.

He’s certainly real when his voice comes as a muffled and open-mouthed whisper against your skin, buried between your neck and your hair between kisses. “God, baby.”

It’s a soft plead, a gentle need that swells your heart. Your fingers are tangled through his curls at the nape of his neck. They’re as soft as you imagined them. You could’ve never imagined one day your fingers would run through them. His mouth finds yours again, your senses filled with the scent of him and you can’t help yourself and rest your hand on his cheek, wanting to feel him more. Time is not something tangible anymore. You don’t know how long elapses. It may be minutes, it may be hours. You just can’t seem to get enough of each other to finally break apart. Nothing has ever made you feel so good in a long time. That’s why you don’t question your tongue tangling with his, his hand searching for skin as it ventures beneath your jacket and settles on your waist, warm and big. 

The loud thud of thunder outside makes you jump slightly on the seat, and with the realization that you must get inside, you slowly but finally break apart from him. 

“I have to go.” you manage to say as his lips kiss your cheek and the corner of your eye instead. 

His breath fans against your skin, a gentle caress that makes you shiver. Billy's eyes, still glazed with desire, slowly refocus as he registers your words. There's a flicker of disappointment, but he nods in understanding. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you better get inside,” he replies in a husky voice, his eyes roaming over your face. 

His lips are red and swollen with your kisses, you can’t help but steal another kiss which her eagerly accepts, planting a couple more against your mouth. They’re not as deep but full of meaning, resonating in the air. 

“Call me tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes, I will,” you mumble, your cheek feeling red as you internally wish you could stay with the boy forever.  

As you leave the car, the cold rain immediately envelopes you, sending shivers down your spine. The rain soaked through your clothes as you navigated through the darkness. As you reach the door, you steal one last look at Billy's car, watching as he drives away into the night, the memory of his touch still lingering on your lips.

[seeingivy]

new year's day

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: happy new year's day to you, if you've reached it! it's still eight thirty in california, but I hope the future is very exciting if you've reached it. thank you so much for all the love and support this year, it means the world to me.

--

it’s well past two in the morning. and you’re seated on the floor of satoru’s apartment, the cold tiles biting your legs, as you hike your knees to your chest. you suppose that it’s not quite ladylike, that if satoru came back he’d totally catch sight of your underwear, and that it would make the most embarrassing day of your life possibly mortifying. 

the glitter that was shimmering on the floor - from the little party poppers that nobara had brought were sticking to your legs at this point, a varied mix of colors on your skin. along with the glitter, there’s a mess scattered on his floor, one that he’ll be intent to clean because the mess irritates megumi, the second the last of them shuffle out of here. when he has to drag you out of here by your legs - or more appropriately, shoko will tell you to grow a spine and have some shame - and you’ll run out of here yourself. 

you suppose it’s probably the last time that you’re going to be here. 

you place your hand flat on the tiles, the tiny little progenies of polaroids cameras that satoru had set out for everyone littered on the floor. you lift the little stack by your legs and the haphazardly strewn ones around you. 

but of course, the perfect stack belonged to none other than megumi fushiguro. there’s only five pictures, different variations of him, nobara, and itadori. one of itadori kissing his cheek, nobara and yuuji hugging megumi, each additional picture a sickening sweet testament to your friendship. 

it’s the alcohol. and the biting sting of rejection. and the fact that any hopes of a new year, new you lifestyle was thrown out the window tonight. 

you take the haphazard stack in your hands, as the tears start pouring through from your eyes, and you flip through them all. one of choso pinching yuuji’s cheeks, one of satoru doing the exact same to ijichi (much to his dismay). the last one is the one that drops your heart straight into your stomach, as you look at it. 

it’s a picture of you and satoru, of your cheeks pressed together and your hands tangled around his neck. he had just snagged one of the new year’s party hats - the one’s that had ran out by the time that you arrived - or more appropriately stole it off of nanami’s head to give it to you. though you suppose nanami was somewhat grateful for that one. 

you tuck the little picture into your purse, as you make the move to stand and take your little walk of shame out of his apartment. satoru’s still lingering by the door, talking animatedly with choso who seems to be the last one here with a very drunk yuuji on his shoudler, as you swallow hard and approach the two of them. 

at the sight of you, choso very clearly took his hint - and likely didn’t want to be there for the mess of feelings that was about to implode - as he very kindly and earnestly wishes the two of you the best and shuffles away. 

you tightly hold the leather of your bag, surely making indents into the palm of your hand, as you snag the little hat off the top of your head and place it in satoru’s palm. 

“happy new year, satoru.” you whisper, the tears burning in your eyes, as you can barely look at him in the bout of your own shame. 

“happy new year, honey bee.” he responds, the loving nickname now a sickening gut punch as you shuffle out into the hallway, to where choso still seems to be lingering in the hallway. 

he gives you a halfhearted smile, lifting his arm to tuck you into his side, as the three of you shuffle into the elevator. there's a group of girls, carrying their shoes down to the lobby, that give you a pinched, empathetic smile. and the gentleman he is, choso drives you home with yuuji, his loving care for his drunk brother extending to you. 

and you make a resolve that you won’t ever see satoru gojo again. 

because nothing is more embarrassing than leaning into kiss your best friend, whom you so desperately love, during the countdown and starting your year by watching him lean away in disgust. 

--

the following morning, choso’s big brotherness extends to you. yuuji gets the hangover treatment - the full set of a breakfast, baby aspirins, and a facetious amount of water - and you suppose that you get the i’m going to do something nice for you because something really embarrassing happened to you last night treatment. 

though you can’t really complain. because choso makes very good eggs - and went out of his way to get the two of you a fresh set of donuts - and the filter in his tap makes the ice cold water soothing on your warm, puffy skin. 

“y/n.” 

“hm?” 

“gojo-sensei is asking where you are.” 

you look up at choso, eyes pinched, as he gives you a reassuring smile. it seems that in his drinking competition last night - one that everyone new he stood no chance in against todo - he had acutely forgotten about the humiliating affair. 

you can’t decide if it’s good or bad. 

“ah. tell him i’m going out of town?” you state, looking to choso for approval. 

he gives you an affirmative nod, the silent sound of support making you infinitely grateful for him. 

“where you going, teach?” 

“ah. just to see my parents. for the month.” you state. 

“you’re going to be gone for a month? since when?” yuuji asks, gaping at you. 

“okay, yuuji. you need to go take a shower because you stink.” choso states, nearly pulling him off his chair at your side and shoving him down the hall. 

choso slides into the seat at your side, as you both look past and make sure yuuji’s turned the shower on, before you talk freely. 

“will you actually go?” he asks. 

“yeah. it kind of just tumbled out of my mouth, but…it seems like a good idea now. just some time away, so that i can get over it. he can cover for me anyways, i fear my job is more of a formality anyways.” you murmur. 

“that’s not true. they all need your mentorship just as much as his. yuuji surely benefits from how hard you are on him.” choso states. 

“i’ll be back. he can get coddled by satoru for the month, i-i’m sure it’lll make him really happy.” you respond. 

you feel a hand on your shoulder, as you can barely contain the tears in your eyes as you look up at him. choso immediately deflates, frowning at you, as he rubs little circles into your back. choso all but forces you to stay for lunch, feeding you for a second time and sending you out with the box of donuts in your hand, as you leave to pack. 

--

on january thirty-first, you can’t help but dread the fact that you’re returning to jujutsu tech. and leaving the safe confines of your house, and your older sister, who is a certified satoru gojo hater. 

while you don’t exactly share her hateful feelings for him - and suppose that you never could - it did give you the laugh. and soothed over the little burder of hurt that seemed to sit in your chest. you supposed that it’s messed up. to disparage someone you love, in the name of your own feelings. and you look forward to it as your sister brings the little coffee cups over ot your side. 

“ready to go back?” she asks. 

“but of course. you’ve equipped me with a decent amount of insults to use against him.” you state. 

she frowns in response. 

“you’re…going to insult him?” she asks. 

“you’ve been insulting him for the past month.” you state. 

“yeah. and i’m your older sister. when a stupid guy hurts your feelings, and makes you feel stupid, it’s basically a moral obligation to insult him. especially when he’s looks like a shitty version of jack frost.”

you snort. 

“i was kidding. i doubt i’d be able to do that anyways.” 

“so what will you do?” 

“dunno. cry. scream. throw up a little bit. make a facetious joke to make him feel guilty. then feel bad about it because he doesn’t owe it to me to reciprocate my feelings just because he means the world to me. get drunk at a bar becuase i miss him and he’s my best friend.” 

the ends of her mouth are turned down when you look up at her, that awkward little pitiful look that she seemed to spare for you on her face, yet again. you shake your head dismissively, that bubbling wave of hurt in your chest too palpable for you to breathe through, as you lift the coffee in your hand. 

“when you get home, just…just get rid of the stuff that reminds you of him. start going to new places!” 

“he’s everywhere. not just in my head and in my godawful heart but…we do everything at work together. he eats where i eat, i’ve got him hooked on the coffee i like, and i’ve inherited his horrible sweet tooth habit. and i don’t want to take our pictures down. throw away the gifts he got me…” you murmur. 

“okay, love. you don’t have to, but don’t make it harder than it has to be. this is an opportunity to…learn how to cook. buy a coffee machine and do something new.” 

“i don’t want to do anything without him. he-he’s my best friend.” you respond, warm tears blurring your line of vision. 

she’s quick to shuffle over to your side, her arms wrapped warmly around you, as you fight down the stupid wave of memories that always seems to come to your mind when it comes to him. that have plagued your very existence for the past thirty-one days, and more or less, since the day that you met him. 

your sister walks you to the train station shortly after and you bid your goodbyes as you settle into the train car. 

--

“hello?” 

“y/n?” 

choso’s voice is oddly comforting to you. he’s always been quite the silent type, but his quiet support was actually just what you needed at times. 

“hi choso. are you busy?” 

“you- you’re alive?” 

“what? of course i’m alive!” 

“you haven’t talked to me in a month. or anyone.” he deadpans. 

“yeah. just kind of disconnected when i headed home. tried to reconvene with nature. touched some grass.” 

“well, you clearly needed to do that.” 

“hey. anyways, i just realized that i don’t have a ride home. do you mind? i’ll be home in like…six hours?” 

“of course.” he responds. 

almost six hours - and two hundred and six stiff bones later - you find choso, megumi, nobara, and yuuji standing on the little platform, smiling brightly at you. you give the three of them a wave from the window, as they all burrow you into hugs on the little stand. 

“hi teach!!!” yuuji says excitedly, wrapping you into a warm hug. 

“we missed you so much. you left us alone with gojo-sensei for too long.” nobara whines. 

“don’t suffocate her, itadori.” megumi states, nearly pulling him off as you reach for megumi’s hand and shoot him a grateful smile. 

the three of them trudge your bags along ahead of you, animatedly bickering with each other on the way to the car, as you link your arm with choso’s and walk down the length of the train station with him. 

“thanks for coming.” 

“no problem, y/n. what are friends for?” 

“embarassing crushes. mortifying memories. hardening over your heart.” you respond, rather morbidly. 

“i appreciate the alliterations. that’s a nice touch.” he responds, lightly shoving you in the side. 

you smile hard. 

“why thank you.” 

the four of them drive you home, and you give each of them grateful hugs, as you pocket the key to your apartment and shuffle into your house. you walk in to find a set of plates in the sink, the distinct smell of freshly brewed coffee, and your cat darting in and out of your legs, it’s bowl already empty. 

you crouch down to the ground, placing your hands right behind it’s ears, as you smile. 

“hi milo baby. whose been taking care of you, hm?” 

“me.” 

you look up to find satoru standing in front of you, his appearance almost haphazard. you’re all but shell shocked at the sight of him, as he quickly lifts you up by your forearms, holding you still in the little tiles of your kitchen. 

and then he leans forward, cupping the sides of your cheeks as he presses a firm, warm kiss to your lips. you’re almost too shocked to kiss him back, barely feeling any sensation in your body, as satoru leans your head back, taking such a deep breath in before he kisses you a second time and leans his forehead against yours. 

he breaks out into a laugh. 

“you’re back honey bee.” 

“y-yeah. but you-” 

satoru cuts off any words you can muster as he presses his lips against yours again, the warm feeling going all the way down to the pit of your stomach as you instinctively place your hands on his biceps.

you pull back, eyes wide at him, as you put space between you. 

“what are you doing?” you whisper. 

satoru swallows hard, making grabby hands at you as he gestures for you to come back. stand in his embrace again. 

“what?”

“i want you to come here.” 

“you come here.” you respond, defensively. 

“well, you just pulled away. i don’t want you to reject me if i try again.” 

satoru pales, realizing that he’s quite literally walked himself into that one, as you fight the urge to smile. 

“right. because that would be rude, wouldn’t it?” 

satoru can’t hold back, and breaks the distance, as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, still so striking after a month away. 

“it would be more than rude. it would be incredibly, ridiculously stupid.” he murmurs. 

“and?” 

“and my biggest regret.” he states. 

you deflate, lifting your hand to his cheek and rubbing the softness of his skin. 

“why are you in my house?” 

“you gave me a key. said i could come whenever i wanted.” he whines. 

“not sure that applied after new years, satoru.” 

he frowns. 

“you left milo here all alone. i had to feed him.” 

you look down at milo, sitting on the little tile floors looking up at you, as you look back at satoru. 

“okay, fine. but really. what are you doing here? and…and why did you just kiss me?” 

he sighs. 

“why did you try to kiss me on new years?” he asks. 

the wave of embarrassment courses through you, the look on his face flashing across your memory, as you make a move to pull away from him. but satoru’s hands are locked behind your waist, holding you exactly where you were. 

“don’t be cruel, satoru. you know why.” 

“no. i don’t. you need to tell me. now.” he responds, his voice almost straining in his throat. 

“why? so i can look stupid again? i know that you know. there’s no way that you don’t.” 

“know what, y/n?” he asks. 

“that…that i cancel dates for you! i tried for two months, and found them irritating because they weren’t like you, so i just stopped turning them down all together.” you respond. 

satoru looks dumfounded and all you can do is glare at him. surely, he wasn’t this clueless. 

“i stayed at jujutsu because of you. i-i went to megumi’s baseball games just because you asked. split dessert with you even though i hate sugar. always made sure to grab you an extra coffee on the way to class. you-you’re my best friend. i love you. i wanted to start my year off on the right foot, by owning how i feeled, and doing something i’ve always wanted to do.” 

“you wanted to kiss me?” he asks. 

“are you stupid?” you ask, irritated. 

the wave of hurt ebbs in your chest as you can feel the tears gathering in your eyes, at how stupid the entire thing was. how much it made your chest ache. 

“i wanted to kiss you when i realized that you were going to stay here with me. and be a teacher. and i wanted to kiss you when you came to megumi’s baseball games and made sure to wear his jersey just so that he knew we were there for him. i always wondered if your lips tasted as sweet as mine when we shared dessert and if you’d ever let me brew the coffee for you in the morning, instead of buying it from a shitty cafe on the way to class.” 

you swallow hard. 

“huh?” 

“i didn’t do it. on new year’s eve. kiss you back, i mean. because, because i thought you were drunk. i thought you just wanted to kiss someone because everyone else was. and if you kissed me once and then got to walk away the next day, i would never get over it. getting to know how it feels and being tortured by the fact that i’d never get to do it again.” 

you deflate. 

“satoru.” 

“i could never let you be a new year’s eve kiss. then, i’d want your midnights too. the entire day. the entire year.” he states. 

you lift your hands to his cheeks, squeezing hard, before you pull him in. for a second time. except he doesn’t cower away from your affections this time, and instead returns them ten fold. because he smiles into your kiss, peppers ten of them all over your face and your neck, and refuses to let you go.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

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[honorarysimp]

New York State of Mind

series masterlist

day 1

New York City.

The city that never sleeps is winding down for the night, the hustle and bustle of the day giving way to a softer, quieter atmosphere. The reflection of the sunset on the glass windows of the buildings creates a mesmerizing display of light and color, dancing across the streets below. Here and there people still move about, making their way home from work or heading out for the evening.

The city seems to be taking a moment to breathe, enjoying this brief interlude of peace as lastcasting warm orange glows across the towering skyscrapers.

You’re exhausted. Dog tired. It took two days to get from California to New York, taking into account all the pit stops for varying reasons, both of you catching some sleep at the hotel stop half way through. But god, it’s good to be back home, and you realize this as you maneuver the car through traffic.

Tara is asleep in the passenger seat, one of your hoodies tucked underneath her head as a makeshift pillow, her knees pulled up to her chest as she remains blissfully unaware of reality.

You hate to wake her, because even though you’re use to the traveling and driving, Tara is not.

But she threatened your life prior to her falling asleep, insisting you do so she could take in the city for the first time.

