#all the time i think about when i was like sixteen and i wrote a phanniefic and someone reblogged it and tagged it “ew” and nothing else | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saerins · 2 years ago

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─── 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

+ sae x f!reader | wc 5.3k

notes: i’m in love with this man, and wrote this on a whim :’) hope y’all like it !! feedback & reblogs are greatly appreciated !! <3

summary: you’ve known sae since you were both sixteen. he’s always dreamed of going overseas and facing the world, will he ever be ready to come home?

𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

sae can read almost everyone flawlessly, you included.

he’s not close to you, not at all. physically? yes, because you’re his seat partner. but in all other aspects? no, definitely not.

you’re scared of him, he can tell. whenever he moves, you get self-conscious, immediately pulling your own chair in, giving him way. then you check on him as he moves away, because you’re scared that somehow you’ve managed to offend him.

you never did. because to offend sae, you’d need to be someone who can even bother him in the first place.

sae doesn’t care about what you do though, he just happens to notice you. out of convenience, because he sees you every monday to friday and sits next to you for every class.

it’s the same routine thing every week—you sit next to each other, barely say a word all day and then before he knows it, it’s the end of school day.

it doesn’t even matter. you don’t matter.

nobody really does.

he peeks at you out of the corner of his eyes, your eyes peering down at your paper with the utmost concentration. he quickly looks away though, because the last thing he wants is to get caught and be labeled as a cheater on a history quiz. especially when he’s not cheating.

yeah, you really don’t matter.

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

soccer, soccer, soccer.

that’s all sae can think of nowadays. just do whatever he can to improve his skills, everything else is up for debate.

you’re still his seatmate, still ever so distant. he gives you credit though, for greeting him every morning now even though you look terrified and nervous all the time.

“good morning.”

today is no exception. sae’s eyes flick up to you and then back down to his desk, and that’s all of the acknowledgement you get, as usual. it’s nothing personal, he just doesn’t want to get into small talk at all.

but he’ll give you points for trying, even if he doesn’t exactly know what’s going through your head right now. somehow, he can’t read you as well anymore.

that’s how you usually are now, the newer version of you. a little more upbeat, a little friendlier, less awkward but still as shy as he first pegged you to be.

well, now you’re just slightly more amusing. somehow, sae starts to find himself wondering how you’d react to different situations.

it’s almost the middle of the school year and you’d kept up with your usual greetings everyday. sae keeps up with his usual stoic demeanour on his part.

until today.

“good morning!” you’re extra chirpy today, he notices.

sae blinks at you once, twice, and you’re still smiling at him, and he’d like to know whether you’re still that same nervous mess inside, so he opens his mouth this time.

“morning, y/n.”

simple, easy, basic courtesy.

but somehow you’re looking at him as though he’s a fucking freak.

to be fair, that’s exactly what he expected. but it’s now been a whole minute and you’re still staring dumbly at him.

“what?”

you shake your head, laughing sheepishly as you take your seat beside him, “nothing, it’s just… you never bothered talking to me before.”

sae shrugs, because it’s not like he bothers now, per se. he’s just—what’s the word—bored? “i can shut up too if you prefer that.”

“no!”

you look so embarrassed by your quick outburst that sae almost snickers. that’s the most reaction you’ve nearly managed to get out of him yet.

“i mean,” you stutter, looking for the right words to say, and maybe sae is getting a little bit of an ego boost right now because he can tell you’re flustered. “you’re pretty terrifying most of the time so…”

he knows what you mean, but he acts like he doesn’t. “oh, so you like terrifying? okay, i can do that.”

the way your face instantly switches to a straight expression is fucking amusing, and for a split second his guard falls and you get to hear him snicker.

luckily, the bell rings right after and mr hayato is never late. sae never got to hear what you thought of that.

every single day after that passes by a little bit easier, your non-friendship inching a little closer together, sae might even consider you an acquaintance now.

he converses with you a lot more fluidly (as much as he allows himself to—he doesn’t like you being too comfortable, likes to keep you on your toes), and he finds himself teaching you things he notices you’re absolutely horrible at.

like logarithms, because no matter how much you try to wrap your head around it, you refuse to ask anyone for help. you’re a little stubborn, but sae can live with that, just has to speak to you in a way that doesn’t seem like you look like you need help.

“no, you’re forgetting that the log of e is always one, there, see?” sae sighs as he explains, because you’re quite muddle-headed. “it’ll be much easier once you get all the definitions in your head.”

“were you born a genius or something?” you ask innocently upon catching his test scores. a 94 out of 100, compared to your 63.

that day, neither of you notice the fact that other people are beginning to notice your growing friendship.

sae starts tutoring you whenever he can, because apparently you’re hopeless without his help. (he says this to your face. he’s always straight with you.) and then he finds himself noticing you in ways he never did before.

how you look absolutely angelic when the sun hits your face. he notices the way you puff out your cheeks when you’re thinking hard. even the perfume that wafts through the air. you smell good.

this is ridiculous.

“hun, do you want any—”

fuck. sae’s head whips around to see an older woman at your door, almost a carbon copy of you, eyes wide as her gaze falls onto him.

no, he’s not particularly nervous or feels like he should be, but something tells you if your mother is anything like you, she’d misunderstand. this is just a lot more trouble than it’s worth. you’re a lot more trouble than it’s worth. what’s he even getting out of tutoring you?

“oh hi there! and who might you be?”

he can see stars in her eyes, all hopeful and excited as she shifts her gaze between you and sae and back to you again.

“mom! he’s no one—” ouch, he’s tutoring you and you introduce him as no one? “a friend and he’s tutoring me for some math stuff so could you…?”

it’s like the gears are turning in your mother’s head when she eyes sae knowingly. god, he has to do some damage control. don’t want either of you expecting anything much out of him.

