was originally starsyoubreaklikesugardust, seeking refuge.
caroline, in my 20s. fanfic writer (mostly for hasan,ludwig, charlie/slimecicle) lots of shit posting ahead. unfortunately a chronic mobile user, and also stupid with technology so no fancy anything here
i’ll tag fics as #carolinewrites master post here.
Tw: cursing, gator might be OOC (i tried my best), step dad!gator (girl dad gator)
or: the one where gator learns a dance routine
you met gator after everything had truly, properly gone to shit.
you won’t realize this until much later-months upon months when the dust settles, when you’re no longer in fight or flight, constant tingling hands and jumping at the sound of nothing.
Gator stumbles into your life.
he’ll recall this differently later, puffed chest, standing up straight: “darlin’, the only one who stumbled in was you-“ he’ll throw his hands in the air like you’ve had this conversation before, “and i mean literally stumbled-“
that’s a story for another day.
the house settled around you. expanded, made space for another soul, forgive the last ghosts-made a new space for a highlighter pink toothbrush (your daughters idea, for Gator) breathed in space for a new hat by the door, after a while it was like there was never a before Gator, only an after, or at least-the only thing that matters
racing home before seemed like something you’d dread. sure, your daughter was there and made the place breath easier, made the house seem not so big (and too small at the same time) but home meant everything you missed out on, everything to catch up on.
now you go to the old door (now fixed, Gator would remind you gently, the screen no longer hanging half on, doesn’t creak and groan and protest when too open it, don’t have to say a prayer as you shove your knee into the door just hoping it’ll open) now the door is slightly ajar. on a busier day, you’d miss it; pass it by without another thought, shove your keys back into your purse and figure you’d forgot to close it all the way that morning, grateful for once that nothing bad happens in this town anyways.
the music blasting from the front room is a dead giveaway. something that’s all bass, sounds like it’s from your daughters dance competition and less like an actual song you’d listen to driving.
“gator,” you hear, all giggles, “you didn’t have to-“
you nudge the door open further, see his hat already on the rack, along with his vest and everything he owns, place your own coat on it and slowly tip toe to the noise.
“well i did, darlin’,” he sighs, uses a hand to push back his hair that’s already slicked back, his forehead already damp, “it’s this that you miss-“
his feet are sloppy but the idea is still there, can still see what he means, what he’s trying to do-sloppy feet are pointed, turned in and flipped,
“see,” he says, “it’s almost like they’re tryin’ to trick ya, honey. ya got remember-“ he doesn’t finish, feet sliding and turning, “now you try, i’ll watch.”
she hesitates for a second and he crouches down more, makes himself smaller, “you’re overthinkin’ it, honey. try again. you can do it.”
she hesitates, like Gator is going to give her the same cruelty he’s only been met with but instead he nods, crouches and rests his palms on his knees as he watches carefully.
she does it, carefully, just like gator but with maybe a little more grace, more practice, more tears over it.
“there we go!” gator claps as she turns out, a large smile on his face, “i told you-“
he’s reaching to ruffle her hair as you clear your throat and eyes immediately snap to you.
“mama!” she all but runs to you, engulfs you in a large hug before running back to her spot on the carpet and trying it again.
gator slowly makes his way to you, bashful all of a sudden, like you haven’t seen him soft like this.
“i didn’t know you could dance.” you tease gently as he hugs you, hides away in you:
“if it’s important to her,” his lips against your cheek so you can still feel the buzz of them, of him, “it’s important to me.”
he pulls away, uses his finger to lift your chin up and kisses you on the lips hard again, like he means it.
Every once in a while, I wish the friendship meter from the Sims was real so that way when people tell me "I used Chat-GPT" they can visually see just how much respect I just lost for them in that moment.