You reach over and rest a hand on her arm, thumb gently trying to coax her awake, “hey, you’re gonna miss sunset” you says gently, which earns you a sleepy grumble as she swats your hand away blindly.

That makes you laugh, sitting back into your seat just as Tara sits up and stretches, running her fingers through her hair as she blinks the remnants of slumber from her dazed mind.

“What-“

Instantly she falls quiet, now fully awake as she peers through the window.

Tara takes in the sight of the bright orange disk of the sun is slowly making its descent from the sky, the light making a warm and bright atmosphere as it shone all throughout the city. It bounced off the reflective windows, casting streaks across the buildings. The light was getting dimmer by the minute, the clouds gaining a more pinkish hue as the sun got closer to disappearing behind the skyline.

Shadows were starting to fill the alleys and crevices as the sun continued its slow journey towards the horizon, the air turning increasingly colder with the dimming of its light.

“Holy shit”.

“Welcome to New York” you say quietly, not giving much attention to the buildings anymore as you instead, take in her awed expression.

The drive to your place is about as quick as you expected, the traffic is something you didn’t miss. But Tara seems happy, watching and soaking in everything. It is a lot, after all, so you don’t blame her.

You only relax once you get the car into the parking garage, the both of you in a daze as you head for the elevator.

“Fuck the bags, we’ll get them later” was all Tara had to say for you to agree without question. It’s a fairly safe area, you’d like to think, but then again you’ve learned nothing is ever as it seems.

But you’re far too tired to give a shit right now.

So when you make it to your apartment, you unlock the door and let Tara walk inside first. Instinctively you kick your shoes off and head down the little hall that leads to the rest of your apartment, only, Tara is paused at the opening.

The apartment is a nice size for New York standards, with bare white walls and open spaces, and a large window that extended from the ceiling to floor. The city skyline was visible from the window, the sun setting on the horizon to the west. The apartment was tastefully furnished, but there was not any personal touches anywhere in it. It was a nice, but slightly cold and sterile, living space.

“In my defense, I moved in here two months before I left for Woodsboro” you mumble sheepishly, coming up behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist. Tara hums, instantly sinking back into you, and when her head drops back to your shoulder you can’t help but rest your own against hers.

“It’s yours, so it’s perfect”.

You smile, taking a step forward while keeping her in your arms, Tara automatically follows as you guide her to the bedroom.

“Tour later. Sleep now.”

Tara yawns, but smiles softly after, “you better be showing me to the guest bedroom”.

“Unfortunately, there’s only my bed here, I hope that won’t inconvenience you.”

You don’t even bother turning on the light, the last streaks of orange and red giving you just enough visibility to make out the outline of the mattress. To which, Tara promptly drops down on to, pulling you with her. You hear two soft thumps before Tara curls herself against you, probably her shoes hitting the hardwood floor.

“Fuck, don’t wake me up for two days” Tara mumbles as her hand slips under your shirt, fingers curling around your side as she tugs you closer. You exhale and wrap your arms around her, sleep already pulling at your consciousness.

“Hibernation sounds nice” you reply quietly, falling asleep to the sound of her breaths evening out, and the warmth of her body against yours.

Not even the city that never sleeps could keep you awake, the final streams of light dissipating and leaving the room in a comforting darkness.

day 3

The city is vast, it’s loud, and it’s busy.

A contrast to what Tara is use to, having spent most her life in Woodsboro, not even when she went to the city to get her EMT certification compares to this.

God, but she is loving this kind of chaos.

It was overwhelming at first, but seeing you move through the streets and around people like second nature, switching between holding her hand or having your arm around her.

It’s hard not to feel giddy, and Tara hates it, because she is not that kind of girl.

You’ve made plans to go sightsee today, a few marker spots that Tara finds herself genuinely excited for. The tallest building in the country, Central Park, Time Square to name a few.

But when you bring Tara into what you’ve named your “favorite coffee shop in the world”, she suddenly finds herself thinking this is already going to be her favorite pace you’ve taken her. And it’s not even a highlight tourist go-to.

It’s a hole in the wall cafe, spacious on the inside, and it’s got this… energy that instantly has Tara feeling homesick. But in a good way, it makes her smile as her eyes take in the interior.

The coffee shop is a cozy space with walls painted a dark green color. The wooden floor darkly stained, and the furniture a mix of darkly varnished oak and wrought iron. The walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves, the air thick with the aromatic scent of freshly ground coffee.

The coffee bar itself was a long, gleaming counter, filled with a variety of coffee beans and a vintage espresso machine. The wall behind it lined with a variety of coffee beans and a menu with an array of coffee drinks. The ambiance was a mix of soft and intimate, with low lighting and a warm and inviting atmosphere.

The sound of steamers, coffee being ground, and soft music filled the air. Soft yellow lighting illuminated the space, casting a homey glow in the coffee shop.

Tara is in love.

Approaching the bar, the barista behind the counter instantly lights up at the sight of you.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes! Back in town for a bit?” the barista asks with a wide, familiar smile, which makes Tara look between you in curiosity.

“Showing my girlfriend around, had to bring her by” you say with a proud smile, your eyes finding hers, a subtle squeeze of your fingers that are laced between hers makes her chest ache pleasantly.

The barista then looks to Tara kindly, “first time in New York?”

That makes Tara flush, but she tries to play it off with a shrug as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear “yeah, you could say that”.

“Well whatever you want, it’s on the house, as usual” the barista says with a nod, already grabbing a cup and writing down what Tara is safe to assume - your usual.

It’s only after Tara gives her order, followed by a thank you, when she looks to you in bewilderment.

“On the house? As usual? Do I even want to ask?”

You lean in, giving her hand a small tug, which has her meeting you half way for a soft lingering kiss.

“I know the owner is all”.

“Friend of yours?”

“We’re practically family”.

day 4

The kitchen table is scattered with Polaroids of Tara, a variety of location and purpose.

Tara thought it a good idea, you were quick to claim it as yours.

The sweetest melody filled the apartment, in time with the steadfast and deliberate movement of your tongue.

One of the photos is her in the passenger seat of your car, water bottle raise to her lips as she smiles around the rim, pretending not to notice. It’s the first of them all, if you remember correctly.

Syrup tasting of the sweetest nectar coats your tongue as it parts through soft flesh, a soft thump of something solid against hard wood can be heard. But muffled by the warmth on either side of your head.

Another photo, Tara standing with one arm up, hand blocking the sun from her eyes as she stands amongst the Great Salt Lake Desert. Still, you’re not sure why she insisted you stop, but you’ve learned to never deny her.

Fingers thread through your hair, those black painted nails gently scraping in a silent gesture of encouragement. Your lips caress fruit forbidden, gently sucking and rolling your tongue in turn, the pressure around your head increases. But even then, you distinctly hear her voice raise an octave.

Your favorite photo by far is from Chicago, Illinois. Of all places, there is where a butterfly had grown fond of Tara, her hands gently cupped together as it perches on her thumb. Those pretty orange and yellow wings don’t compare to that awed smile that graces her lips.

Like biting into a peach, your head spins as ambrosia fills your mouth just as she goes taut and rigid, beautiful symphony surpassing its apex and shifting into a slur of curses and garbled swears.

The most recent one, in New York, is simply Tara gazing up with lights of all colors reflecting in those captivating brown eyes. It’s night, on Time Square, and you’re fairly certain this is the only photo she didn’t see you take.

You savor, relish, linger, as long as she needs until she’s completely undone. And as you withdrawal, a smile tugs at your lips.

Amongst the photos is Tara herself, splayed out across your table, flustered and panting and the prettiest haze in her eyes. When they find yours, she automatically mirrors your smile, which has you leaning forward.

Her fingers part from your hair in opt of tenderly cupping your jaw, shakily leaning up off the table just enough to meet you for a messy, but intimate kiss. And when her tongue glides against your bottom lip, you part them just so she will understand why you’ve grown addicted to the taste of her.

This table, a momentary alter, for the woman you’d die for. The woman you surrender yourself to. The woman that is everything to you.

“I love you” you whisper against her lips, an oath, devotion.

You feel her smile, her nose softly nuzzling yours just as her thumb delicately traces your cheekbone, “I love you”.

To you she is a goddess, and you, worshiper.

day 5

“Yeah, no, you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re fucking going anywhere”.

It’s far too amusing watching you in a panic, tearing the cushions off the couch as you search for your tape recorder.

You’d gotten an email for a “quick job” at the precinct, to assist on a case currently underway, as you so vaguely put. So naturally when you stepped out of the room, Tara swiped it and hid it.

You’ll never leave without it, and thus, gives Tara the time she needs to remind you of all the reasons you won’t be leaving.

Not to mention, Tara is determined to win this. “You promised this two weeks would be about us” she points out, crossing her arms and pinning you with a glare you haven’t noticed yet.

“I can’t say no to work” you say once more, ducking down to look under the couch.

“Yes you can, it’s so simple. It’s literally one vowel”.

“Tara it’s work, it’s what pays-“

“Don’t you bullshit me, I know for a fact Sidney overcompensated you, so you’d better have a plausible fucking excuse for trying to abandon me.”

It’s a low blow, but it gets Tara the reaction she wants.

That makes you sit up, and from where Tara is standing she has to force herself to keep a straight face. As the way your head pops up just over the top of the couch with that look of irritation, only amuses her further.

“Where is it Tara” you say as you stand, your tone unyielding as you begin to crawl over the couch.

“Up your ass, is where” Tara counters, circling the couch before you can reach her.

“Babe-“

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, you’ve been revoked of your title until you promise me you aren’t going.”

A stare off ensues, your hands gripping the back of the couch as she stands opposite of you, arms still crossed. You’re breaking, fighting back a smile, and Tara is far better with her poker face than you.

“You’re. Not. Going.”

“I have to work, I can’t just say no” you sigh, shoulders starting to deflate, which is a signal to Tara she’s most definitely got you right where she wants you.

“Yes you can” Tara says as she uncrosses her arms, walking forward and dropping to her knees on the couch in front of you, purposefully looking up at you under hooded eyes and smiling softly, “like this”.

And in one swift movement, Tara tilts her head up and kisses you slowly. Her hands curl into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you forward gently. Seducing, enticing, whatever you want to call it. You aren’t leaving.

And from the way you lean forward into her, letting her tug you over the couch and down on to the messily placed cushions, you know it too.

“You’re a bad influence” you say quietly, she silences you by grazing her teeth against your bottom lip.

“Come on, work can wait” Tara runs her hands up your chest, her fingers loosely curling around the back of your neck as she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

“You’re seriously going to leave me here, alone, in your apartment without you? When I came all this way just for you?”

Hook, and sinker.

Tara sees the fight to hold yourself responsible shatter, especially when she knows how much you can’t argue against her statement.

“Fuck, okay, yeah you’re right” you sigh, your head dropping to her shoulder.

Tara doesn’t even try to stifle her triumphant laugh, tugging you down to lay next to her as she blindly reaches for the remote. The item hastily discarded on the floor in your search for your tape recorder.

Which, you seem to have completely forgotten about, no thanks to Tara.

You will reap minor consequences later, but fuck it, Tara wins.

day 6

“Please don’t laugh, this is serious, Tara”.

She bites her lip, watching you carefully as you shift from the countertop by the sink to the adjacent one next to the stove, you’re just so goddamn endearing.

It’s hard not to watch you these days, the little mannerisms you have as you fidget about. Especially when you’re cooking. The way you pop your knuckles amidst a temporary pause, train of thought escaping you.

The way your tongue sticks out just the slightest from the right corner of your mouth when you’re concentrating far too hard. That subtle small smile that tugs at your lips as your hands move with practiced fluidity.

Tara wishes she could say she was paying attention to what you’re saying, what you’re doing, but she pretty much tuned out after you told her this was a recipe your best friend’s mom had taught you back in your adolescence.

It’s not her fault she finds you captivating when you’re just being yourself, you’re definitely talking to her and she’s definitely offering a small nod of acknowledgement here and there.

Only when you swipe a bit of sauce on to your finger and offer it to her, does Tara snap out of her thoughts. Recoiling back a from where her chin had been rested on her balled fists, elbows slipping off the counter.

“Oh god no, I don’t know where those fingers have been” Tara says as she makes a face, which only makes you let out a belly laugh that causes Tara’s heart to flutter.

“Tara you know exactly where these fingers have been” you say with innuendo, giving her an expectant look as you offer the sample of sauce gathered on your finger.

“Exactly.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully and stepping away, bringing your finger to your own mouth “I did wash them before I started cooking, not that it matters”.

Tara bites back a smile, she can’t help it, its habit. But god it’s hard when you’re always doing the most mundane or stupidest shit that has her fighting off the involuntary action.

Just as you’re filling both plates with pasta and what you call “garlic bread”, Tara told you butter and garlic salt on toast doesn’t count, she decides to approach a topic she’s been trying to find a way to address in the most subtle way possible.

Then again, Tara has never been good at that.

“Baby I love you, but I need human interaction, preferably with the people that love you”.

The sudden statement has you pausing, looking over to her with an expression that’s a mixture of emotions.

“You’ve got me, isn’t that enough?” You say with a half smile as you continue scooping pasta on to the plates.

Expected of you, that tiptoe of a reply. You’re good at it and Tara gives you props, but she knows if she asks straightforward that you won’t be able to tell her no. Only she doesn’t want to have to ask, because that’s not the point.

The point should be that you want to introduce her to the people in your life. But you’re hesitant, why Tara still isn’t sure, however considering her relationship with her own parents. Tara is the last to judge.

“You’re more than enough, but it’s my turn to know you. Is that so hard to believe?”

That makes you pause, and this is one of those moments Tara finds herself prideful with how well she’s learned to read you. How you register she’s throwing your own words back at you, the smile that breaks out across your face tells her it all.

“Okay. I’m hearing you. You’re right” you sigh softly, doing that thing where you square your shoulders when you’re getting serious, “how about tomorrow? It’s a weekend day? I’m sure everyone will be free”.

It’s this moment that Tara’s excitement instantly shifts into dread as she realizes she’s actually going to meet the people that matter to you. Your people.

Now, Tara is a people person, she deals with people all the time with what she does for a living. The hardest of them to the most broken.

But this? This terrifies her, and even when you lean in to press the softest of kisses to her temple, her insides churn uneasily.

What if they don’t approve?

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a wine bottle popping, making Tara’s eyes snap over to where you’re pouring two glasses. You offer her one, to which she gladly takes, a soft clink following the two glasses meeting. That fucking smile gets her every time. So full of love.

And then Tara comes to a second realization, that she doesn’t care.

Because having you? Tara needs nothing more.

day 7

You’d think for a Saturday, the pub would be packed.

The pub itself is a cozy and lively space, with a warm and inviting atmosphere. It’s larger than a typical small town bar, with a bar on one end and a few round tables scattered around the space. The walls were painted a deep red color, and the floor was made of dark wood. Soft, warm lighting cast from lights woven through the wooden rafters along the ceiling, and a small corner of the space was set up with a pool table. Chatter and laughter fills the space as a handful of patrons mill about drinking.

Tara can say with pride she’s finally met three of your childhood friends.

So far, Anika is her favorite. She’s full of life, positivity, and an abundance of embarrassing stories from your younger years. You two banter back and forth like siblings, your incessant desire to remind her you’re two months older. Anika quick to remind you who made sure you actually took care of yourself so that you somewhat functioned like a normal human being.

Tara doesn’t even try to hide her smile.

Ethan is quiet, but not in a bad way, more of a wallflower. His comments are an attempt to insert himself into conversation, Tara takes note of the way you always give his shoulder a reassuring pat paired with a wide smile. How he eases, his discomfort by the public space alleviating.

To balance the group, is Quinn, the wild card. From observation Tara can tell she’s the polar opposite of her brother Ethan. When she isn’t eyeing any man or woman she considers attractive that walks into the pub, the redhead is assessing Tara with a subtle smirk. A flirt through and through without question. She’s charismatic, quick witted, and a bit air headed.

The dynamic works, oddly enough, and Tara lives for it. Being present, seeing you with your friends, and she can tell how much they care for you. It’s clear you’ve all been through a lot together, which only deepens her curiosity on your past further.

You don’t talk about it, this is the closest taste to understanding what makes you who you are that Tara has ever come.

But that’s a question for another time, perhaps in the privacy of just the two of you.

When your laughter rings out, full of warmth and from your belly, Tara’s smile softens. You look so happy, so complete, and when your eyes meet she has one simple thought.

Tara is completely, stupidly, in love with you.

She isn’t sure when she fell, and it’s not like she didn’t already figure as much, but it’s without a doubt now.

And then comes the question she’d been waiting for all night.

“So how did you two meet?” it’s Ethan that asks, boyish grin and curiosity in his expression.