“i’m itoshi sae,” he introduces himself, shaking her hand. “i just make time to tutor some of my classmates to earn extra credit.”

not even close to true, but neither of you need to know that. he’d much rather spend his free time getting in some training or going to the gym but he decided maybe he could spend a few hours out of today to help your dumbass with numbers.

he’s an expert at sidestepping small talk and in no time at all, your mother’s out of the room. you still seem embarrassed, he can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks.

“concentrate,” sae sighs, and he wonders why he’s even doing this for you. he’d rather go home right now, he thinks, maybe kick the ball around with rin, or just lie down in bed because waking up at 4am to train every morning is taking its toll.

you mumble a hushed apology and rub the sleepiness from your eyes. the both of you had been at this for a couple of hours now, maybe looking at numbers too much is making you tired too.

sae acknowledges you’re a fast learner though, if you have a proper teacher. he’s not surprised that ms kina’s teachings are lost on you—she’s not that good at explaining concepts. sae is, though. he usually doesn’t bother sharing but hey, maybe now is just a glitch in the matrix, maybe now he’s just trying to do good samaritan things and help you out so you don’t fail the damn midterm test.

“okay then, see you,” he says, picking up his bag and slinging it around his shoulders, only to have you grab his wrist. “what?”

you look a little bashful once you realise what you did, and then you let go of him immediately. you look like you really want to say something, but you don’t, you just shake your head.

don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.

sae’s putting his bag back down before he knows it, and he groans internally. “say it.”

“if-if you don’t mind, maybe we could schedule a tutoring session every week?” you’re so, so timid and so, so soft.

he blinks once, twice, realising what you actually mean to say. you don’t want the tutoring session, apart from logarithms you’re fine with pure numbers, but you want time. with him.

it boosts his ego a little, if he’s being honest.

“i’m too busy with my soccer trainings,” he tells you, nonchalant until he sees how quick your expression falls and then he has to hate himself for continuing, “i have some time on friday evenings though.”

like a puppy, you’re instantly chirpy again, saying how maybe he could tutor you after he’s done with whatever stuff, and how you’d get a head start and grab some seats at a cafe or something.

you’re both seventeen when your weekly tutoring sessions start. it’s beyond himself why he agreed. all he knows is that he doesn’t particularly like being the reason your expression goes sad.

first week in, you’re still too nervous, too jumpy.

the second week, you’re a little too full of nonsense, daring to laugh at him, or with him, depending.

by the fifth week, your bare arm is already brushing his and you’re not even flinching.

you’re both seventeen when sae realises that maybe he cares for you. in the way lovers do. in the way he gets you to walk on the safer side of the sidewalk. in the way he sends you home every friday. in the way he actually responds to your goodnight texts and wakes up waiting for your good morning.

in the way he listens when you tell him that your mother is actually sick, that you want to take care of her. that your dream is simple—to find your passion one day, and to be able to earn enough to let your mother live peacefully, to help her fight whatever she has to because you don’t want her to be alone.

in the way, for the first time in his life, he reaches out to you, putting his hand on top of yours as he lets you cry on his shoulder.

your birthday falls on a friday this year, and he tells you not to bring your books that day in class. you look at him with pure shock, but then quickly adjust yourself and bring up a grateful smile.

“yes, sir.”

that night he meets you up on the rooftop of your complex, in the middle of the carpark, and you’ve never looked any happier than you did when you saw him holding that petite round galaxy cake in his hands, the sparkler candles so pretty in the night.

“happy birthday.”

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

the next school year starts and sae enters into it still close to you as ever. you haven’t met in just over a month, what with sae’s intense training camps and your family holiday. but the both of you still talk to each other daily, and he finds himself waiting for your response every night.

it’s like the both of you are in a relationship, but neither of you are saying anything about it. whatever this relationship-non-relationship is, sae thinks he likes it.

but it’s barely three months into the school year and sae has to break your heart.

“it’s the opportunity of a lifetime, i’m sure you understand right?” his coach rambles on, disgusting with how he’s talking with his mouth full and chips keep falling out of it.

sae nods, because he does. he’s almost sure he’ll go for it. it’s not everyday kids from japan get offered a spot to play for a european club.

“great! so let’s get your parents involved and get you to spain.”

“yeah, sure.”

it’s frustrating how he’s not more excited. it’s there, but it’s faint, because it’s lingering on the traces of his feelings for you. he’s never really thought this far, and maybe that was his fault. he’ll keep that in mind; he can’t risk this situation again. he can’t risk getting your hopes up and being the reason that they’ll never recover.

minimise damage, yeah, that’s what he has to do.

you go from talking endlessly in class to being quiet because sae is trying to concentrate. you go from meeting every friday outside of school to every other friday, to once every month, to none at all. you go from texting a good morning and a goodnight every day to barely getting responses from sae, barely ever even get your messages read.

then one day sae just doesn’t show up to school at all. and you finally hear that he’s been scouted for a club in spain, that he’s going to be away for god knows how long. and then you realise that maybe that’s why he’s been distant lately, because you refuse to believe that the sae who took so much time out of his busy schedule for you, the sae who made the effort to buy you a birthday cake and spend all night on the carpark just listening to you talk on and on about insignificant things because you were nervous, the sae who you fell in love with—you refuse to believe it wasn’t real.

that’s why you hold your hopes up and ride your bicycle to his house, which you’ve been to once before, just outside though, because you’d asked him where he lived and he finally obliged. it’s still beautiful as ever, neat garden lined with flowers and a soccer field in the back.

when you knock on the gate, you see a familiar face come out; it’s itoshi rin, his younger brother. you only know that because sae’s spoken about him a few times, and you saw a picture of the both of them together on his phone.