You and Tara share a look, having already made an agreement prior not to mention the… darker details.

“Well, I asked her for drinks-“

“Oh bullshit, that’s not how it started and you know it” Tara instantly cuts you off, grinning as you give her an accusing look, which only makes your friends laugh.

“Tell us how it really went Tara, god knows your local lover over here was probably a blubbering mess” Anika comments, which instantly has you trying to voice a rebuke.

Tara quickly slaps a hand over your mouth, a wicked grin growing across her face “this one was hopeless from the start, but it’s not like I made it easy-“

You swat her hand away, jumping on it with a dramatic scoff, “oh come on I totally wooed you with my charm and pool playing skills-“

“You didn’t win once”.

“Yeah but-“

“And you quit smoking cigarettes because I told you about my asthma.”

That has all three of your friends in disbelief, Anika praising Tara for getting you to quit. Quinn is instantly giving you shit for buckling so quick, and Ethan is completely flabbergasted.

“No fucking way. Did you freeze hell over or something?”

Tara grins smugly, ignoring the way you’re sputtering out, slowly giving up trying to defend yourself.

“You were snatching my cigarettes from me for days, don’t act like you didn’t-“

“Just admit it, you were down bad. I only had to mention it once”.

You suddenly smile, giving her a look that sends a small shiver down her spine, “yeah well you acted like you didn’t care but you just couldn’t help yourself”.

Okay, true, but Tara isn’t backing down.

She reaches up and grabs your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks, making your face scrunch in a cute way.

“Come on, with this face? I was bound to cave eventually.”

It makes everyone laugh harder than they should, and you smile more than you should, but when she kisses you it’s full of love.

It’s always been love, even if it took you both some time to get there.

“You better keep her or I’m disowning you”.

The kiss breaks, you huff in irritation, Tara laughs brightly as she leans against you.

“Oh my god, fuck off, Anika”.

day 9

The bathroom is dimly lit by a few tall candles placed around the space, casting a soft and warm glow in the room.

The air was filled with the scent of the candles, a compilation of different fragrances mixed together. The space felt secluded and cozy, on the bathroom counter is your vinyl record player, the sweet lyrics of The Louvre playing over the faint sound of the candles crackling.

The lighting isn’t all that makes the intimate atmosphere, the small bath was filled to the brim with warm, bubbly water, creating a cozy space for the two of you within. The tub is narrow, forcing you to be close to one another as you relax in the water. Despite the tight quarters, you’re comfortable together, the clumps of suds providing the only barrier on the water surface.

Tara is currently nestled between your legs, her back flush to your front. You’re fitted together perfectly, always perfectly, it’s almost cliché to conclude you had to have been made for each other.

Her eyes are closed, hair pulled back into a messy bun as she relaxes her head back into the crook of your neck. If it weren’t for the way her thumb gently caresses your knuckles where your fingers are interlocked, you’d be quick to assume she’d fallen asleep.

You hum along quietly to the music, your free hand coming up to absently tuck a strand of her hair out of her face and behind her ear. The corners of her mouth twitch, and she leans back into you further. If that is at all possible.

“I could get use to this” Tara murmurs after a lapse of silence, the soft words filling the tranquility.

“Me too” you whisper against the curve of her ear, your heart fluttering as you notice small goosebumps form on what skin you can see. Even when surrounded by the warm water the tub provides.

It’s moments like this, with Tara, that make you wonder if this was all you’d ever needed your whole life. Just life, with her.

That thought alone, makes you far more grateful that you made the choices you did, that led you to Tara in the first place.

Having Tara here in New York, away from the otherworldly chaos, no expectations or unavoidable demands from anything or anyone.

It makes you appreciate even the hard times, and the lessons it taught you. Never did you think you’d ever be this happy, this at peace.

You’re completely, unabashedly, in love with her.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think it can get better than this.

day 10

Tara and Anika are bonding over how you need decorations, that your apartment is too bland.

You aren’t sure whether this is a good thing or not.

“You’re fucked, bud” Ethan comments as he lays down a red nine amongst the discard pile laying in the middle of your coffee table.

“What’s mine is hers” you say with a ghost of a smile, dropping a red four.

Quinn snorts in amusement from your left, placing a green four on top of your card which has both you and Ethan groaning.

“Uno, also, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this with a girl before” Quinn says as she shoots you a smirk just as Ethan drops a green draw two, “and that’s saying a lot all considering I’ve never seen you serious with anyone”.

You roll your eyes, pulling from the draw deck and sighing with relief as you drop the green eight you’d gotten.

“Like you have room to talk, you haven’t even been in a relationship-“

Ethan snickers when Quinn grabs a pillow off the couch and smacks you in the back of the head with it, making you suck in air through your teeth as you rip the pillow from her.

Raising it, ready to strike-

“Dont you dare, behave” you hear Anika scold, making you pause mid-movement, shooting her a glare that doesn’t even hold light to the one you’re receiving from her.

The fact Tara is hiding a laugh behind her hand doesn’t help either.

“How about you stop jumping on my case, huh? My apartment is fine the way it is” you shoot towards the both of them, squaring your shoulders.

“You need life in here, some art on the walls won’t kill you” Tara tries to add in, to which Quinn follows up with her own opinion.

As always.

“I agree, these walls are as bland as Ethan’s dating life-“

You swing the pillow down on Quinn, cutting her sentence off as she yelps at the abrupt flop of the pillow against the side of her head.

“CHILDREN” Anika groans, Tara laughing as she watches you and Quinn start shoving at each other while Ethan argues his case on his dating life.

It falls on deaf ears.

“-what’s the point in decorating if I might move to Woodsboro to be with Tara, anyways” you say abruptly, which has Quinn stop on her assaults to look over to the woman in question. Everyone does.

Tara however, doesn’t miss a beat as she holds your gaze, expression unreadable as she raise one singular eyebrow.

“And if I decide I want to move to New York?”

A subtle tension fills the apartment, not even Quinn has anything to say for once.

“You guys joining in on this now? Or what?” Ethan cuts the silence with his effort to change the subject, and for once it helps as Anika and Tara head over to jump in on the card game.

Quinn shoots you a look as she regathers the cards, but you don’t have time to wonder what it means as Tara drops down to sit on the ground next to you. Purposefully bumping her shoulder into yours harder than necessary.

You whip your head around, jaw set and eyes narrowed playfully. Even when she’s trying to look serious, you know it’s not that deep.

But, it is.

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, you know” you mutter to her as Anika demands that she be the one to distribute the cards, since Quinn is known to cheat.

As argument breaks out between the two of them, you and Tara find yourselves in a momentary bubble. Your eyes searching hers, she doing the same to yours.

“Tomorrow” she mutters, her hand gliding across the rug, your own instinctively slipping off the table to rest atop hers.

It’s a silent agreement, because the conversation won’t be easy, but even that doesn’t matter.

You’re pretty sure you’re both going to be on the same page.

Quinn ends up winning the next three games of Uno.

You accuse Ethan of slipping her cards again, she does have the better poker face than him after all.

And when he turns beet red, sputtering, war breaks out.

This. This is your family, it always has been. And with Tara?

It feels complete.

day 11

Intimacy comes in many forms, as does affection.

But with you? It’s indescribable.

The level of comfort and safety she feels with you is almost scary, with how quickly she opened up to you. Tara should’ve been terrified.

But if you’ve ever been right about anything, is that Tara just couldn’t help herself.

Tara raged to Sam about you back in Woodsboro on two separate occasions.

The first, after the incident at the lake with Wes. After she’d found you at that diner when she’d gotten off her shift late. After she’d gotten to know you a little better.

The second, was after you’d tried to leave. After you’d returned, told her you’d only come back for her. Reminded her how you’d promised to never leave her, after trying to leave her.

During Tara’s first rant, Sam had told her to stay away from you. How you were nothing but trouble from the outside, how you were reckless and acted with intrusive behavior. By the second, Sam was giving Tara a look somewhere close to sympathetic, with a dash of understanding.

Tara is pretty sure Sam knew before she knew back then, even with her initial reluctance towards you.

But now, as the two of you lay in your bed, a tangle of limbs that leaves wonder where you start and Tara ends. Tara knows.

Not even the movie playing idly in the background helps quiet Tara’s thoughts. The last few days have meant so much to her, life with you is everything she didn’t know she needed.

Tara hates that she is having a hard time admitting that to herself, because even with the phone calls back home to her friends and Sam, she’s painfully reluctant to return.

Or maybe, she’s just grown comfortable being checked out of reality. Now knowing the comfort of your arms, your home, your people, your life. She likes normalcy. She likes the absence is stress, wondering if someone she knows will disappear in a month.

Tara is starting to worry that there’s a slight chance, her trauma is catching up to her, now that she has room to breathe. To love. To live.

Can she go home? Can she leave you? It’s already a miracle that she found you.

Well, technically, you found her. She simply cradles the gift that is your heart in the palm of her scarred hand.

Does she deserve it? She deserves to be happy, just like anyone else. But at what cost? Will it be worth it, if it’s not what she’s desperately hoping it to be? Will this break her? Will you break her?

“You’re thinking awful hard” you murmur softly, your hand that had been idly scratching her back affectionately comes up to dip your fingers under her chin. The small touch has Tara lift her head off your chest, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you fully.

“I can’t be that predictable already”.

“Not at all, but you’ve got a giveaway” you say with a small smile.

That makes Tara scoff quietly, smacking your chest gently, which only makes you laugh as she protests “I do not!”

“You get this tension right here” you reach up to delicately trace the space between her eyebrows, “that and you haven’t made a single comment on the bad acting in this movie”.

She can’t help but smile at that, even as she rolls her eyes “yeah whatever”.

You’re analyzing her, she feels it, so she continues before you ask.

“What are we doing?”

Of course she expects a quip, sarcasm, a witty comment to ease her thoughts. Instead, you do better.

“I’d like to think there is a place where someone loves you both before, and after they learn what sustains you from the inside. And us-“ you pause, raising your hand with her palm pressed to yours.

“We’re just trying to find where that will home us, together” you trace her fingers with yours, captivated by the simple feeling of her skin against yours.

Tara never understood the depth of yearning for someone, anything. But when her eyes find yours, and finds just how deep your love for her runs, it hurts almost as much as it reassures her.

Which now begs the question: New York or Woodsboro? Somewhere in between?

“I can’t take you from your home”.

“Then you know I can’t ask the same of you” you reply just as softly, “I don’t care where-“

“Me either”.

A pause.

This pause, this moment of intimate silence, was a strange comfort, like a warm embrace on a cold night. There was no need for words, no need for argument. If there’s one thing you’ll never struggle with, is communicating, and that alone guarantees that eventually.

Eventually, you’ll come to a solution.

In this perfect, peaceful silence, there was an unspoken understanding between the two, an understanding that words alone could never express. It was a moment that transcended language, a moment that spoke in a language all its own, a language of trust, love, and connection.

It offered no resolute answer, and it doesn’t help that Tara flies home tomorrow.

But just maybe, right now, there didn’t need to be.

previous, next

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my May 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

We Were Such Fools by kiddle / @bluejeanlouis (98k)

Rule #1: The Rewind Machine cannot be used to change the past, only to experience it. History will reset itself to the original timeline every 24 hours.

On his fiftieth birthday, two things are consuming Harry’s mind: what he’s going to make the kids for dinner tonight, and the fact that his marriage is crumbling at his feet.

So, when his best friend gifts him the trip of a lifetime, Harry chooses to venture off to the summer that set his life on its course—all the way back in 1987, California.

It only took him one summer to fall in love with his husband the first time around. How hard could starting all over really be?

Once Bitten and Twice Shy Series by pinkcords / @pinkcords (60k)

once bitten and twice shy (19k) This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?” Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended. These Stars Will Guide Us Home (41k) And then he’s gonre. Harry watches him take off his shoes, sort his belongings into bins, and keeps watching until he vanishes entirely, around the corner to his gate. Louis doesn’t look back and Harry can’t blame him, certain his expression, body language, entire being would implore him to stay. It would just make it more difficult on both of them. Louis’ always been intuitive like that, strong enough to make the hard decisions that protect both of them. Or Harry lives in New York and Louis lives in Wisconsin.

Cabin Fever by germericangirl / @germericangirl (46k)

“What the fuck is he doing here?“ He asked still looking at him, before he turned back to look at Niall for an answer.

Niall’s mouth fell open and he looked at him with wide eyes "He um changed his mind?“

Harry stared at Niall for a few seconds in silence, before grabbing a bag and walking towards a bedroom without looking at anyone else, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Liam flinched in front of Louis.

“Well I’m happy to see you too.“ Louis mumbled, some of the tension leaving his body. This wasn’t exactly how he thought their first meeting would go. It was quiet for a moment before Louis finally spoke up “Did you seriously not tell him I was coming?“

Or:

One cabin, one bed, two ex-boyfriends. What could possibly go wrong?

You, In Every Color by blueskiesrry / @blueskiesrry (38k)

But then he thinks of the soft curves and sharp angles he had imagined when he first drew up the sketches for the collection, the specific green of fabric he had picked with the thought of how they’d saturate green eyes, the glossy silks and soft velvets he had once pictured sitting delicately against milky skin.

“We’re drunk,” Louis decides on a sigh. “We shouldn’t make any drastic decisions now.”

or: fashion designer louis and his model bf harry have vowed to never work together again, but with the show for louis’ first solo line on the horizon, they decide to give it another shot

We'll Be Alright by ShatteredGlassHouse / @larryislove (36k)

"Lou, I know this-"

"Not plan? Of course, this wasn't planned. Harry, this can't be happening. We can't have a kid. We are not even supposed to be sleeping together."

Harry flinched at Louis' words. He was right, but Louis didn't need to be blunt about it.

"I'm not ready to have kids. I said that when we started this… Relationship," Louis stuttered the last word, trying to find the proper wording.

"Do you think I am? I'm not even twenty-four. You are almost twenty-nine! You're at the age where most people start a family."

"Doesn't mean I want to have one!" Louis snapped.

"Well, it's happening," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Be serious, Harry. We can't have a baby. If people find out, you'll be fired."

Harry subconsciously wrapped his arms around his middle. He suddenly felt small. He didn't expect Louis to be excited. This wasn't the best news for their situation, but he thought he'd be happy.

"I know, Louis."

Or Louis is the Captian of Liverpool FC and Harry is one of the team's physiotherapists. They have a secret relationship going but things become complicated when Harry finds out he's pregnant.

Host of a Name by Signofcomfort / @signofcomfort (35k)

Louis leaves the band in the middle of the tour and drops off the face of the earth. Five years later, they might have a chance to meet him. Harry can finally have some answers and tell the truth for the first time.

Cabin on the Bluff Series by juliusschmidt / @juliusschmidt (6k)

Beech Tree in Autumn (1k) Louis walks forward. Harry walks back. And back. And back. Off the two track, through the brush, until his heel bangs against the trunk of a tree. Louis presses further still. Without so much as a, 'hello,' he's kissing Harry, hard and hungry. Mosquito Bites and Cheap Beer (2k) Harry’s careful not to look at Louis as he plays. At least, he starts out that way. But then the sky behind Louis begins to shift, clouds morphing from piles of gold-tinged wool to scoops of pink and orange sherbet. And at some point, Harry forgets-- forgets not to watch. And when he catches himself, it’s fine. Louis’ watching him right back. Sandwiches on the Shady Shore (2k) “You don’t have to do this,” Louis says. It’s hot in the little kitchen, even with the windows open and a breeze blowing in. Harry feels a flush enfold him from the inside out. “I know,” he says. And then, because he’s already showed up embarrassingly early in the day and made Louis a cheese sandwich, he adds, “I wanted to.”

Trust Me to Take You Home by hattalove / @hattalove (4k)

“I made breakfast,” says Harry, and Louis can feel him smile where his face is smushed against Louis’s shoulder blade. “Full English. All for you.” Louis finally opens his eyes, and blinks. “What about the others?” “Asleep,” Harry whispers, “it’s five in the morning.”

or, a clichéd tale of two boys in love and their first valentine's day together.

[weird-an]

There is a crossroad just outside Hawkins, where corn grows so high it's hidden from anybody's view.

Blood runs down Billy's temple and his head pounds like Neil didn't stop hitting him. Neil who found his Mandate magazine and went fucking crazy.

Billy can't go back. Billy can't go back or he's going to get fucking killed. By his own father. He had never seen Neil so angry - and Neil has always been angry, but not like that.

He has thought about it for a while. It's just some make belief, some hocus pocus, but Billy needs a miracle. He doesn't wear shoes and pebbles tear his holey socks apart. He just grabbed the box and ran.

It's eerily silent. Almost midnight - he thinks. He doesn't have a watch. He digs through the ground with his bare hands. He buries the blue box he stole from Max in the hole. It's a jewelry box she never uses. He has gotten a bit of dirt from the local graveyard, a cat bone from a school's exhibit and an ugly photo from his last school in California where he had to smile while his back was still aching.

A fat drop of crimson blood drips on his fake smile. He wipes his forehead, before he can remember that his hands are dirty.

He stands up. Nothing happens.

It's a cold night. His breath forms little clouds, floating into the night. The moon is gone, waiting to get reborn. An endless circle of birth and death.

"What a surprise." Steve Harrington stands behind him. Same as usual, wearing a pastel blue and pink polo shirt and his ever perfect hair fluffy and only slicked back a little.

"Billy Hargrove needing help?" he scoffs - and it's almost as if they were on the court and not on a crossroad, about to make a deal. "Wanting to gift me his soul?"

There's a red shine in his eyes, but more in the way that it seems like a reflection.

"You're a... demon?" Billy asks. Maybe that's some stupid prank. Maybe that's an explanation why Harrington is so unearthly pretty. "And you're going to High School?"

And sucking at it, is something he doesn't add, but he knows how many classes Harrington is failing. Tommy won't shut up about it. He would have rather expected Hagan to be a fucking demon and not Harrington who now gives him a goofy grin.

"Oh, well..." Harrington says. "Let's say I made a deal a few years ago and then I unfortunately died early."

There's a headline Neil had read out loud to them before they moved here. About a girl, Barb Holland, being thought dead for three weeks - and then rising from the dead, ringing at her parent's door like she just went out to buy some milk.

"God has blessed this place," Neil had said. Apparently Hawkins is about as cursed as Billy feared it is.

"Enough about me." Harrington tilts his head. "What do you want?"

To live, to be free pops into Billy's mind, bright and colorful like a rainbow.

Billy thought about it a lot. First he thought he wanted his dad dead. So that he can never touch him again, so that he doesn't have to be afraid anymore. But if Neil dies, he doesn't have a father or a mother.

The thought is a dark shadow, making him sick.

"I want him to stop hurting me," he says instead. It won't heal the scars, it won't unbreak his bones, it won't make it forgotten, but maybe more bearable. It's what he wanted when he was five, when he turned ten, what he wants to today and what he always wished for whenever saw other people blowing out the candles on their birthday cakes.

Harrington's eyes flicker to Billy's bloody mullet and his dirty socks.

"You need to tell me his name," he says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'm just a demon, not a mindreader."

"My dad," Billy grits out. "Neil.. Hargrove."

There is pity crossing Harrington's face, something he has always been afraid of, but it's gone within seconds, maybe only been a shadow and gets replaced with a red glow, irises more crimson than hazel now.

"Let's seal the deal." Harrington smiles, teeth shining white. "You know how we do it, right? Your soul for me doing you a favor."

Billy heard the stories. Billy didn't expect to become a part of them. Billy doesn't think he has a soul and if he does, it can hardly be worth anything.

Harrington smells like expensive aftershave and smoke.

Billy presses a kiss on Harrington's soft lips. It's a rush, a relief. He feels something shift, something clicking into space.

Harrington laughs into the kiss. "The deal is already done, Hargrove."

Which means Billy's soul is Harrington's now and Neil won't ever hurt him again. The blood on his temple dries. The cut on his scalp stopped throbbing, there's only a faint sting reminding Billy of its existence. He feels like he just jumped into the ocean on a hot summer's day.

He licks across Harrington's mouth, hungry for more.

"Greed and lust are sins, Billy." It almost sounds like a compliment.

Billy's throat turns dry and he wants to pull away, humiliation burning away the cool calm that has begun to spread inside his chest.

It's just a deal - and that's closed now.

Harrington tugs on his bottom lip, sharp pain joining the sweet sensation.

"If you ever feel like sinning, come and find me," Harrington purrs -

and then he's gone. Billy stands on the road, lips tingling, still smelling Harrington's aftershave on him.

He walks home. It's one of these nights when spring is about to fade, summer's heat lurking around the corner. Still cold, but not that he's shivering.

Cherry Lane is deserted, a few lights flickering when Billy comes home. The door is open. He doesn't hear Neil shouting at the TV.

He washes the blood off his face and goes to bed. He wonders if he can dream without a soul. He wonders if it's working. His lips burn and he still feels Harrington's mouth on his.

[sassenach77yle]

What are ye laughing at, a nighean?” Her father loomed out of the night, smelling of horses. “Everything,” she said, scooching over to make room for him to sit beside her. It was true. Everything seemed suddenly bright, the candlelight from the windows of the Big House, the fireflies in the grass, the glow of Roger’s face when he told her his desire. She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers; it fizzed in her blood.

Jamie reached up and fielded a passing firefly, holding it for a moment cupped in the dark hollow of his hand, where it flashed on and off, the cool light seeping through his fingers. Far off, she heard a brief snatch of her mother’s voice, coming through an open window;

Claire was singing “Clementine.” Now the boys—and Roger—were howling at the moon, though it was no more than a pale sickle on the horizon. She felt her father’s body shake with silent laughter, too.

“It reminds me of Disneyland,” she said on impulse.

“Oh, aye? Where’s that?” “It’s an amusement park—for children,” she added, knowing that while there were such things as amusement parks in places like London and Paris, these were purely adult places. No one ever thought of entertaining children now, beyond their own games and the occasional toy. “Daddy and Mama took me there every summer,” she said, slipping back without effort to the hot, bright days and warm California nights.

“The trees all had little sparkling lights in them—the fireflies reminded me.” Jamie spread his palm; the firefly, suddenly free, pulsed to itself once or twice, then spread its wings with a tiny whir and lifted into the air, floating up and away.

“Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daugh-ter, Clementine . . .”

“What was it like, then?” he asked curiously. “Oh . . . it was wonderful.” She smiled to herself, seeing the brilliant lights of Main Street, the music and mirrors and beautiful, beribboned horses of King Arthur’s Carrousel. “There were . . . rides, we called them. A boat, where you could float through the jungle on a river, and see crocodiles and hippopotamuses and headhunters . . .” “Headhunters?” he said, intrigued. “Not real ones,” she assured him. “It’s all make-believe—but it’s . . . well, it’s a world to itself. When you’re there, the real world sort of disappears; nothing bad can happen there.

They call it ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’—and for a little while, it really seems that way.”

“Light she was, and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine, Herring boxes without topses, sandals were for Clementine.”“And you’d hear music everywhere, all the time,” she said, smiling. “Bands—groups of musicians playing instruments, horns and drums and things—would march up and down the streets, and play in pavilions. . . .” “Aye, that happens in amusement parks. Or it did, the once I was in one.” She could hear a smile in his voice, as well. “Mm-hm. And there are cartoon characters—I told you about cartoons—walking around. You can go up and shake hands with Mickey Mouse, or—” “With what?” “Mickey Mouse.” She laughed. “A big mouse, life-size—human-size, I mean. He wears gloves.” “A giant rat?” he said, sounding slightly stunned. “And they take the weans to play with it?” “Not a rat, a mouse,” she corrected him. “And it’s really a person dressed up like a mouse.” “Oh, aye?” he said, not sounding terribly reassured. “Yes. And an enormous carrousel with painted horses, and a railroad train that goes through the Rainbow Caverns, where there are big jewels sticking out of the walls, and colored streams with red and blue water . . . and orange-juice bars. Oh, orange-juice bars!” She moaned softly in ecstatic remembrance of the cold, tart, overwhelming sweetness. “It was nice, then?” he said softly.

“Thou art lost and gone forever, Dreadful sor-ry . . . Clementine.”

“Yes,” she said, sighed, and was silent for a moment. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder, and wrapped her hand around his arm, big and solid. “You know what?” she said, and he made a small interrogatory noise in reply.

It was nice—it was great—but what I really, really loved about it was that when we were there, it was just the three of us, and everything was perfect. Mama wasn’t worrying about her patients, Daddy wasn’t working on a paper—they weren’t ever silent or angry with each other. Both of them laughed—we all laughed, all the time . . . while we were there.” He made no reply, but tilted his head so it rested against hers. She sighed again, deeply.

“Jemmy won’t get to go to Disneyland—but he’ll have that. A family that laughs—and millions of little lights in the trees.”

A breath of snow and ashes

Season 7 episode 2 “The Happiest Place on Earth”

[inknopewetrust]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 [𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮] [𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌]

summary: the colors of life change with time, but the music that narrates it lives on forever in one, standstill moment of the 1990s where success and passion came tumbling down. Years later, the story is declassified.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: minors dni (18+), this is based off of fleetwood mac/daisy jones and the six so imagine mid-80s and 90s rock scene, language, lil bit a spice, a whole lotta angst, enemies to lovers to enemies to…

In a world where words meant so much, it was difficult to find them at a time where they were needed.

The cool wire weaved against your skin. Its path crawling like a snake of retrospection from the bottom of your chair to your chest. There was a pebble of sweat threatening to spill from the top of your hairline in the hot California sun which made you think:

"Why the fuck did I ever move out of Indiana?"

But if you closed your eyes, you could recall why. A sickening, thunderous roar of the crowd–you could still hear it now. Somewhere, thumping in the back of your mind as their chants filled a space that breathed a new life within you as the another was dying.

An echo chamber of the taste of metal against lips; the white knuckle grip that still threatened to slip from your grasp.

The woman who sat across from you had a plastic smile on her lips. For her, it was nothing more than a job. An exploitive adventure where you'd be sticking headlines and messages across platforms for weeks to come because of this tell-all documentary.

"When did you know?"

Against cynicism the inevitable hardness of the culture you had immersed yourself in at one time had risen again and the attitude that rose promised a truthful reflection of your experience.

On the floor beside the mics battery pack, a half smoked carton of cigarettes met a glazed palm and the woman watched as a perfectly rolled stick land between two mauve lips. As the flame sparked, your eyes darted to hers.

"Know what?" you muttered between the smoke.

“When it was finally over?”

You could feel the breath being sucked out of your soul. The shudder radiating like a shutter letting rain inside of the home in the canyon; kissing the very center of a heartbeat that stopped at the sight of a pair of eyes, shoes peaking through a doorway.

The cigarette burned between your fingers. Ticking away like a bomb with scorching red embers fighting its casing.

“The Album was the best and worst thing to ever happen to any of us… that sounds ridiculous,” you scoffed, shaking your head and the woman quirked her head.

“It sounds ridiculous that something so magical, something so brilliant, can make those who built it feel small. It put us in a fishbowl and it took every last drop from our cup before it dried up and cracked under the heat… that's when I knew it was over."

She shifted in her seat, readjusting the papers to organize her thoughts. You imagined there was no sounder way of stating it. It was the truth, frank, and to the point but something the rest of them negated to realize or speak into words.

But she shook her head. “Yes, the band… but what of the relationships?”

“None of us had known about Steve and Nancy, Robin and Vickie had barely interacted until their writing began and by the end… well you can read plenty of articles about the end of it all.”

You drew from the cigarette again. Smoke filling the air around you like a mist; the woman kept digging.

“And Eddie and yourself?”

“Well…”

That heart-skipping beat never left. Laurel Canyon was so far away, the studio was a memory, and the stage was a phantom piece of your imagination yet the simple mention of a name so far removed was enough to make time stand still.

Somewhere, a young woman frozen and left wondering the "what if" of a life not shrouded by fanatics and the thrumming of a guitar. Somewhere, lost in the violence of a summer and the shattered glass of a heart left on a stoop, that girl remained inside.

“It was always complicated.”

“So,” she shrugged at you as if the conversation was nothing more than such. It wasn’t as though she was here to get all the details of every part of a life that had already played out in public if people had only been paying attention.

It wasn’t as though she was cracking open a mountain full of jeweled memories that had crystalized themselves in the past.

“When did it all go wrong?”

Feeling the sting of the camera focus on your face, there were two responses to this question that many had already answered before you:

"When did it all go wrong?" You lamented to yourself.

When did you know it was over? When did it all go wrong?

The woman's eyes glistened in excitement. Her story was unraveling before her. You took a drag again.

Fuck. You thought to yourself.

And the film began to play.

A/n: I'm excited to get back in the writing game - especially with Eddie. Let me know your early thoughts! Yay, nay, slay?

[snapghoul]

How the twins dress

Causal & formal, based off Glen’s style with ✨pictures✨

Note: clothing is so hard for me to write, like the description in a scene just does not compute, so this is mostly for me but more head canons on how their style differs from each other.

TYLER

Tyler prefers earthy tones, favoring browns, tans, oranges, and reds, and avoids obnoxiously bright colors. His clothing choices are practical and understated; he knows what he likes and sticks to it without any flashiness. He has a strong distaste of shorts, preferring to risk heatstroke rather than wear them. Jeans are his go-to choice, and he feels more comfortable in them regardless of the temperature.

His wardrobe predominantly features long-sleeved flannel shirts. This choice is for multiple reasons: it protects his skin from the harsh Oklahoma sun—having been fried crispy a few times—and conceals scars from his rodeo days. These scars, some from being stomped on or thrown against railings, are reminders of past injuries. While he’s not ashamed of them, he prefers to keep them covered, which also explains his dislike for shorts.

For formal occasions, Tyler adapts his style depending on the event. He might dress up a shirt and jeans or don a rarely worn suit, typically for weddings. No matter the formality, he always completes his outfit with a cowboy hat.

Tyler rarely bothers with his hair. He typically just wets his hand and runs it through his hair a few times until he deems it presentable. For exceptionally special occasions, he does own some pomade, though he didn’t even use it for his sister’s wedding.

JAKE

Jake prefers lighter colors, favoring blues, greens, black, whites, and sometimes brown. Being stationed around have made him open to diverse styles, and he enjoys experimenting with adventurous fashion choices. He’s sometimes drawn to shirts with patterns that fit his color palette.

Given his profession as a pilot, Jake opts for short sleeves, as he dislikes being hot and values the comfort of having his arms free, especially when he’s not in his flight suit. While he likes jeans, he also has a variety of pants, including chinos and tailored cargos, to suit different occasions. Living in California exposes him to fashion trends, which influences his wardrobe choices. He often wears a baseball hat to keep the sun off his face. He also has a pretty good selection of shoes.

For formal events, Jake will wear his dress whites or blues if required. Otherwise, he has a selection of suits and blazers in various colors for different occasions. For more casual formal events, he opts for a smart shirt and pants.

Jake styles his hair every morning to meet his personal and navy standards. Even when he’s off duty, he keeps up with his routine and frequently uses pomade. While he occasionally goes for a controlled messy look, he generally prefers a neatly swooped style.

My poor Pinterest algorithm is all Glen now. I searched him once for this and boom. And there’s always some random Miles thrown in there too.

[delopsia]

Better | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 6,200  Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Reader has the callsign 'Weave.' AFAB! Reader, post-jet crash scenario, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, face-sitting, hurt/comfort if you squint, friends to lovers trope, blood, and bodily injury, and a likely inaccurate description of naval aviator gear.  

There is nothing quite like waking up and seeing a multi-million dollar aircraft burning right before your very eyes. 

It doesn't look real. Vivid hues of red and orange dance along the busted shell of what used to be a Naval aircraft, a stark contrast against the pristine, white snow. The hellish heat that licks at your exposed, frozen cheeks is the only indication that it's not a figment of your imagination. Distantly, you think you must've crashed, but it's hard to believe when there's not a single ache in your—

"Fuck!"

You shouldn't have moved, you shouldn't have moved, you shouldn't have moved.

Eyes screwing shut. Mouth ajar. Yet not another sound escaping. Every bone, joint, and muscle on your left side is screaming. White-hot, piercing through every nerve. Your rib cage feels as if it's just burst open, burning hotter than the remains of your plane. 

God, what happened?

You don't recognize this place. These trees don't look like the ones from back home, and you don't recall the weatherman saying California was expecting six inches of snow. What you do recognize is the stray boot that pokes out from behind the jet. U.S. Navy issued. But you're not missing any shoes...

"Bob?" The joints of your shoulders beg you not to move, but you've already pushed yourself up, vision blurring as your head swivels. Your feet scramble for purchase on the powdery snow, but something tugs at you from behind, throws you off balance. 

It's your parachute, tangled within the branches of the tree above you, leashing you. Closing your frigid hands around the material is near impossible, fingers so frozen that they can hardly bend. You've barely enough strength to disconnect yourself. 

"Bob?" You try again. 

No answer.

There's a numbness in your legs as you stumble closer to the roaring flames. On its own, the world seesaws, leaving you to stumble as you struggle to keep upright. You only mean to take one step left, but that singular step becomes two, four, five. 

The ground comes back up and smacks you in the hip.

From down here, you can see the boot better, but you can't the leg attached to the foot that occupies it. Or maybe...that's three boots. They're right in front of you, but when you reach out to touch them, your hand can't seem to reach. Scooting forward, you swipe out and try again. All you get is snow.