“oh, um, hi, who are you?” rin asks, cautiously, because evidently, he’s never seen you.

“uh, i’m one of sae’s… classmates,” you decide, and it stings that you realise you can’t even say that anymore. how did it all spiral from cloud nine? “is he home?”

rin blinks a few times. his lower lashes are slightly longer than sae’s, he’s carrying a soccer ball, and you just know he’s been training all day because he’s sweating from head to toe. sae has said rin wanted to be a striker just like him.

“oh, didn’t you hear? my big bro got scouted, he left for spain last night.”

it shouldn’t be this upsetting—he isn’t even your boyfriend. no matter how much you wanted him to be. he was just… someone you studied with, spent time with, made efforts for.

but something forms in the pit of your stomach when you hear that sae’s already gone, that he’s already halfway to spain without even saying goodbye, without giving you any warning.

you’d thought whatever friendship you had with him was worth more than a silent goodbye, than a one-sided decision.

“o-oh, okay, thanks!”

you bolt off before rin can say anything else, it’s better that no one can see you crying anyway.

that night once you’ve sort of calmed down, you open up sae��s message thread, which as of late is mostly a string of messages from you and sae only replying with oh or i see or i’m busy.

the last time he even bothered replying to you was last week when you asked if he wanted to watch a movie together and he said a simple no.

“you’re an ass, itoshi sae,” you cry to yourself as you bring up the keyboard on your phone, your tears falling onto the screen.

i hate you, itoshi sae.

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

soccer is the same; thrilling, tiring, demanding.

it’s been a year since he left japan and he’s still surviving, still thriving, still being revered as a genius midfielder. sae knows he has what it takes to bring victory to a good enough team, that’s what he came here for anyway—to be the best in the world.

“good job out there, sae,” the captain claps him on the back, but sae’s mind isn’t there.

it’s been a year since he left japan and he still pulls up the last message you ever sent him.

i hate you, itoshi sae.

perhaps it’s good that you do. there’s no place for your dreams in spain, or anywhere else in the world except for japan. you need to move on from him. maybe you already did, from what he hears from his classmates who still check in on him from time to time.

the first time sae hears about how some other guy asked you out, he can’t say he doesn’t care. but he’s relinquished his right to be jealous, so he barely responds to the news.

but maybe he’s beginning to see where he fucked up, because he shouldn’t have gotten close to you in the first place, should’ve just left you alone.

instead now he’s left with this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. is this how it feels like to really miss someone?

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

you’re now in college and you’re past whatever happened in high school. itoshi sae still lingers in the crevices of your mind, with his teal eyes and his pretty lashes and the way his hand felt when they were on top of yours.

some part of you thinks you’d never get over him, but you have to make peace with that. just because he never bothered to give you closure doesn’t mean he should be allowed to ruin your life.

besides, you’re pretty sure he read what you last sent him. there’s really nothing else for you to do if he doesn’t even bother talking to you.

you’d been trying to properly move on anyway, and that’s exactly what you try to do later that night, after accepting ryusei shido’s invitation to dinner.

he’s like the opposite of sae, though. he’s all expressive and goofy and wild because he’s got you trespassing on private property just to borrow their garden and he likes to drive fast, really fast, because he loves the wind in his hair.

if you had met him first, you’d probably be in love with the rush he gives you, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. when he kissed you, if only you didn’t have itoshi sae in your head, then maybe you’d have kissed him back.

when you’re twenty, you find out that maybe you can’t move on without giving itoshi sae a piece of your mind.

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

sae’s career has been rapidly progressing, he’s part of the starting team and is hailed as one of the world’s up-and-coming top soccer stars.

the earlier game cemented it.

his team won, with the commentators naming him as the most valuable player, assisting in all the goals scored by his team.

when he’s pulled aside for an interview, he can’t help but wonder whether you’d be watching through the television, hanging on his every word. or maybe you’d already moved on with this shido guy he hears about.

fuck that shido guy.

and when an interviewer asks whether there’s anyone special in his life that motivates him, he finds himself wishing he could say your name.

“nothing of that sort.”

interviews pass by quickly, as they always do for him because he’s not much of an interview guy, with his stoic expressions and lacklustre responses. he’s on the way back to the locker room when he hears a familiar voice calling out to him.

“sae!”

he spins around to find his mother and father there, surprising him. they must’ve heard he was playing and booked a flight out. rin’s not here though.

“rin’s busy with some soccer matches of his own back at home,” his father explains, as if he read his mind. “he couldn’t make it, but he’s surely watching the match from home.”

how silly of sae to have wished that it was you calling out to him, for that split second. you’re still in his head, and that’s annoying.

“oh! sweetheart,” his mother coos after she’s done gushing over his game, “we ran into one of your friends earlier! what’s her name—ah wait there she is!”

sae furrows his brows, following his mother’s gaze and finds you there, hugging the walls, sheepishly waving your hand at him. he’s starting to doubt his vision, maybe you’re just his imagination, maybe his mother’s looking at someone else.

“hey, sae,” you greet him, mellow and polite.

he’s still standing there like he’s the one who’s starstruck, like you’re the famous one. are you really here?

“what are you doing here?”

not the best greeting, but that’s the most he can muster when he hasn’t seen or heard from you in over three years.

you smile, and he thinks he might melt, but he doesn’t because he’s just told—lied to—the world that there’s no one special to him.

“what’s wrong with supporting one of my friends?” you say, as though this is a neighbourhood soccer match and you didn’t have to fly halfway across the world for it.

“itoshi! get in here!” by the sound of his voice, it’s the captain talking. sae doesn’t even want to take his eyes off of you, but he has to.

“go,” you tell him, “i’m staying near the airport, if, uh, you wanted to do anything afterwards.”

does he?

sae swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “yeah, okay.”

that night, he figures out which hotel you’re staying at and pays you a visit—it annoys him how fast his heart is beating and how your sudden presence threatens to mess up his life.

he knocks on your door, and you open it, beaming at him when you see him. “i thought we were meeting at the restaurant,” you say as you let him in, closing the door behind him.

“i was just passing by, sent my parents to the airport and thought i would just drop by,” he answers, lying through his teeth. his parents are still somewhere in spain and he just wanted to see you sooner, that’s all.

“well, i’m still getting ready,” you tell him, straightening your dress and looking at yourself in the mirror.

how is it possible you keep getting prettier everyday? your hair’s a little longer now, and you look more mature, you’ve learned to do makeup, and your dress hugs your body in just the right places. he’s cursing himself for staring at you.

“i thought you’d be too busy to come out with me tonight, honestly,” you confess, putting on some lipstick.

sae has to look away, “and i thought you hated me.”

that has you stopping in your tracks; this conversation happened earlier than you expected, but you’d been gunning for this all the same.

“yeah, well you left japan without saying a word to me, like i was just anyone else.”

he understands why you’d think that. that was what he was going for anyway, and it reminds him what he should be doing instead of entertaining you right now. sae should be rejecting you, you and your efforts, should turn away from you like you’re another one of his fangirls.

“why?”

but the shakiness in your voice takes him off guard.

“why what?”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“i didn’t have to,” sae responds, simply, like he doesn’t owe you a damn thing.

“was i imagining it?” you ask, finally turning around and looking him in his eyes.

no, no you weren’t.

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

“then why are you here, sae?” you burst out, and he stills in his position, feet glued to the floor. “you wouldn’t give a second thought to people you don’t care about, so what now?”

“i was just taking an old friend out to dinner, that’s all.”

he’s stubborn, so so stubborn. he’s hoping he’ll hold out.

“i don’t get you,” you mutter softly, to yourself or to him, he doesn’t even fucking know.

sae really shouldn’t, but he thinks about how he might never see you again and tries, “what do you want?”

“what are you talking about?”

“do you know what you want?” sae turns it around on you. “you flew halfway across the world to get here, for what? for me?”

he’s intimidating when he speaks a little louder than usual, and you shrink back just slightly.

“i-i wanted to talk to you,” you try your hardest to form an excuse but it’s not working.

“and what did you want out of that?”

you fall flat, and you feel like giving up. you know the answer, but you don’t want to admit it. you don’t want to tell him that you wanted him to want you too, you don’t want to admit that you’ve been thinking about him nearly all the time and what could’ve been.

“just forget it,” you relent, averting your gaze, but the next moment you feel an unfamiliar sensation on your lips, the taste of his on yours.

sae doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but his body moves on its own; something he got from playing that manages to bleed into his daily life, apparently.

you taste so much better than he expected, and you feel like you belong in his arms, like you’re made for him because there’s absolutely no one else in the whole fucking world who could ever bring itoshi sae to his knees.

he’s been in denial all this time, yes, and he’s tired of it. if you came all the way here, he’s not wasting it. he pulls away from you, absolutely dazed by the wanting look in your eyes.

you’re twenty one years old when you first hear itoshi sae telling you he loves you.

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

“someone’s chirpy,” your mother says from the couch, looking up from her ipad. “i sense… a date with sae.”

you roll your eyes, throwing one of the cushions at her. “mom, shut up,” you groan, still embarrassed whenever she calls you out for it.

sae’s still in spain most of the time, but the both of you make it work. you make a point to video call at least twice a week, and he responds to you like a normal boyfriend does. it’s back to that good morning, goodnight love you shared back in high school. he makes as much time as he can, and you appreciate him for it.

“i’m glad you’re happy, sweetie,” she tells you, and you smile gratefully.

you’re more than relieved now that she’s managed to fight the cancer off. it’s the only reason she pushed you to go see sae last year. you technically wouldn’t have done it without her.

a knock on your door signals that he’s here, and your mom gives you a knowing look before she excuses herself to her room.

when you open the front door, you feel a burst of excitement when you see sae there holding a bouquet of flowers.

“happy birthday, pretty.”

even when he’s busy, even when he’s swamped, he’ll never stop making you feel like you’re on top of the world.

both of you are twenty-two when sae decides that you’re his world.

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

this is the year you find out long distance is actually really really hard.

sometimes sae loses the match, and sometimes he can’t separate friend from foe from you. he gets frustrated, and so you do too. he has less than kind words when he’s venting, and you happen to be on the receiving end.

sometimes you get stressed from your finals projects, and you push him away, and sae leaves you to it. sae doesn’t check up on you as much as you’d like to, and you’re a little too stubborn to tell him that you mind.

sometimes sae would get interviewed and would have to address dating rumours, whether it’s the upcoming supermodel from america or that renowned sexy sports photographer from brazil—it’s hard not to get jealous, especially when you’re kept private.

you can’t blame him for that, not when everyone likes to send hate to the pretty girl he’s supposedly dating.

this is also where you find out that itoshi sae knows you better than anyone. it’s where he always leaves you a reminder he loves you, even when you’re fighting. it’s where he sends you a goodnight text even when you’ve hung up the phone hours ago in anger. it’s where he keeps japan in his weather app just so he can tell you not to be a klutz and fall down when it’s raining. it’s where he declares on international television that no, he’s not available but that’s none of their business.

even if you yearn for him to be next to you at times, sae’s off doing what he’s always wanted to do, and you’re not going to let yourself be a burden—so you do what you want to do, because the last thing you want the headlines to blast is the fact that itoshi sae’s girlfriend is a good-for-nothing.

twenty-three is the age where you start writing articles for a local magazine company, where you take lead on fashion articles while occasionally helping with the sports section.