But they're right there. 

Forward a little more. Nothing. Something within the jet pops, wicked flames bursting out in a mushroom-shaped plume. Ravenous heat claws at your skin, threatens to eat right through you. Just a little closer. Just a little...

your hand grabs hold of the boot, vision centering a little. Around you, the wind spins like a top, but even through the haze, you realize something.

There isn't a body attached at all.

Your head feels like someone's just filled it with lead. The colorful hues of red, mere feet away from your face, threatens to reach out and melt the skin from your cheeks. You need to move. You know you do, but even as you tell yourself to move, your body refuses. 

The collar of your flight suit tightens as you're yanked backward. 

In the blink of an eye, you've got control again, wriggling, fighting to turn around as you're drug away by the thin material of your collar. Words tumble out of your mouth, but your ringing ears hardly comprehend them. Your foot catches on a rock, body flipping around and—

that face is familiar.

Cheeks patched with soot, blood pouring from a gash that stretches from his temple down to his cheek, just barely avoiding his eye. Glasses long gone, but there's a red indent between his eyes from the frames. 

"Bob?" You know it's him, and yet it tumbles off your tongue anyway.

"'m here," his voice breaks, shaky.

The arm you're using to brace your weight crumples out from under you; the snow that catches you is pillowy soft, but the numbing cold stings at your skin, nevertheless. Bob's next tug on your collar is half-hearted, urging but lacking the strength to put behind it. 

Next to you rests a bootless foot, bathed in a deep crimson that makes your heart sink. 

On its own, your hand wanders out to hold onto his thigh, "you're hurt."

Your observation doesn't receive a response, doesn't exactly warrant one, either. Silence is better than hushed insistence that he's alright when you both know that's a downright lie. Instead, he shifts to rest his weight on his forearm, curling his body around yours as a viciously strong wind ripples past. The fire behind you spikes with a roar, heat blasting. 

His free hand strokes the side of your head, thumb swiping at what you only assume to be blood, "what's the last thing you remember?"

And where the hell is your helmet?

There's a fogginess to your memory. You remember waking up to Natasha snoring and Bradley clapping his hand over your shoulder a bit too hard on your way out of the cafeteria. But you don't remember taking off, and your memory lacks a single shred of where you flew. 

But your ears vividly recall a flurry of voices coming through your radio. Your bones still rattle with the vibrations of a too-close-for-comfort explosion, a missile narrowly avoided. A tiny voice screams out from the commotion, barely audible over it all.

"I remember you telling me to brake left," you shouldn't be leaning up into Bob's touch the way that you are.

His response takes some time, but eventually, he hums, "I didn't account for the one comin' up from beneath us."

After all this, you'd better get a raise and a vacation. 

It's hard to miss the faint hum that cuts through the air. Too far away for you to see, but even through the ringing in your ears, the sound is unmistakable. Bob's head lifts, tilted toward the direction that it's coming from. 

Muscles aching, you push yourself up to your knees, ignoring the angered twinges of muscles that beg you to stay still. Shelter. You need shelter. Bob doesn't require any urging, already has one hand braced on the trunk of a tree as he heaves himself up. 

A yelp ripples through the chilly air, echoing through the forest around you. 

It's not until Bob falls back into the snow that you realize who it came from. Crimson drips from his trembling foot like a waterfall; beneath, dull white shines through. 

"'m okay," his voice wavers, "I'm okay." With his good leg, he shields the wound from your view, but you know what you saw. 

The whirring of that helicopter is growing louder. Closer. 

"No, you're not," but there's no time for you to grill him on it. He's already trying to get up again, breathing through gritted teeth as he's forced to put weight on his injury. You know your backseater too well for your own good. Already know he's not going to ask for help.

And that's exactly why you lift his arm and shove yourself beneath it. 

"You don't need to do that," he fusses, but all it takes is one step forward for him to gasp and lean against you. That foot can't bear weight, and you both know it. 

Liar. 

It's hard to tell where you're going, but with the whirring of those helicopter blades growing louder, you don't have much of a choice. The only thing you know is that you flew in from the South-West; your best bet is to head in that direction. Search and rescue has a better chance of finding you there. 

But only if your enemy doesn't follow the patches of red that mark your trail.

Your swollen shoulder strains under Bob's weight, so sore that even the slightest of pressure has you gritting your teeth to bear it. Fuck, never mind your shoulder; everything hurts. As your weary feet tread through the snow, it's difficult to tell what's just sore and what's been injured. Though, you've got a sneaking feeling that your shoulders and ribs are decorated with some hellish bruising. 

And yet, even as he limps along by your side, suffering through the same ejection pains you are, Bob still has it in him to smile at you. It's watery, faltering when that mangled foot is forced to touch the ground, and it doesn't quite meet his eyes, but it's there. 

"Bobby—"

"'m alright," he turns his head off to the side, shielding his eyes from your sight. You hate that you know what he's trying to do. Those baby blues tell a story too heavy for his tongue to bear; if they meet with yours, they'll start talking. 

It's the one reason why he can't play poker. 

"What's that brown mass on our right?" It's hard to tell if he's trying to change the subject or if he's actually trying to figure out what he's looking at. 

The muscles in your neck are tight, making it difficult for you to turn your head. "We need to get you Lasik after this," joking through the pain, you squint in the direction Bob's transfixed on. Trees, trees, more trees, a clearing, followed by, you guessed it, more trees. You don't see what he's—

oh

wait.

Tucked up against a steep hill sits a tiny shack. The paint has long since withered away, leaving behind nothing but brown, rotting planks. The front of it bows forward, the neglected roof sinking inward, but it's shelter. 

A shelter that might collapse on you. But that whirring is growing louder and louder. The ground hums with the motions of the unknown helicopter's blades. You're in no place to argue.

"It's some sort of shack," you observe aloud, fighting the urge not to hasten your step. 

It's a longer walk than it looks. It would be easy to sprint through the clearing, but Bob can't run in this state. There's no guarantee someone won't spot you from overhead. By your side, Bob meekly hobbles along; blood no longer stains the snow, but his noises grow with every step. Little grunts of pain that burn you to the core. 

That helicopter just keeps getting closer and closer and closer. And finally, you see it emerge over the horizon; looks nothing like the ones back on the aircraft carrier. That's not search and rescue. 

"They don't see us yet," Bob's words are rushed, jumbled together as he tries to move a little quicker. Grunting with every step, eyes bolting shut. 

You're almost there. Just a few more steps. Just a few more.

"Almost there," you grunt, stumbling in tune with his hobbled steps, "almost there."

You don't even get to touch the door handle. 

It's hard to tell whose foot gets caught in who's. All you know is that you're falling forward. Shoulder slamming into a flimsy wooden door that gives at the slightest amount of pressure. The decrepit floor knocks the breath from your lungs. Leaves you struggling to garner another breath. 

Rusty hinges wail as the door swings shut behind you. Oddly...human.

Light barely filters through the tiny, broken windows, illuminating a cracked fireplace and what looks to be a shelf that's fallen off the wall. The very definition of bare bones.

Movement on your left has you turning your head. 

Bob's shoulders shake like leaves in the Autumn wind. Laying on his belly, pretty face buried in the crook of his arm, concealing the tears that you already know are there. The blades of the helicopter are loud, but his wobbly breaths are louder.

Careful, as if moving too quickly will hurt him, you reach out to smooth your hand along his shoulder blades. Only serves to make him shake a little harder, sniffles escaping even as he visibly tries to swallow them down. 

"'m fine." Not daring to lift his head. 

"No, you're not." Running your hand upward, you dare to run your fingers through his messy hair, the damp locks remarkably soft, even now. 

You can't be doing this. Touching his hair only makes you want to gather him up in your arms and kiss those tears off his cheeks. Your tongue already bears the words you'd whisper into his ears, sweet nothings and reminders that his feelings matter to you.

"Bobby," you try again, this time allowing the pads of your fingers to skitter across his temple. His jaw moves, ready to speak. You beat him to it. "Don't you dare tell me you're fine."

That's enough to get his head raising, red eyes peeking out from the corner of his elbow. Those baby blues meet with yours, immediately flickering away as if your gaze has just burned him. 

"Me whining about being hurt is going to do nothing but get on your nerves," he murmurs, his voice barely audible, and yet his words burn themselves right into your skin, "it doesn't fix any—"

"Moron," even being shot out of the sky cannot knock the attitude from you, "you never got upset when I dislocated my ankle and whined about it for a week straight. Why would I ever get upset with you?" 

Bob's eyelashes flutter, voice raising by an octave as if it'll strengthen his argument, "I didn't want to upset you."

"I love you too much to get upset with you for being in pain."

Silence.

Your mouth feels like it's full of lead. Face growing even colder than it was out in the snow. Did that really just fly off your tongue? Now of all times? 

On second thought, being gunned down by that helicopter doesn't sound so bad. "I'm sorry, I—"

"D'you really mean that?" Well, he doesn't sound upset, at least. Shallowly, you nod. 

You don't expect him to lift his head from behind the barricade of his folded arms, opting to rest his head on top of them instead. The hand that was just in his hair slides down to the dusty floor, limp. Bob watches it as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Even reaches out to run his fingers along a tear in your glove. They curl around it, loosely holding your hand as he looks back up at you. 

And he just...stares. A quiet transfixion on your face, like it's the first time he's ever seen you. Taking in every detail, every wrinkle and crease that your skin has to offer. His head moves forward by just a fraction, but then an awkward smile overtakes him, and he has to look away.

Your synchronous inhale is so loud that it echoes through this tiny, one-room shack. Bob tilts his head back to you, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of you. Next to his head, his fingers twist together, like they always do when he's deep in thought. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart pounds against your chest like a drum. Any stronger, and it just might break free of its confines. 

Bob's moving. Pushing his weight up onto a forearm, tilting his body towards you. Hesitates, just shy of bumping his nose into yours. Again, your eyes meet. Getting shot down was scarier than this. 

Hesitant lips press against your own, slotting together like puzzle pieces. There's nothing else to it, each holding it in fear of the other having second thoughts. Only lasts a few seconds, but it feels as if you spent forever there.

"We shouldn't...be doing this," you find yourself saying as if you're not actively curling your hands around his bruised cheeks, "if Cyclone finds out..."

"Fuck Cyclone." And then Bob's lips are on yours again, no thought required.

It's cruel how easily you fit together. You have a sea of options out there, and yet only Bob Floyd's lips fit against yours so flawlessly. Only your backseater smells of suede and jasmine because he can't stay out of that Polo Blue cologne to save his life. The hand that curls around your cheek feels as if it belongs there. This is how things always should have been. 

The angle is awkward; you want to wrap your arms around his neck, but one of your arms is stuck, bracing your body weight, while the other awkwardly flings around to rest between his shoulder blades.

A shy hand presses against your belly, urging you to sink back against the floor. You don't know what possesses you to comply, but the feeling of Bob settling on top of you is something else entirely. Gasping as he disturbs his injury, but unable to draw himself away. Your knees rise, caging either side of his lithe hips; Bob's not wide by any means, but with him between them, your legs feel like they're spread for miles.

"Bobby," panting against his lips. 

"'ve got ya," one of his hands glides up your sides, working its way beneath your heavy gear, greedily taking in what lies beneath him. Your back arches, leaning into the touch; haven't felt someone touch you like this in so long that it's foreign. 

The desperate need for air is the only thing that can drive a wedge between you, lungs stinging as you gasp for much-needed oxygen. Even that can't stop you from leaning back up, still panting as you press a wayward kiss to his exposed neck. Faintly, Bob's breath catches.

"'m probably sweaty," he warns, but his words fall on deaf ears. You're already dragging your tongue along a protruding vein, sealing it with a wet kiss. "Oh, that's..." the words die with nothing but a sigh. 

You've waited your entire life to hear him make that noise. "You're lucky your gear is keeping me from your collarbone," it's more of a cautionary remark than it is anything else. You're itching to nibble on those pretty, exposed bones, can only imagine what sounds he would make.

It only takes him five motions. One to unclasp his life jacket. Two to undo the strap across the chest. One to pull the underlying zipper down and another to shrug the harness off his shoulders, letting it fall down to rest against his hips. 

Hallelujah.

Bruises scatter his collarbones and shoulders, glaringly sore but so sensitive as you gingerly work your way down to plant kisses on them. Feather-light, teeth only grazing so as to not hurt him. The motion leaves your neck exposed, giving him the perfect opportunity to press his wet lips to the skin beneath your ear. 

"Shit," you hiss, fingertips curling against his shoulder blades. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel his mouth curling against your skin.

His hips dip down, moving on their own accord, something hard brushing against your core. With a strained noise, Bob freezes, nose wrinkling with the grimace that laces his features. 

"Were you trying to grind on me, pretty boy?" Teasing. A futile distraction from the pain.

Cheeks heating red, he nods, "'n I got my karma for it, too."

It was just a simple brush, not even full contact, but you've already gotten hooked on that feeling. This isn't the time, nor is it the place. You can already hear the downright fit Cyclone is going to have when he catches wind of this. 

Bob's eyebrows raise just a fraction, "yeah?" 

Motivated by spite alone, your fingers are already halfway through fumbling with the confines of your harness. Wouldn't have even realized you were doing it had Bob not said anything. It takes some squirming; getting that harness off your legs is harder than it looks, and Bob can only get it down to his knees before he needs assistance. 

The millisecond you get that harness safely off his ankle, you plant two firm hands on his chest and push. 

"Jesus," he chuckles, arms opening up to welcome you as you climb on top of him. 

It's easier this way. You've got to do most of the work, but it keeps Bob from disturbing his ankle. And now, there is nothing that can stop you from tentatively straddling his hips, ass brushing against a hardness that you hope to become overly familiar with someday.

"Better?" You chirp, back aching as you lean down to meet his waiting lips.

As the gap closes, he hums, "better."

Beneath your hands, you can feel his heart pitter-pattering away, soft little thumps that mirror the one that rattles through your weary bones. In the back of your head, a familiar little voice asks you if rolling your hips down into Bob's hard-on is a good idea. There may be no going back from this. The last thing you need is for Cyclone to split you two up and never let you fly together again.

But Bob's sharp inhale tells you that this is a very, very good idea. "Sweetheart," it's hard to tell if it's the pet name or the deep, guttural groan that sends your head spinning, "'m not sure you wanna do that to me."

Eyeroll. "But, Bob~" singsonging. 

"But Weave," he whines back, twitching up to rub against the curve of your ass. His eyes scrunch shut, ankle disturbed, but it doesn't hinder him in the slightest. "If we do this," grunting, "I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to get my hands off of ya."

Should you be making major decisions fresh out of a crash? Probably not.

Will you make that decision anyway? Yes. 

Leaning down, you allow your mouth to open, teeth grazing the shell of his pale ear, "maybe that's what I want." And that ear goes ruby red in the blink of an eye. 

Hands running up your sides, Bob bats his pretty eyes up at you, "then lead the way, pilot."

In all of your whimsy daydreams, you've never come up with a scenario quite like this one. Your quiet, sweet-eyed backseater, laying beneath you in a decrepit shack in the middle of God-knows-where, fresh after an ejection. But somehow, as your hips begin to work themselves against Bob's clothed bulge, and as his hands timidly draw up to cup your breasts, you can't help but realize how fitting it is.

His hips unintentionally shift, and in that simple motion, everything changes. Even through the material of your flight suits, you can feel the outline of him pressing deliciously against your cunt. Not much friction, but it's just enough to have both of your heads rolling, surprised gasps falling from your lips. 

You don't know when he's found the opportunity to unzip your g suit, the material that was once wrapped snuggle around your waist, now hanging low on your thighs. But now those deft fingers toy with the zipper of your flight suit, waiting on your command. Rolling your hips once more, you nod. 

Bob can't get it down quick enough, barely gets the zipper halfway before he's reaching beyond, hands remarkably warm as they slide beneath your shirt. Those dull nails drag just right, tickling your skin.

"So damn soft," he muses, and with the way he's stroking up your spine, you almost think he's petting you. 

They're on the move again, concealed by the distraction of his hips rising up to meet you halfway. Your bra shifts as those wandering hands dive beneath it, doing nothing but feel the shape of you in his palms. Thumbs flick across your nipples, sends your body jerking.

"Jesus, Bobby," squirming as he toys with them, you idly fumble with the side-zipper of his g suit.

"You're lucky there's snow on the ground," he's not even looking at your face, absolutely consumed by what's going on beneath your shirt, "else I'd be beggin' to get this blasted shirt off your pretty lil' frame."

"We can—" fuck, it's hard to talk with him handling your chest like that, "we can save that for when we're sneaking around on the carrier."

"We ain't never gonna hear the end of it," he rolls his hips with yours as he speaks, "Bob and Weave, validatin' everythin' them Admiral's keep sayin' 'bout us."