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

both of your careers are in full flight.

so is your relationship.

sae’s always proud of you, of your achievements, of your efforts even if they didn’t bear fruit. you’re doing so well, making yourself a name in Japan with your articles, with your wonderful insights and funny wit.

he always reads your articles, tells his assistant to get a subscription on the magazine and send it to sae’s hotel, always reads the articles you write. he doesn’t tell you about that though. doesn’t want you getting a big head.

and every time you talk on the phone about your articles and how hard it was to write or how you’re afraid people will take it the wrong way, he acts like he doesn’t even know which article you’re talking about. (he absolutely does.)

“hey, when’s my contract ending again?”

sae’s assistant looks up from his ipad from his seat across him on the private jet. he blinks twice before rifling through his different folders.

“oh, next year.”

a ghost of a smile appears on sae’s face and his assistant thinks he’s hallucinating.

“good.”

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

sae is twenty-five years old when he finally decides he’s ready to come home.

it makes the headlines—how he quit the club and refused to play for them anymore, the reason being that he wants to go back to his roots.

back to you.

because now, at your front door, after he knocks once, twice, and you open it, surprised, sae’s never been more sure that he’s making the right decision.

after all, you’re the only one in the world capable of bringing itoshi sae to his knee.

“will you marry me?”

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae x you #sae x y/n #sae fluff #itoshi sae fluff #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #bllk sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x y/n #૪ aeri’s fics !

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leqonsluv3r · 8 months ago

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you are in love

— leon realizes he’s in love with you after being his best friend for years, a blurb

masterlist taglist

an: thank you guys for 300 followers, i love you all so much <33 thank u for supporting my silly lil writing and blog :,)

from a very young age even to now you weren’t sure where you began or leon ended.

you two grew up together, best friends since you both knew how to walk. your moms were best friends and therefore so were you and leon. he only had a year on you.

but you both went through all the stages of childhood, teens and adulthood together. you both had seen each others lowest and highest points in life.

leon had held your hand when you were seven and he was eight, on the first day of school when you were nervous at the other kids for maybe making fun of you. even then, he protected you.

when you were fifteen and he was sixteen, when he punched a guy in the face that you were with because he simply called you fat and unlovable. leon made sure that he paid, because you were neither of those things.

in his eyes, then and now, you were perfect. there wasn’t a single thing he would change about you.

now, you were 21 and he was 22. he had just came over to your apartment to borrow something. you had just gotten out of the shower, your hair was wet and damp with water as well as your skin.

your cheeks flushed as you tugged on your sleep shirt a little to hide your chest beneath it from his eyes, even after years, you were still somewhat embarrassed to even think about him seeing you that way.

he grabbed what he came for, rubbing a hand over your shoulder and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head for comfort. and it was strictly platonic, at least in both of your minds it was written off that way.

but it didn’t feel that way.

slowly over time, both you and him realized in your own ways that you both had been denying the truth to each other for the longest time.

you both wrote it off as friendship, as caring for each other so deeply that it had overridden everything else. you were both in love with each other.

you didn’t see the signs at first, you didn’t recognize that what you felt him went way beyond the friendship boundary. you loved him as a best friend and somehow overtime it had blended together.

the hugs, the comforting caresses, they had all melded into something else overtime and you didn’t know how to come to terms with it. you were in love with your best friend.

and it was getting harder to avoid as the days passed, as you both hung out and time went by. that was until he came by your apartment one day, a movie night.

a tradition you guys have had since you were kids, carrying it into adulthood. you didn’t question it and neither did he, the both of you just kept carrying it.

being your inner child’s for just one night together. a night you could pretend that jobs didn’t exist, could pretend that life was simple. that you both didn’t have a care in the world.

he brought himself, a box of pizza and a couple DVDs (because some traditions never change). you smiled at his options for the movies, Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club or Dirty Dancing. it seemed 80s rom-coms were a theme and you didn’t mind, you’d both watched them a thousand times.

he knew how much you loved those movies after all, always blushing at Dirty Dancing whenever patrick swayze would say, “Nobody puts baby in a corner”. it practically made your ten year old brain melt when you were both kids and watched it for the first time.

you popped in Pretty in Pink first, the night was still young, the both of you could probably watch all three if you were feeling up to it. it was friday night movie night of course. you both sat on the couch, pizza on paper plates and ate, watched the movie.

you were fully entranced, having someone like these fictional characters in these 80s movies made your expectations so much higher. and the scary thing was, you knew leon met all those requirements.

as the night went on, Pretty in Pink ended and you guys had two slices of pizza left. you popped in The Breakfast Club next, watching the characters on the screen. the comparisons running through your mind. you were still nervous.

the two pieces of pizza were long gone by the second movie and you had moved closer to leon on instinct to get comfortable. you put in the third and final movie for movie night, Dirty Dancing.

you watched as your breath caught in certain points in the movie, he looked over at you, watching you never take your eyes off the screen not once. he knew it was dangerous but he had an idea.

it could either go very badly or very well.

he waited until that one part of the movie, towards the ending. he was waiting for that line that had made you blush and giggle since you two were kids. when it got right up to it, he gently reached his hand up.

he swallowed all of his nerves, all of the emotions flooding through him and he gently turned your chin with his fingers and said, “nobody puts baby in a corner.” along with patrick swayze.

you felt your pulse pound as you stared into his eyes when he did that. your breath catching only a little. the shift happened between you two, it was hard to ignore. you didn’t even turn back to the tv screen, just felt him rub his thumb over your bottom lip.

you didn’t even move, you couldn’t deny yourself the truth anymore and it seemed neither could he. he leaned forward towards you and pressed his lips slowly to yours. your lips were soft, softer then he ever could’ve imagined. he cradled your cheek and let you kiss back, your lips moving with his.

he wasn’t scared anymore. you seemed to want him just as much as he wanted you. you both seemed to love each other and that wasn’t determined. you hadn’t said it to him yet, he hadn’t said it to you.

but this kiss, it changed everything.

it changed the way you saw him, the way he saw you. you both had harbored feelings so deep between the two of you and you couldn’t deny it. neither of you could.

the movie played on in the background as you two continued to kiss each other, the caress of his hand on your cheek…melted something within you. you moved your hand up to his jaw and cupped it, mirroring his movements as you guys kissed and poured your love into each other.

spoken words muttered between caresses of lips and teeth and tongues; i love you and a i love you too. the line between friendship and love was more thin than the both of you thought after all.

and you both had all the time in the world to accomplish that for each other now. you were both in love, and it was the best thing for the both of you.

love conquered all, even friendship.

and you both knew that now.

an: this was way longer than i intended but i just love this song by taylor swift. it literally defines a love story and i knew i needed to write something for it with leon. i hope you guys enjoyed, please like & repost if you would. working on oneshot requests as we speak. taglist is linked at the beginning if you’d like to be on it. i love you all. kisses, xx. <33

#leon kennedy #leon x reader #re2 leon #leon kennedy au #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy imagine #re2 remake #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy re2 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x y/n

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gallaghersgal · 3 months ago

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Smoke & Mirrors || Lip Gallagher

chapter one of BORDERLINE.

pairing: lip gallagher x fem!reader (nickname: MK)

warnings & tags: the start of a SLOWburn. idiots with tension. mature for mentions of violence, smoking, swearing, canon typical dialogue and whatnot. y'all've seen the show!

chapter summary: lip gallagher has been your best friend since before you could remember. he's the smartest person you know, so it astounds you how someone like him can be oh so stupid. you're committed to investing in his future, even if he isn't. you won't let your best friend end up stuck on the southside.

a/n: ummmm hi!! wrote basically this whole thing in the last 24hrs. it's unedited and tbh if i look at it for one more second im gonna explode!! enjoy <33

wc: 2.9k

The crisp October air sends a chill down your spine as you usher your younger sister Caroline out the door for school. She groans and rolls her eyes when you grab her by the handle of her backpack, pulling her back to adjust her scarf. At a mere thirteen years old she already carries the same attitude you did at sixteen. “Whatever you’re gonna say, I don’t wanna hear it. You were just sick, dad’ll have my head on a platter if I don’t make you bundle up.”

She stomps her foot, a stupid, childish action that has you mentally swearing to never have kids of your own. Helping raise this one was enough as it is. “It’s not even-” she starts, but you cut her off.

“I said I don’t wanna hear it. Wear your fucking scarf or I’m telling mom you make that tutor kid do your math homework.” You shove her head gently after securing the scarf around her neck and let her stomp down the stairs. “Don’t be a brat.”

She doesn’t answer, instead starting down the street towards the bus stop. Cigarette smoke wafts over the morning air from the Gallagher house. You turn to see Lip on the front stoop, blood shining on his brow as he smokes. You feel a twist in your gut. What did he get himself into this time, you think. The repetitive motion of locking the door comes like second nature and you spend the thirty odd seconds it takes worrying about the boy across the street.

When you turn towards the Gallagher house Caroline is already ahead of you, not waiting until she passes the chain-link fence to call out, “what happened to your face?”

You catch up in time to hear him scoff, “good morning to you too, Kit-Kat,” pulling out her childhood nickname, the one she still hates, that he gave to her when she was barely four. “‘S nothing. Battle scars an’ shit.”

“What the fuck kinda battle did’ya get yourself into?” you ask, leaning down to take his chin between your thumb and forefinger. The cut isn’t too bad, a lot of blood for a relatively small abrasion, but the skin around his eye is already blossoming a dark bruise. Lip stares at you as if to say ‘not in front of the kid,’ and you nod, fishing a five dollar bill out of your pocket. You were saving it for work, but Caroline’s silence is worth more. She raises an eyebrow, to which you snap, “just don’t tell mom, ‘kay? And don’t skip just ‘cause I'm skipping.”

Caroline turns to leave and you extend a hand to Lip, pulling him to stand. Eager fingers reach for his burnt-down cig when he goes to drop it, taking the final hit for yourself before stubbing it out on the sidewalk. “Greedy. Gotta buy y’own pack,” he remarks with a smirk. All it takes is a second to get back across the stress, and once you’re inside he unwraps the scarf from his neck.

Your eyes catch on his bruised knuckles and you tilt your head to the side with a silent question, you gonna tell me what happened? He sighs, hearing you loud and clear despite not speaking a single word. “Got into it with Frank. He was givin’ Ian shit for no fuckin’ reason.”

“Mm,” you nod, and catch his hand after he runs it nervously through his curls. The bruises there aren’t as bad as the one on his eye, Frank must’ve only gotten one good, drunken swing in. No cuts either, which was good. For all his tough guy exterior, Lip Gallagher couldn’t stand the sting of peroxide. The less you need the better, you think, and a grin plays at your lips when you glance up at him, holding his injured hand up. “Think y’can roll a joint with these?”

His laugh is like music to your ears, revelling in the first grin you’ve seen from him this morning. “Yeah, yeah I can do that, y’wanna jus’ skip the whole day? We could catch a movie ‘r somethin’,” he suggests, following you upstairs to your room.

You shake your head, opening the door to your room for him. “Can't. Calc test in third period. Sit down, ‘m gonna get the first aid kit.” While you get the kit from the shelf in your closet you hear him open your desk drawer, pulling out the grinder and weed jar you keep hidden at the back.