Just as quickly as he'd reached under your shirt, he retreats, instead taking hold of your devilishly spiraling hips. The pressure tells you to move forward, but when you do, he keeps asking you to move further. 

"Bob...?" You're fully sitting on his chest now, and he's still wordlessly asking you to move up.

He reaches up, dragging that zipper down as far as it will go. Right down between your quivering thighs, exposing the flimsy shorts you're wearing beneath. Whether or not he recognizes that these are his own shorts is a different topic entirely. 

"Up a little more, sweet thing," he urges once more, "want you sittin' on my face."

Oh.

You don't even know what to think. It's hard to believe that your innocent backseater even know this was a thing, to begin with, but here he is, hooking an index finger into the crook of your shorts and panties. His breath is hot against your sensitive skin, enough to have you trying to rise up and away from the feeling.

"What if you can't breathe?" Bracing your hands on the ground beneath his head.

Brilliant blue eyes flick up to take in your expression. "Good."

And with both of his hands gripping your hips, he leans up and drags his dripping tongue right between your folds. Broad, flat as he spreads you open with it, fuck, that's a hell of a feeling. With you distracted, he pulls you downward, forcing you to sit on his pretty face. 

"Bobby," fuck, fuck, fuck, his tongue flicking against your swelling clit is something else. 

The bastard hums, somehow already understanding what you mean when you whimper his name. Already knows that the fingers tangling in his hair are a good thing. If you'd thought his breath was hot, this is something else entirely. The wet muscle that laps at your cunt burns hotter than the flames that consumed your aircraft, threatens to burn right through you. 

Only plays with your clit for long enough to have you whimpering his name under hushed breaths before lapping his way down, down, down to your neglected entrance. Tonguing it, tracing your sensitive rim before pushing inside. The soft tip of his nose presses into your clit, paying it attention while his tongue works in and out of you.

"Fuck, fuck, Bobby," you hope there aren't any foot soldiers looking for you; they'd be able to hear you a mile away, "how the hell did you—ah, even know about this?"

You shouldn't have asked that. No, no, you shouldn't have because now he's peering up at you as he works your sensitive cunt, "y'talked 'bout it one night at the Hard Deck." He doesn't even try to pull away as he speaks, words vibrating right up your spine. "Been dreamin' 'bout it ever since."

Then he's drawing back up, swirling around the swollen bud that he can't seem to leave alone, "Can y'imagine the heart attack this'd give Mav?" How long has he been hiding lewd words under a sheepish smile? "Find'n out I've got my pilots sweet lil' pussy on my tongue right after I promised I wouldn't?"

Mav. Poor bastard spent the past month convincing Cyclone you and Bob weren't seconds away from jumping each other's bones, only for it to actually happen the moment he turned his back. Not a soul on that carrier has a clue. They don't even know you're alive, never mind squirming on your backseater's face as he laps at your pussy like it's his nine-to-five. 

That thought alone sends something tightening in your gut. Familiar. 

"'m close," you gasp, tugging at his short locks, "don't wanna cum like this."

Bob pauses midstroke, seems to think a little before speaking, "how d'ya wan' it?"

"I'd rather cum around your cock," not even missing a beat. 

And even with his face right between your legs, tongue fresh off your pussy, Robert Floyd has the audacity to turn beet fucking red. 

"Well," suddenly unable to meet your eye, "then...be my guest?"

You hate him, you think, as you squirm back down, dragging his flight suit zipper along with you. You hate, hate, hate this motherfucker and his ability to sway so seamlessly between demanding and sheepish. 

Beneath his flight suit, his shirt has risen up, revealing a milky-white tummy that absolutely demands a kiss or two. Even if the angle is awkward and puts a strain on your already sore neck. 

"'r you really kissin' my belly right now?" Combing his fingers against your scalp, but that doesn't sound like a complaint to you.

"I've gotta do what I've gotta do," the cold tip of your nose nuzzles the smooth skin that resides just next to the waistband of his shorts. Your fingers itch to pull them down, but his flight suit creates a hell of a conundrum. You can't even catch glimpse of his pale thighs, and those are probably an eighth-world wonder on their own.

Next time. 

For now, you'll have to be content with pushing the loose material of his shorts upward enough so that you can see his briefs lurking beneath. Even from here, you can see the strain he's putting on the material, makes it easy to find him when you reach past.

"Shit," he hisses, hips rising as you take hold of him at the base. Slowly, slowly, you guide him out, finding yourself amused as he chases your touch until he no longer can. 

He's bigger than you thought he would be. A considerable weight in your palm, pale-pink tip silky soft as you toy with it. You hope there will come a day when you can sit down and see how long it takes him to get off from you playing with that mushroom tip. Because right now, as he bites his lip to stifle his noises, you don't think it would take too long.

Speaking of...

"Hah-!" That's a new sound. Peering up at him from beneath your lashes, you poke your tongue out and run it against his length once more. Clamping his hand over his mouth, he reaches down to bat you away from his poor cock, "'gonna get us caught if ya keep doin' that."

Maybe that's the point. Dying with his cock in your mouth. What a way to go.

Cautiously, you settle yourself up on his lap, one hand braced on his sturdy chest while the other guides him to where you want him the most. Blunt head spreading your folds with such ease that it's as if he was made to do it. Once you apply the slightest bit of pressure but allow him to slip forward, just a slight taste that has him grumbling beneath you. 

Drawing him back, he catches on your entrance, and slowly, as if moving too quickly will break him, you allow yourself to sink down. It's been a long while since the last time you felt the growing pressure that comes with such an intrusion, gradually stretching to accommodate his girth. 

You want to make a remark over the way he downright whimpers into the back of his hand, but you can't so much as make a noise. A little too distracted by how your walls mold to fit the shape of your backseater, filling spaces you forgot you even had. Then your hips are flush together, and it's as if your voice has been punched back into you.

"Fuck, Robby," panting like a dog, you're forced to brace yourself against his chest with both hands or else you'll collapse into a messy heap on top of him, "you could've at least warned me that you were packing."

He rolls his eyes. You hope they get stuck back there. "'m not that big," but he is, and it's so dizzyingly delicious to feel inside of you. Not necessarily long, but thick enough to warrant a wide-load sign. 

Experimentally, you lift your hips, testing the waters as you rise up, then slowly sink back down onto him. He hasn't even hit anything special, and yet it's enough to have your lips parting with a silent sound. You haven't the slightest clue where he's finding the strength to swivel his hips beneath you, blindly searching on each timid upward stroke. 

And then your breath is hitching, stars sparkling beneath your eyelids as his plush head finds the neglected bundle of nerves hidden within those gooey walls. There it is.

"Better?" He chirps, smiling. Evidently, he's not just good with buttons and switches in fighter jets.

Nodding. "Better" 

Drawing yourself up quicker now, barely clinging to his chest as you find your pace. Something shallow enough to avoid the aching in your thighs but quick enough to give you what you want. His head downright nails that poor little spot, has your cunt fluttering around him like a damn butterfly.

"Look so beautiful on top of me," he whines, absolutely awe-struck by the way your body moves, working up and down like you've trained for this moment all your life. His hips twitch upward, weakly meeting you halfway, and rips a surprised cry right out of your throat. "Fuck, 's that what you need, darlin'?" 

"Just like that, Bobby," you don't even know what you're saying, only capable of moving a little quicker, desperate to feel him strike that sensitive bundle again and again and again. "Bobby, just like that."

You want more. Need to hear his soft grunts that follow every lewd smack of skin on skin, need more of everything he has to offer you, but your thighs are growing sore. Muscles burning, begging you to stop. 

"Can't," you're trying, but your legs just aren't having it, unable to chase the familiar tightening of your core as you ride him. "I can't keep—"

"I got ya," there's an unfamiliar strength to his hands as they tighten around your hips. His upward thrusts are weak, but he pulls you down into them so hard that you can hardly notice a difference. 

Two motions of his hips, and you're crumbling like a house of cards, collapsing into his chest. All of a sudden, his name is the only thing you're capable of uttering, face hiding in the crook of his sweaty neck. You don't know where this is coming from, but you pray it never goes away.

"So good for me," he mindlessly babbles against your temple, "cum on my cock for me, sweetie."

His words have you clamping down around him like a vice, writhing as he fucks you. Rhythm faltering but downright merciless as he works that sensitive spot over and over, sends a fire rippling up your belly. Skin prickling as it builds, your mouth starts to move on its own. "Bobby, Bobby."

"Cum, darlin'," and he's saying more, some whispered encouragement to give it to him, but you don't need it. 

One, two, three more pumps of his cock, and you're biting down into his collarbone, unable to stop the strangled squeal that he just about jackhammers out of you. Distantly, you can feel his hips stalling, an unfamiliar heat filling you, but your head is back up in the clouds. Foggy, the air so thin that you can't catch your breath as you weakly pulse around his dick.

But this time, when you open your eyes after a long while, you don't find yourself surrounded by snow and an unfamiliar forest. No, you're wrapped in the strong arms of your Weapons Systems Officer, cock still wedged in you as he presses kisses to your sweaty forehead.

"Y'still with me?" He coos into your temple. 

Nodding, "barely." 

It's twelve hours before search and rescue are finally deployed to come and find you. It takes another twelve for them to release you and Bob from debriefing hell. It's an hour after that when the honorary "they're not dead!" celebration takes off. The cafeteria that houses the impromptu event reeks of alcohol, which may be the reason why nobody catches you and your backseater sneaking out of your own party. 

"I still can't believe you didn't break it," you muse, too focused on rewrapping Bob's ankle to pay attention to the fingers that stroke your cheek. The countless stitches look worse than the original gash itself did, sends a chill down your spine every time you see it. 

"See? I told you I was fine," his eye-roll is audible in his tone, never has been good at hiding it. 

Not missing a beat, you nip at his thumb, chasing his hand away from your face. You need to focus. The last thing you want to do is wrap his ankle too loosely or too tightly. But as you place the metal clasp back into his gauze, your work doesn't look too far off from the medics. 

"Better?"

"Not yet," tapping his lips, "'m still missing a little something."

Huffing, you lean up, meeting his lips halfway. You fear that you're slowly creating a kiss fiend. "Now, is it better?"

All of it is worth it when you get to see his face light up, features laced with a grin so big that his eyes wrinkle with it. "Better."

[ameliora-j]

Hey, hope you're doing good today 🤠 a blurb or HC on Sugar Daddy!Hotch coming home to reader 🥺👉🏾👈🏾

hi baby !! i’ve missed you on my page 🥹 i’m doin good how are you ? 🩷

content: fluff, sugar daddy!hotch, sugar baby!reader, fem!reader, suggestive at the end, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG MDNI

you sit on your large california king, painting your toes quietly. aaron was due home tomorrow night, and you wanted to make sure you were ready. you showered—shaving and exfoliating with all the expensive products that aaron had bought you. once you finished your shower, you had latered yourself in cocoa butter, and done your skincare routine.

you now have on your sheer pink fluffy robe—newest iphone propped up on your nail supply box as you facetime with aaron. your chin rests on your knee, funny bunny nail polish brush in hand as you delicately color your toes.

“why are you painting them yourself, princess? i would’ve sent money to get a pedicure” he frowns softly as he stops at a red light. he was in the car, driving back to the hotel for the night he had told you.

“i know daddy, jus wanted to pamper myself tonight” you explain, smiling softly at him. you gently fan your hand over the wet toes, attempting to dry them a bit before pushing them under the led light aaron got you after you complained about a nail tech not curing your nails correctly one time and needing to fix it.

he hums softly in understanding, turning his attention back to the road as the light turns green once more. “i miss you a lot” you pout softly.

“would you believe that i miss you even more, princess?” he smiles genuinely then, though still doesn’t look at you. you lean forward and snap a quick picture of him—his face illuminated by the gentle golden hour glow, smile dazzling in the sunlight.

your face heats a bit at his sentiment, and you smile softly. “jackers misses you too. jessica took him tonight, he fell asleep on the ride home from the waterpark and she told him she was making him monster pancakes in the morning” you giggle.

“oh yeah? did you ask for some monster pancakes too?” he teases, and you can’t deny that he looks undeniably sexy doing a simple task like driving as he pulls into a parking space.

“no, dickhead!” you giggle, throwing a paper towel at your phone screen.

he chuckles softly, humming a bit. “watch it, princess” he warns—gentle, but firm as he knows you’re only teasing. it’s a warning really, letting you know that you’re teetering close to the line.

“yes, daddy” you smile softly, and he hums a gentle ‘good girl’ as he gets out.

“i’m gonna head into the elevator soon, princess. so i’ll call you when i’m in the room, okay?” he smiles.

“okay, daddy. i love you” you smile.

“i love you too, gorgeous” he hums before hanging up.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ °

you have the tv turned up pretty loud, getting comfortable after you and aaron had hung up the phone. you knew that he was going to shower and settle in before calling again, so you had time to watch a bit more of your show.

once your toes had finished curing, you got everything pulled away and curled into your silk sheets, making yourself comfortable. the volume of the tv explains why you didn’t hear the door unlocked, and your focus on the show explains why you didn’t hear his shoes clicking up the stairs.

it was just getting to an intense part as aaron opened the door, the creaking of the hinges startling you a bit—causing you to jump. “aaron…” you gasp softly as you turn and see him.

“hi, pretty girl” he smiles softly. you stand from the bed, rushing over snd wrapping your arms around his middle in a tight hug. he hums in appreciation, hugging you back just as tight as he kisses your head. “missed you more than anything” he whispers, breathing in your scent.

it’s delicious. cocoa butter and a hint of vanilla—just you… home. “i missed you too” you murmur, leaning up and kissing his jaw. “you’re back early” you whisper, nuzzling against his chest.

“we finished early” he explains, rubbing a large, warm hand up your back. “wanted to surprise you” and he kisses your head once more. “well…since you just showered, how bout you let me cleaned up a bit, then we can cuddle and… make up for lost time” he smirks, squeezing your hip as he kisses your jaw.

“yeah daddy. that sounds good…” you hum softly, closing your eyes in pleasure as he nips your neck. “i’ll keep the bed warm for you” you whisper, smiling softly.

[gumballavocadoharry]

Estrangement:

*This is a POV of you and Harry's daughter Kaitlin. Yn= you and ofc Harry is your husband. Mentions of mistreatment towards their child. Not physical abuse but emotional neglect and somewhat abuse I guess.*

The wind shoved up against my curtains and the open window that let out a surreal glimpse into the real world. The California cotton candy sunset flashed it's colors in the sky, as the darkness of the soon to come night sky would befall it all. There I laid in bed, on my laptop checking out the Instagram friends I had for over the 2 years since I finally decided to create an account. I never posted anything, but it was an escape from the inhabitable environment of home.

Ah to be the middle child-the second to the oldest that was adored and loved by all the family. That was Kimberly. Our parents started the trend of naming us all with the letter K. Kimberly, Kaitlin, Kylie, Kameron and Kristopher (My brothers) and youngest named Kira. All six of with the letter...K. Although despite my name with the familiar syllable...that still didn't make me fit in.

Kimberly had her honors, her trophies hung up as prized possessions for achievements inside and outside school, Kylie had her art that she drew, even having an art wall put into her bedroom because....why not? Then the twins had their sports, the athletic side that earned them several trophies and praise from mom and dad, and then there was Kira. The baby of the family...she didn't have anything except cuteness that came as a surprise to everyone when the twins turned 6. She didn't have to work hard for attention, it came to her whether she wanted it or not.

Then there was me. In everyone's shadow. I liked poetry...I wrote some whenever I could find inspiration...but that didn't matter to anyone. My parents could care less. Kira appreciated it, so I would always doll out time to write about a mystical pony in the sky or a rainbow spotted cheetah that ran on the stars nighttime dust just to have a moment with the little girl before her bedtime.

My hair abruptly blew from the evening breeze that signaled it's reign. I typed away on the keys of my stone colored laptop, hoping one of my friends was up to chat. It wasn't often this peaceful in the house besides my bedroom, where laughter filled the hallways or the downstairs, or screams and cries echoed throughout bedrooms, mostly by the screaming toddler that didn't want to go to bed while all her siblings stayed up into late hours. That's where I'd come in with a story that sent little Kira right to sleep, hugging her stuffed moon pillow with the cutest little innocent face on it. Mom and dad never appreciated my efforts in putting my sister, their child to sleep. Almost like I was the ghost haunting the house just doing random deeds that no one felt the need to acknowledge.

Except for Kira, I was alone. The earthy sky and the now booming stars showed as my nightly companions if I happened to be up into late hours like tonight.

No reply from the instagram friends. The internet people from behind a screen that could live a thousand miles away from the scorching California summer, that despite the burning temperatures, still managed to give that bohemian summertime aesthetic all year round. Fall was a favored season of mine mostly due to the summer's temper finally cooling down for the year where sweat jackets were all anyone needed to step a foot outside.