“You got a shirt or somethin’ I could change into? This one smells like Frank’s fuckin’ booze,” Lip scoffs. He shrugs the tee over his head and lights another cigarette, his eyes following your every move with that same boyish twinkle you’d grown fond of over the years. It was always good to remember things weren’t getting to him, not too bad.

You cast a glare in his direction, silently scolding him, ‘you know better, let me open the window,’ but he only grins in response. Pale morning light illuminates the room when you pull back your blackout curtains and crack the window. The city is still quiet–or, as quiet as it gets in Chicago–and the sounds of gentle wind and birdsong fall softly on your ears.

You settle at his side, first aid kit in one hand and a gray and black sweater of his in the other. Curious fingers reach for a small cut on his shoulder. “What’s this one from?” You trace the gash. It isn’t deep either, but it’ll need to be cleaned so it doesn’t get infected.

“It’s, uh, ’s nothin,” he brushes you off, to which you shoot him a glare. That sets him straight. In a low mumble he simply states, “beer bottle.”

Rage seethes inside you, your jaw tensing as you wet a cotton ball with peroxide. You keep any comments to yourself, not sure how LIp will react. You’re aware of his more than complicated familial relationships–you’d grown up with thim, seeing Frank’s drinking get worse, and the aftermath of Monica leaving–but if there was one constant with the Gallagher kids, it was family first, above everything. You had your opinions of Frank, and you knew Lip shared your distaste more than anything, but that didn’t take away the sensitive nature of the topic. So, you stay quiet, dabbing at the wound with a gentle hand. The sting draws a sharp hiss from him, and it’s then that you realize how flushed he is, his cheeks, neck and chest are a soft pink color. Graciously, you pretend not to notice, so as not to embarrass him further.

When the cut is cleaned and covered with a bandage Lip takes his sweater, pulling it over his head. It leaves his hair mussed and he smoothes a hand through his curls while you tilt his chin up, inspecting the cut on his brow. Blue eyes stare up at you with a vulnerability you’re not used to seeing from the boy you grew up with. At least you know he’s comfortable with you. That’s all.

Comfortable. Friendly. Nothing more. The same as it’s always been.

The way it’s meant to be.

“Quit starin’, get me fixed up so we can smoke this,” Lip grumbles, gesturing towards the rolling tray in his lap. You laugh at that, heart quickening in your chest. Tensions between the two of you had been thick as of late, but underneath it all things remained the same.

“Glad to know you’ve got your priorities straight,” you snort, cleaning up the second wound with peroxide. He takes it better this time, more prepared for the sting, but you still catch the way a few pained tears brim in his bright eyes.

Soft, parted lips rest under your fingers as you clean the final abrasion. The bruising is the worst here, deep purple hues present across his mouth and down to his chin. He finishes rolling as you’re wiping at the blood that pooled below his lip, a deep red trail spilling down his chin. Your delicate motions are interrupted by Lip bringing the joint up to seal it, licking along the edge of the rolling paper.

“‘M almost finished, be patient,” you murmur, focused on keeping the disinfectant out of his mouth. A moment later you pull back, swiping vaseline over the split before wiping the excess on his jeans. Payback for interrupting your tending to his wounds. “There. All patched up. Say ‘thank you nurse,’” you tease with a grin.

He’s already flicking the lighter on, holding the flame against the end of the joint to take the first hit for himself. You busy yourself with cleaning up the first aid supplies until he passes it off to you. Thick, earthy smelling smoke flows from his parted mouth, which lifts into a mischievous grin as he hands you the joint. “My lip’s busted up pretty fuckin’ bad. Think y’could kiss it better?”

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at his blunt proposal. “Shut up,” you retort with a sharp laugh, before you can even consider it.

Lip throws on an exaggerated frown, “oh, c’mon MK. You know it’d be so fucking hot- ow!” He flinches, chest shaking with laughter as you throw your remote at him. “Okay! Okay, I know I know. You’re not one of my g-”

“Little ghetto girlfriends,” you tease, repeating the drunken dig an alibi patron had once thrown at Lip.

“Exactly.”

You shake your head, laughing at him for a moment. “You’re never getting in my pants Gallagher. I’ve known you since we were three. It’s wrong,” you lie. Lip is your best friend, the same role he’s filled your entire life, side by side since the two of you were in diapers. But your rejection stems from something deeper than that.

Lip Gallagher is inconsistent. You can’t exactly call him unfaithful if he never truly commits to one girl, but he’s not one for relationships. He’s flighty. He runs from affection. More often than not he buries his true feelings under snark and insults, weed, booze, and–when all else fails–aggression. That doesn’t mean you didn’t love him, it doesn’t mean you had no feelings for him, it just gives you reason to brush off his advances. For now, it can remain a little game between the two of you.

Months ago, when these unwanted feelings began to blossom in your chest, you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t be just another girl he messed around with. You aren’t willing to let him mess this thing up for the both of you.

Eager to change the subject you move to your desk, pulling out an informational packet from MIT. Before you can get a word out Lip is shaking his head, casting a skeptical glare in your direction. “Hey, come on. I just want you to apply.” You lean to hand the packet over but he reaches for the joint instead, which you pull away quickly.

“No you come on, why would I apply to MIT, seriously,” he shoots back, refusing to take the folder from your hand. He settles more comfortably in your bed, laying back against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling instead of meeting your eyes. “Bunch ‘f ivy league reject pricks ridin’ on daddy’s money. You’re lucky I’m even applying to schools in town.” Greedy hands reach forward for the joint again and you yield with a sigh, passing it over. As an afterthought, you toss the packet to him as well.

“Just consider it, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll think about it,” he says. You don’t need anything but the way he avoids your eyes to know it’s a lie.

You purse your lips, throwing an icy stare his way. Lip Gallagher may be your best friend, but you’re not going to take any of his shit. “Have you even got any applications in?”