My brown strands that were mixed with a honey blonde, laid neatly on my shoulders as I contemplated going downstairs to grab a drink. Maybe I'll be able to strike up a conversation with Kimberly about what type of tricks I can use to get the professor to lighten my load in my assignments. I was just kidding myself....goody two shoes will run to mommy and daddy and spill the beans, leading to a stern lecture about being honest and doing what's required of me in all I do in school despite never having the help I needed.

But to my luck, school was almost over and soon I'll be able to apply for a job that will land me into a steady track of a good income. I can say that I did this all by myself. My dad. The college professor at one of the most prestigious schools in the country couldn't even lift a finger to help me with any work even when I've asked. Long nights spent at the library, studying through every English literature book I could find is what pushed me up to the top tier. My mom being no better was a nag. She nagged me about nothing being done right with my chores all because I was 'studying' too much and was actually talking about me wanting to drop out.

I pushed them all away and forged a path on my own with the help of ambition and black coffee on those all nighters. I decided against going downstairs and just focused on my poetry. Little footsteps crawled through the mellow lit hallway and a soft knocked appeared on my door.

I carefully tiptoed to the door and spotted my little sister, sucking her thumb and finally suckling out about how she wanted another story read. I rubbed my strained eyes with some upcoming dark circles growing under them like a raccoon and invited her in. She took a seat on my bed as I read to her from a book of my poems that I had made myself. 

Kira giggled as I imitated the voices of the characters I had imagined for them. "And then the big horse said-"

"Kira what are you doing out of bed!?" Mom came in, eyes instantly reverting to me as if I had somehow forced Kira out of bed to listen to my somber poems filled with deep angst and bitterness that I dare not squawk out to dispassionate family. Not even Kira knows the depths of emptiness I feel from a day-to-day basis from the excruciating nonchalant parents I have that force me to swallow myself whole and shield myself yet at the same time whenever I can feel disapproval coming on strong. Only me, never Kim, Kam, Kris, Ky or Kir thank goodness. I couldn't bare my youngest sister going through the pains of not having someone. And when I'm gone, I dread to see just how much of that nightmare is true.

Mom swept Kira off the bed like dust being swept in a dustpan and sweetly carried her back into her bedroom. But not before letting me have it, like she saw me as some villain trying tear apart her family. "Kaitlin! You are not supposed to disturb your sister when she's sleeping! You know better!"

"It's okay mommy, I went into her room," Sweet Kira insisted. "It's okay honey, let's just get you back to bed." The woman's eyes diverted themselves back to me. This time with more coldness. "You stay in your room and be quiet. I don't want to hear a peep from you." She sneered. She whisked Kira away and that was that. I listened closely by the doorframe of my bedroom, only to hear exaggerated kisses coming from Kira's bedroom. A smile snuck itself onto my face somehow, maybe for the sake of Kira getting all the love she deserves.

Coldness covered my back like a blanket, as I could see mom leaving Kira's room. She stared at my room with a deep glare before continuing on downstairs. I quietly got up and went back to my bed, staring at the half read story that was written for Kira. My eyes gazed back to the stars that had now showed themselves with their yellow glares that shined down on my hazel eyes. One day....it'll all be over. I tucked myself into bed after doing a french braid and laid back in the purple and gray covers that kept me warm until dawn. My opened window still let in that summertime breeze that swished the sweat from my head and the tears from my eyes.

Then darkness. I was asleep.

I woke up to the sun glaring through my bedroom window, it's fumy glow rested on my face as nature's alarm clock. I rubbed my tired eyes to notice the window was still open from last night. The fresh morning dew air tickled my nose as it swirled around the sunlight sherbet sky. The curtains swung back and fourth to the rhythm of the wind that captured a cool breeze into my room that made it less sufferance than yesterday's furious heat that left everyone's tongues out panting like a dog.

I made my way downstairs, finally getting ahold of some orange juice before the breakfast rush came in. Peace and quiet, my personal serenity from the other seven residents living in the perfect big house on a white picket fence hill. I swallowed harshly at the thought and continued pouring my orange juice into a big glass cup with pretty little designs on it. I sat in the kitchen nook taking in the summer morning that allowed me my peace and happiness even if it was to be temporary.

I closed my eyes and let my mind take me into my safe space, my personal little bubble that kept me sane, happy and wanted. Bouncing on bubbles type of happy, sunflower kiss happy, swimming in a bed full of lavenders happy. I breathed taking it all in, letting my brain fill with all sorts of dreams. Maybe I could catch them if I just....

The atmosphere changed. Dad had entered the room...I could feel it. The deep dive I had taken into fantasy world, was now tethering me back up to the main land. The somber reality of it all. 

I opened my eyes, only to be met with distant and cold green ones that were so close, yet so far away. Hm, reminds me of Kristopher. He acted just like dad....only a little nicer. I was more accepting of his behavior because he's my brother....and siblings are supposed to tease each other right? But father's and daughters.....well dad's was more brutal...more condescending. It was inconsolable at times. The bright crimson sky had now metaphorically turned into an ugly black and grayish one filled with nightmares and turmoil. 

He didn't even say good-morning. And well neither did I so we're even. "Good morning." I said finally grasping myself from my biased rudeness. No sense for me to be a jerk as well. Still no response just a "Mhmm." It wasn't until Kim joined in that he greeted her with a kiss and a "Good morning" as usual. Once again, alienated. Pretty soon the whole crowd started coming in and I was sitting in the kitchen nook still alienated from the residents.

Loneliness engulfed me like a wave washing over sand and leaving it moist and crushed, as the pack started rolling in for the breakfast rush. I ended up making some toast, coffee and cereal and took it all upstairs to my bedroom to eat and relax. But as my luck had it, I heard my dad's voice shift from the living and then eventually to the staircase. "Kaitlin! Come here now!" He yelled with a repugnant sneer. 

I traipsed downstairs but was stopped midway by my dad putting his hand up. "What's this?" He said with a condescending tone. I looked down to see some spilled milk from when I was taking my cereal upstairs. "Milk," I answered. "I want you to come and clean this up." He finished, venom practically spilling from him lips. Dad pursed his lips and gave a strong grisly glare as I continued on down the stairs and made my way to the kitchen to grab some paper towels. As I returned, dad made me get on my hands and knees while he towered over me like a heavy rock threatening to crush it's little twigs that lie beneath it. He wanted me to feel powerless and patronized..that's where he got his second wind.

I cleaned up the mess and just took the paper towels upstairs with me to my bedroom, so I could tend to my soggy cereal and toast and cold coffee. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I took a sip from my cold watered down coffee. My small breakfast was ruined thanks to my dad who became livid over some spilled milk. I could hear him laughing it up with the rest of the family, not even caring that I wasn't to take delight in the family breakfast. I was too timid to even bother going downstairs and heating my coffee up, so I just took it as it was and left it at that.

My lips quivered as I took a bit from my toast and another from my cereal. I stomached through it and then tarnished the remains once I felt it safe to enter the kitchen. Kylie, Kimberly, Kristopher, Kameron and Kira were all the ones mom and dad seemed to truly love. The way mom flashes her natural motherly smile at them, they way dad grins as he shares his fatherly wisdom with them, encouraging them to give it their all and be the best version of themselves.

It was like seeing everyone's happiness through the eyes of a ghost. The only thing I focused on was throwing away my garbage and heating up a new cup of coffee. That's what I was getting because I deserved better. My spirits kept me afloat, through a complete tug-of-war with my heart and despondent thoughts. The beep of the microwave didn't stop anyone from their chatting, so I took my hot cup of coffee and made my way upstairs to my bedroom to drown myself in some school work. The sooner I graduated, the sooner I would be getting that job as a writer. I plugged in my headphones and drowned myself in writing my essay to send into the teacher.

Trade school was like that. But it was less stressful then college so I took that over any day, the last thing I needed was more heartache to add to what I was facing at home. My endurance was tested everyday with new and different things. I should be grateful. It's made me a stronger person I guess.

Later that afternoon, I asked mom if I could go to the library to study. I prayed she'd let me go because in her eyes, it would get me out of the house. Of course she said yes, probably thinking the same thing just in a more strident way of thinking. I grabbed my backpack and dashed out the door. The last thing I needed was another setback like the one dad gave me this morning. 

The library was finally peace and quiet. It reminded me of the tranquility of relief I felt this morning. Just me and the other 4 people scattered across the section. Disappearing for me felt freeing, no one could hurt me, no one could say anything that breaks down the brick wall that has encased me inside. I pulled a few promising books from the shelf before diving right into to a computer and finishing my studies there. My eyes moved back and fourth from the bright screen, then to the basic pages of the book. I was chiefly more focused on the book and writing notes into my online notebook to clear the clutter of having scattered flash cards or notebook pages that were trailed into different sections that after awhile became confusing and only gave me the bare minimum of what I needed.

My head was consistently shoved into a book for 3 hours straight until I decided enough was enough and that I needed to catch a break from all the studying. So I grabbed my backpack, swung it over my shoulder and left the library for some coffee. I walked along the sandy colored pathway to the nearest downtown coffee shop, only to see the line was overwhelmingly vast. The galling amount of customers was going to be too much for me to handle if I hadn't noticed the blonde haired boy serving the drinks. I quickly plopped myself in line, anxiously waiting to be served by the charmer making the lattes.

To my one in a million break, the line moved rather faster than when I had looked in the window. The varying customers left one by one out of the line with their espresso treats, while I was only three customers in from meeting fate in a green apron and a dimpled smile. My cheeks burned when I swore he made eye contact with me. These hazel eyes really captured his attention?

I was already rehearsing my order in my head for when I got to the counter as not to choke on the right words from a pretty face making direct contact with me. An iced vanilla latte with whipped cream and caramel drizzle.....and maybe one of those fudge brownies that look so delicious?

Finally was up to the line after the woman in front of me got her regular hazelnut coffee that she too impatient to drink once she was out of the line. I cleared my throat and looked confidently in the barista's eyes, despite his matching hazel ones being intimidating ample. "I-I would like an iced vanilla latte with whipped cream and caramel sauce. And a fudge brownie please." I politely requested.

The blonde haired boy typed in the order and asked if there was anything else I would like. "No that'll be all." He smiled and waited for me to hand him my card. With shaky, infatuated hands, I gave him my card to swipe. "Alrighty, you're all set." He smiled and immediately got to work on my coffee and snack. I blushed deeply as I remembered his fingers touched my hand as he took my card. I shuffled my card back into my wallet as a partial excuse to shield my face from his seeing me scarlet stained cheeks from his encounter.

Pretty soon, I saw my coffee was served right in front of me along with a packaged brownie cake and a handsome smile that farewelled me with; "Have a nice day." I smiled back and repeated those words to him before grabbing my coffee and brownie and then leaving. I shoved my phone into my pocket to enjoy my brownie and iced coffee as I walked along downtown and sight see all the different tall buildings that and the short offices that still added depth to the anomalous city. I finished my brownie, now it was just my coffee that needed my attention I sipped along to when I spotted a large building that sent phobic chill up my spine. My heart raced at an irrational but sensible speed the more I walked past it.

My father's school where he worked. Sure he was a hit with all the kids that he shared his immeasurable knowledge of life and of science with. Word on the street was Professor styles is a excellent teacher and his skills are astute! Even I had to agree with it to a perspective...dad was one very intelligent man. But a horrid father to me. I decided to suck in my hostage breath and face a very inhibit fear of mine that shouldn't even began to exist. I walked through the tall brownish red doors that led me to the highly lavish main floor of classrooms and lockers that were attached to the ornate walls. I chugged my coffee down anxiously as I wandered through the exquisite college that I felt out of place at.

My feet dared not turn to the cursed third floor, room 109 where my dad taught his classes there only to those who were desirable in his eyes...which was everyone but me. But my inquisitive brain was in full control of my feet that took me straight to the elevator, and pressed the third floor button almost as if it had some macabre pleasure in seeing myself become jaded and disgustingly humiliated from the elective situations I sometimes put myself in involving my parents. It was obvious that I just didn't have that type of relationship with them...I just didn't have it.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a still expensively decorated hallway and classroom door. My stomach grew into knots as I tiptoed down the quiet hallway nervously sipping my iced coffee to it's ending. My throat became dry and hollow and my lungs grew bitter the more my eyes darted across the different classroom door numbers.

107, 106, 108...109. 

My lips became dry and chapped as my now pale skin grew more and more white as shivers sprinted inside of me. My hands literally shook from wanting to open the door to the large college classroom styled like an auditorium just to sit in and maybe listen to a lecture from which my dad had rehearsed specifically for the class. Sweat introduced itself into my forehead as I thought about the consequences if I were to be seen by him. The embarrassment that I cause him might make his class lose respect for him which would then make him furious with me, leading to him making my life more of a living hell.

I decided it wouldn't be that bad since the lecture hall was so big, that it would be a in a million of him spotting me. Maybe, I just could ponder on one or two words that incited percipience in me. I opened the door and took a seat at the top that was hard to spot from a below point of view. I finished my coffee and listened intently to the lecture dad was giving on science and humanity.

"The human heart is a vital organ in the body that gives us life..it allows us to run and walk and jump and survive even in the most tedious situations. But what about the heart of the mind? The one that allows us to feel, to think, to see not with our eyes...but with our perception?"

I was so invested into the conversation that I didn't even realize the worst....I had been spotted.

Dad's eyes, once full of insight and deep logic...now were glacial, passionless and aloof. I swallowed hard to lubricate my throat from the tense dryness I felt all until now. Should I leave?  I wondered turning away from the gelid professor. I stood up and walked out of the lecture, not even caring what anyone else thought. They were probably too focused on the 'world's best teacher.'

I exited the school and ran as fast as I could outside, to get lost in the day-to-day of downtown. 

Back at home, I entered the house barely making eye contact with anyone and hurrying myself up to my room and locking the door behind me. I didn't come until later when I was called downstairs in a callous voice.

I demurely opened the door, stepped outside in the cold wooded floor hallway and walked down the matching icy wooded steps. There dad was sitting...waiting for me with resentment deep inside his expression. 

"Hey dad, mom says dinner is almost ready," Kristopher interrupted to my gratefulness. "Thank you bud, I'll be right there." A completely different man! So warm and gentle and was completely placated in his temper. But he switched it off when his eyes darted towards me. I came closer and sat across from him, almost wanting to intimidate him. 

"Why were you in the college today?" He said quietly with a hiss to his words. His illiberal tone made me rethink my answer that was drowning in my paralyzed throat that was dead to speak. "I-I heard your speech....I mean....I wanted to hear your speech because it was so good and I had just come back from the library and- "

"Isn't studying your own topic enough for you?" My dad sneered bitterly. "What are you taking these classes for if you can't even have the passion to listen to them?" I blinked back tears and swallowed hard as to not choke out a sob. "I don't want you doing that ever...again. Understood?" Dad looked at me with abhor, building deep in his eyes the more his eyes stared deeply into mine. I nodded before retiring to my bedroom and missing dinner that was waiting for everyone downstairs. My stomach growled harshly as the only thing I had eaten was a brownie and an iced coffee for the past few hours.

But my intemperate bitter sadness nested itself around me, as I cried into my pillow, tears puncturing wrinkles and damp spots into the pillowcase. I sobbed loudly into my pillow, not allowing room for any shallow breaths to escape my lungs that were too busy spilling out bottled up fuming emotions to care. It wasn't until a soft knock on my door interrupted my emotional fest. I doddered over to the door, wiping my face careen hoping the red eyes would be seen as an allergy.

I cracked open the oak colored door to see the little girl with the pigtails and two chocolate chip cookies in her hand, anxiously waiting for the door to open to her invite. "Hey Kira, what are doing?" "You didn't come down for dinner, so I brought you these cookies so you wouldn't be hungry."

My heart stung with hope. Someone...someone cared after everything that went on today. I meekly opened the door and invited Kira in. I shared the other cookie with her maybe as a subliminal award for caring. And because, I was deeply grateful for her generosity. As much as I tried to hide it, the sweet 7 year old noticed my teary trails and my red burning eyes of sadness. "Why are you crying Kaitlin?" She had that innocent little lisp that foiled her from saying my name in it's clearness, but I fully understood what she meant.

I sniffled, chocking back a pathetic cry as to not let a 7 year old know every painful detail, detailing the atrocious events of tonight. "Katie's very sad because she had a bad day." To put it simply. Kira nuzzled herself over to me and hugged me tightly in her little arms. Her puny little body, filled a warm sensation of love that was describable in this moment. If I could pick her up and move her with me when I go, I would no doubt about it.

After everyone had retired themselves upstairs for leisure or sleep, I snuck downstairs to the kitchen where the leftovers were stored away and plopped a reasonable portion of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and asparagus onto my plate that I heated in the microwave oven for a measly 3 minutes. I had poured a glass of lemonade and made a neat napkin with a fork and then moved quicker than light upstairs with my dinner once it was finished. 

I ate silently in my room, concentrating on each bite that I collected with my fork and hungrily shoved into my mouth. Once my dinner was finished, I set aside my plate and got to work on some more assignments. The sky was a peach rose-colored that struck awe with me. The subliminal stars appeared in the sky as the day was soon about to hand it's shift over to a mystifying night that would have more of jovial breeze than the burning summer's eve. The weather shouted California as the summer gained more reign through the months.

I still admired the way the heat itched my skin, and the way the sun slapped it's sunny glow onto my face in the morning. It just felt so earthy and sweet, refreshing as I would say taking a walk into the woods where the sun played peek-a-boo behind the tall lanky trees and that ignited the gentle birds to tweet their song like melodies with such grace.

A prompt I had used for my writing assignment earned me a meritorious A+. I remembered the last time I had showed my parents an A+ I had received from a class, their reaction was that of a nonchalant wind blowing the green grass in the midday. "That's nice Kaitlin." Mom said with distance. "Nice." Dad had barely looked up from his cell phone. That was more important. "Had I offended them?"  My 6 year old mind thought. But no, that was just their initial reaction....their typical reaction.

I was used to giving myself pats on the back for a job well done or from a unwonted teacher who would praise me and give me a reward for my hard work. Usually it was those ones who showed up to my recitals, to my plays and to field day where I showed off any talent I had in those categories. I just focused on that. Not the reality of my parents shoving us all in the car to see the twin's soccer games, or Kylie's art shows or Kimberly's extracurricular college activities. I sniffled while writing the last sentence of my writing assignment. I sent it in and then logged out for the night, wanting to catch up on some well needed rest.

I woke up the smell of bacon cooking. My tummy growled as I thought about the sweet meal that was waiting downstairs. I knew I would never be apart of it, but nothing like that was going to faze me seeing at how I was only two assignments short from graduating. Everything was set, my money, empty boxes ready to be filled with every belonging I had ever owned in this room and a present for Kira. She needed it, after all....I wasn't ever coming back. Exhilaration climaxed through my body as my pins and needles tongue finally licked my lips to motivate them to open in a delighted open smile that flashed my deep dimples and my cherry sour lips.

Rent for an apartment was going to be no problem as I had already started creating my resume. All I needed was the degree that would set it all on track for me. I had saved some energy bars away in my desk and nibbled on them before grabbing my backpack filled with the most important books and raced downstairs. "Hey," I interrupted as the room fell silent. Not with grasping attention toward the speaker because of the importance of their words, but because of the murk hue that spoiled the family's breakfast. My siblings looked at me with confusion while my parents looked on with a sullen glower look. 

"Could I go to the library? I really need to study," As if they needed an explanation. Mom looked to dad, waiting for an answer. "Be back by 5....it's your brother's soccer match tonight." I nodded gratefully and escaped the house as they continued their lovely meal. In a feeling a nostalgia, I practically skipped to the library for the last time in a sense of studying. This was it...the moment I had been waiting for my entire life! My ticket to self freedom. Finally setting myself free from the sinkhole of my home. Or should I say current place of residence.

I hopped on the computer and completed the two assignments with such ease, that I wondered if I was really that lucky. The words; Congratulations Kaitlin! You have officially completed your course in creative writing. Your graduation date will be posted to your home page along with the expected arrival date of your diploma.

Tears...tears fell freely from my eyes looking back and fourth at the screen of my success. I celebrated with a coffee and trip to the store to buy myself a beautiful locket in remembrance of this day. 

As promised, I was home by five cautiously coming through the door, and wiping my sneakers off on the welcome mat as routine. My backpack tiredly slung over my shoulder tracing itself down to my elbow as I shut the rounded shaped blue door soundly to announce my punctual presence in the house. Confusion stabbed me as to why they would want an 'outcast' at the soccer game when they didn't even want me at the dinning room table?

I walked upstairs and changed clothing not realizing the house being suspiciously quiet. "Mom, dad? I'm home!" Those words cringed well with me. I checked everyone's bedrooms, but no one in sight. I called their cellphones, but no answer. I sat in my room, staring up at the ceiling in what to do next. The white colored plastered ceiling didn't give me any idea as to where everyone had gone. To the store maybe? 

Hours passed until the sound of the door unlocking grabbed my attention. I rushed to the stairwell to see the whole gang coming in with Kristopher and Kameron holding their trophies while being cheered on by everyone for a great game. It still didn't register with me that maybe the game started earlier and they didn't have time to call me? Or was that giving them too much of an inch? 

It was simple....they didn't want me there. 

It shouldn't have hurt by now as I already knew I wasn't part of the family, but that didn't stop me from racing back to my bedroom and crying my eyes out in my pillow again. There was no questions about it anymore....

It was time to go.

Part 2 will be posted soon!!!!!

[murfeelee]

inZOI demo - It's awesome!

This demo blows TS4's CAS Demo clear out the water, it's not even close (my rants: X X).

Overall, I'd give inZOI a 9/10 for girls, 8.5/10 for guys (cuz they get way less options, as usual).

What immediately struck me's that the UI is finnicky AF. The screen text on the UI' s so dang faint that I was squinting the whole time, unable to really SEE where the buttons were.

[EDIT 8/23/24] I'm watching someone try the demo on Youtube and I feel dumb--you CAN change the color of the default background! Thank goodness! (We should be allowed to change the color of the text too, though.)

The color wheel needs the preset/copy ability The Sims has, so I'm not always inputting the same colors for every CAZ part. For some reason it does NOT like 000000 (black) as a color input for accessories, which is annoying.

But the GRAPHICS QUALITY, zomg.

(I tried to give Sakura pointed elf ears, lol.) We need more sliders on the zois' faces & body, but they're off to a GREAT start.)

The zois are absolutely stunning--these are the graphics I was praying for when TS4 was first announced, not that playdough garbage EA barfed up.

This aesthetic gives me HEAVY Cyberpunk2077 vibes, especially when the nail selector popped up--I love it.

(We just need TATTOOS & facial piercings!)

The hairs are ok--I LOVE that you can change the length--but it's only on SOME of the hairs, not all. Definitely need more variation & texture diversity--even EA had more braids, fros, dreads, curls, etc.

The clothes, shoes & ACCs options are modern, and some are VERY stylish, but kinda plain IMO (esp. the shoes, ick). My fave bottoms are the ninja-esque pants, which is why Sakuryuu are both wearing them--I was hoping for WAY more traditional Asian representation in the fashion department, wtf. U_U The textures are lovely--I love the shiny metallics. (We need some sheers though.) I want more shiny sequins & leather textures on the clothes--I need that the sequin jacket IRL.

The makeup's my favorite part--the eyes have soooo many options--you KNOW I had to give Ryuu slit eyes like a dragon/snake!

And I gave Sakura glitter & highlights. They just need to let us stack multiple makeup & jewellery, and we'll be gravy.

I expect/hope there'll be more options in the full release--this IS just a demo.

As for the cities, apparently the 3 worlds we're getting are Korea, Indonesia, & California--Pacific coasts, makes sense. They're locked off for the demo, but at least we got to see the map.

(As soon as I saw Indonesia I knew I had to go right back in and make my husband, Magnus Bane~!)

My laptop's nothing to write home about, but it ran super quiet while the demo was running (it definitely runs better than my Steam Deck, which was running kinda choppy). So here's hoping it doesn't effing COMBUST when I start sending zois into the city come full release.

THE HYPE IS REAL!

[ilguna]

☼ trick question pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick admitted you were his celebrity crush in his last interview, this year, he has something to reveal.

warnings; swearing

wc; 1.9k

part two

–

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have the up and coming model from California joining us today!” Caesar Flickerman shouts with a wide grin on his face, hand extended out in the direction of Finnick, “Finnick Odair!”

Finnick takes the steps one at a time, being careful as to not let his dress shoes get caught on the carpet. He’s watched Caesar’s show plenty of times before, and he’s seen plenty of other people make the mistake of dragging their feet. All it takes is the top of the brand new shoe and you’ll trip.

Finnick smiles brightly, waving at the live audience. There’s only one stray whistle that comes from an audience member in the back. From what he remembers from the last time he was on the show, there shouldn’t be any loud noises in order to prevent the sensitive microphones from blowing. The fan should be let off easily.

“Welcome back!” Caesar says, Finnick extends his hand.

“It’s great to be back, Caesar.” They shake hands, and then Finnick settles on the couch, “I thought that the last time I was here would be the only time.”

“Why’s that?”

Finnick makes a face, “I didn’t think I’d be popular enough.”

“Well, congratulations on being popular.” He laughs, sitting in his chair, crossing a leg, “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Oh great.” Finnick muses, “We should get started then.”

“Yes, I wanna ask you about your latest experience with fashion. You’ve been doing a lot of shows recently, especially with the fashion designer Cinna.” Caesar becomes more serious, “What’s it like working with him?”

Finnick nods, “Cinna’s brilliant, really. I’m lucky to wear more of his tame ideas, rather than the bright and shiny ones.”

“Yes, because we all know how Cashmere and Gloss feel about them!” He laughs, “I do have a question, since you work very closely with other models. How is the young Katniss Everdeen? Is she adjusting well? I heard that the flammable piece was almost a break for her.”

“I can’t say, exactly. I wasn’t present for the conversation between her and Cinna. I did hear from their contract manager that she was looking into other stylists if they couldn’t accommodate her.” Finnick tilts his head, “Since she is—as you said—young, she’s very careful about how she approaches revealing her body.”

“That’s right, those contracts can be very demanding.” Caesar agrees, “I remember you telling me that it almost cost you your job to ask for different clothes.”

“I’m very lucky that I have wonderful friends that would take the fall for me like that, even if the outfits aren’t designed for their body types.” Finnick nods, “As unfortunate as it is for the stylists to have their clothes stretched, it’s not worth a model's discomfort. I did explicitly say that I wasn’t comfortable exposing my body.”

Caesar nods, “Would you have worn that second flame piece if Cinna had asked you?”

Finnick lets out a laugh, “Well, Peeta and I are two different sizes. It surely would’ve been uncomfortable to wear. However, if he had told me that he couldn’t do it, I would’ve tried to make it work.”

“Peeta and Katniss are very lucky to know you.”

“I’m lucky to know them.”

Caesar tilts his head, “While we’re on the topic, I heard that you and Johanna Mason are working on your own line.”

Finnick tries to hide his smile. He’s been asked about it in every interview under the sun lately. They don’t know what the line is, and neither him nor Johanna are planning to release it to the public just yet. They’re working on a beauty line that’ll cover most of the bases. Finnick wants to cover skincare, and Johanna wants natural dyes for hair so it’s less damaging, since she changes her hair color often.

“We’re working on something, yes.”

Caesar raises his eyebrows, “Are you open to discussing any detail about it?”

“It won’t surprise the public when it does come out. That’s all I’ll be saying as of right now. Johanna likes to keep her projects secret, and I’m not trying to get on her bad side.” Finnick laughs, Caesar joins in.

“That’s fair, okay.” There’s a mischievous smile that crosses Caesar’s face, “Do you remember the last time you were here and I asked you about your celebrity crush?”

Finnick lets out an audible sigh, he can feel the heat returning to his face. He doesn’t know how Caesar has such a way with words, but he managed to get Finnick to admit who he likes in front of a live audience. Which then proceeded to trend on Twitter, and then further get the attention of the girl that he’s liked for a while now.

“Don’t remind me.”

“I will be, actually.” Caesar laughs, “Remind me, who is it?”

“Do we have to do this, Caesar?” Finnick chuckles, but complys, “Her name is (Y/n) (L/n).”

“And what is she known for?”

It’s a good thing that Finnick knows where he’s going with this, “For those of you at home and in the audience that don’t know who (Y/n) is, she’s an actress. Show them what she looks like, Caesar.”

He laughs, and the screen behind him changes to be a picture of you from the red carpet a month ago for a premiere. There’s a pretty smile on your face and your body is halfway turned to give them the illusion that you were going to walk away, but it was just a pose that most do.

Caesar clears his throat, “Everyone, (Y/n) plays a number of characters across tv shows and movies alike. She has a liking for the darker themes, and she leans towards apocalyptic and dystopian movies the most, and shows that have repeating criminal activity that centers around the character.”

Finnick nods, rubbing his neck, “She normally plays the gruesome characters and she does it beautifully, alright?”

There’s a few laughs, Caesar raises his eyebrows, “What about her do you like, Finnick? Be more specific.”

Finnick rolls his eyes, “I said that she captivates me every time she’s on screen. She’s a wonderful actress and I find myself being pulled in with the story.”

“But only for her, right?” Caesar teases, “Not for someone as handsome as Beetee Latier?”

“I’m sure Beetee is also an amazing actor, but we’re talking about (Y/n).”

“That we are. I saw a number of tweets of hers from the last time you were here.” Caesar laughs, as the screen behind him changes to be the screenshots they took of the interaction.

Finnick shakes his head, “Don’t do this.”

“We’re doing this. Ladies and gentlemen, it seems to me that (Y/n) had a lot to say.” Caesar flicks through the screenshots. It’s mostly of you replying to other people talking about the interview that took place last year. The slideshow quickens, “A lot. But from what my crew gathered, she was very flattered.”

“Very. What can I say? I’m a flattering man.” Finnick smiles.

“So flattering that you somehow managed to get her phone number.” Caesar raises his eyebrows, “Can I tell them?”

Finnick motions, “Well you’ve basically told them already.”

Caesar turns suddenly, slapping his hands on his thighs, “Finnick and (Y/n) became official. I want everyone to give a big welcome to (Y/n)!”

You peek your head out from behind the curtain with a scrunched nose. You follow Finnick’s directions from earlier, warning you about tripping on the carpet, especially in these heels. You’re sure to lift your feet and walk carefully. Caesar and Finnick are now on their feet.

You hug Caesar slightly, give a wave to the audience, and then turn to Finnick. He knows that he can’t touch your face, he’s got in the bad habit of doing it lately, and it’s been hard to break him out of it. You wish it wasn’t that easy to ruin your makeup, but there’s not much you can do.

You press a kiss to Finnick’s lips, and pull away giggling when the audience cheers louder. Finnick sits, and watches you carefully as you tuck the dress under you, turning your legs to the side so that your knees almost touch Finnick’s legs. The worst part about wearing a dress is sitting down.

Finnick takes your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“(Y/n), I believe this is the first time we’re meeting.” Caesar says.

“With the exception of backstage, I’d say so too.” You laugh, they do too.

“Tell me, what was it like meeting Finnick for the first time in person?”

You tilt your head, “He’s a gentleman through and through. I could’ve asked for the world on that first date and it was clear to me that he would’ve found a way to do it.”

“And you didn’t ask for the world?”

“I decided to save that for the second date.”

“What was it like hearing that Finnick had a crush on you?”

You make a face, “Weird, if I’m honest. He’s a celebrity in the modeling world. I’m a celebrity in the acting world. It’s almost as if we shouldn’t collide, and yet we’re still here. You can see weird couples all across the Capitol, it’s really something else.”

“That’s very true.” Caesar agrees, “Someone told me that you were trying to get Finnick into acting.”

“Yes, I am.” You give a look to Finnick. He’s already shaking his head, “He thinks I’m lying when I say that he has potential. I think he could be phenomenal outside of modeling if he wanted to. If he decided that he didn’t like acting, modeling will still be there for him.”

“You think that Cinna would allow him to come back?” Caesar asks curiously.

“I’ve talked to Cinna on a couple of occasions. He’s a very understanding man, and he would do a lot for his models, including letting them come back from a break. For a lot of other companies, it’s a one-and-done sort of deal. Finnick’s fortunate that he has Cinna.”

“What do you think about acting, Finnick?”

“The idea’s growing on me, I’ll admit.” Finnick smiles, “I don’t think I’ll feel comfortable doing it if (Y/n) isn’t beside me to help, but it’s hard getting a job beside her because they’re looking for a certain level of expertise.”

“And that’s true, but a lot of actors and actresses get weird roles all the time. I’m a good example of that. I was told when I first joined the industry that I’d never get the gory roles, and now those are all I get.”

“Out of spite, I presume?”

“Partially.” You laugh, “But also because I set my mind to it. That’s why I believe Finnick can do it too.”

Finnick softly smiles at you, “I love your confidence in me, but I’m not feeling the same way.”

You shake your head at Finnick.

“Well, I think it’s about time we took a break.” Caesar says, you and Finnick nod. Caesar turns to face the camera, “When we come back, we’ll discuss (Y/n)’s brief experience with modeling and why she chose not to go on. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”