The question seems to take him by surprise, tendrils of smoke curling from the corner of his parted lips. “I’ve got a few,” another lie.

“Really? What schools,” you question, head tilted to the side with a knowing look. “Don’t lie to me, I know you better than anyone. I can tell.”

He laughs at that, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine, you got me. I haven’t applied anywhere yet.” The end of the joint has a good stretch of ash, which he’s trying to keep precariously attached while he takes another hit.

“Scoot,” you mumble, grabbing your own binder of college information packets. He stretches one arm back towards your desk to snag your heart shaped ashtray and knocks the ash off, then lays the tray in the space between your bodies. You settle in beside him, your knees propped comfortably over the throw pillow that always ended up in the middle of your bed. One hand takes the joint and the other opens your binder.

Pages upon pages of information, campus maps, scholarship pamphlets, and your hand written tuition calculations make Lip go a little cross eyed as you flip towards a page with a yellow tab. “Okay. Here, look,” you point at the information you’d circled, reading Engineering B.S., training the Innovators of Tomorrow. “UI Urbana-Champaign. Great engineering program–” you flip the page over “–and scholarships for kids from underserved communities.”

You settle the joint between your lips, flipping through a few more pages. After a deep inhale you use it to gesture towards the page. “Or UChicago, that way you’d be close to home. They’ve got this thing called inner city promise. Smart kids, like you, from certain high schools with certain academic records and test scores can get full rides.” You run a finger down the short list, stopping at a familiar name and tapping it. “See? Lincoln Grove High School. You’d qualify, Lip.”

“‘M not some fuckin’ charity case,” he grumbles, snatching the burnt-down joint from your hand. “You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Oh I’m a pain?” you snap, turning on your side to glare at him. “For what, believing in you? For not taking any of your self-deprecating, avoidant bullshit?”

He shrugs then, and the action is almost shy. He’s embarrassed. You have this innate ability to see him, the way no one else does. You scare yourself with it sometimes. “Just don’t know why you care so much,” he mumbles.

The sigh that leaves you is a deep, tired one. Convincing him of these things has always been difficult. For as smart as he is, Lip can be so infuriatingly stupid. “You’re smart, Lip. You’ve always been smart. I dunno what I would do if I went off to college and you stayed here. In this shithole.”

He doesn’t laugh the way you expect him to. He doesn’t brush it off. He just stares.

“We made a pact, did you forget?” you continue. He shakes his head silently, the far off look in his eyes letting you know he’s remembering that day.

The day the two of you spent drinking by the pool. Making promises to each other. You’d said you would make it out, and you would do it together. You’d made Lip promise you that he’d give it a try, and stupidly you believed him. Or was it stupid? You’re not ready to give up yet.

“I don’t want to do it without you,” you admit to him.

Lip looks at you, his blue eyes softening. “Do what without me?” You shake your head, scooting closer to rest your head on his shoulder. He stubs out the joint and wraps an arm around your shoulders. Friendly, comfortable affection. The kind you were used to. “C’mon MK, spit it out.”

“Any of it,” you return. “Don’t think I could get through another four years of school if you’re not doing it with me.”

“Yeah? What if we’re at different schools, dumbass,” he retorts, but his palm soothes across your arm, a contrast to his words. “You gonna follow me to MIT, since y’want me to go so bad?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in your chest, turning to look up at him with a grin playing at your lips. He got what he wanted. He made you laugh. “I’ll call you every night.”

“Every night huh?” he says with a smirk. “Cockblocking me from a thousand miles away is just like you, isn’t it.”

You shove him playfully, sitting up to move the ashtray off your bed. The MIT packet lays somewhere at the foot of the bed and you search through the pillows to find it. Instead of handing it to Lip, you just tuck it into his backpack, handing the bag to him after. “Well yeah, can’t have you getting distracted by the chess team girls,” you joke back.

He lays there in your bed, looking up at you with that stupid grin of his. All bared teeth and mischief, the same one you’d seen all those years ago. You stay silent for a moment longer before you stand, holding out a hand to pull him up.

“You sure we can’t just skip?”

“No, ‘ve got a test, remember? Gotta keep my grades up if ‘m gonna follow you all the way to MIT,” you say, and shakes his head with a laugh. Maybe he’s coming around to the idea. “Come on, I’ll drive us.”

thanks so much for reading!! series masterlist here.

got something to say? stop by my inbox! looking for more fics? check out my masterlists!

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher fanfic #❀ written by maggie [fics]#❀ series: borderline #❀ mkverse

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ktsumu · 9 months ago

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FIFTH TIME’S A CHARM

cw: suggestive content, nudity happy valentine's day ᡣ𐭩

This year, for the first time ever, Tooru doesn’t buy flowers for his valentine. You are the only witness to the crime.

His first girlfriend, back in junior high, got roses. She got him roses, too, with a chocolate bar he ended up giving to his sweet tooth sister. They were real, shockingly, smelt good too.

They were discounted, and it’s a basic gift, but he was twelve and had only been seeing her for three weeks.

(And they broke up two weeks later, so he has no regrets about the roses that cost his mom less than fifteen bucks.)

The second girlfriend was a little more serious.

Tooru thinks he might’ve been fourteen for that one. He liked her—she was kind, pretty, had a nice laugh. He remembers holding hands in the hallway at school and their first kiss (well, peck) was surrounded by a bunch of classmates, screaming like it mattered more to them than it did to him.

He forgets how long they lasted, but he’s sure they started dating in November and made it to Valentine’s Day. He bought her tulips, her favourite, and a stuffed bear, because it was right beside it in the store. With his own money, too.

His second girlfriend—he really, really feels bad about not knowing her name anymore—got him chocolate. He gave it to his sister again, but he kept the card she wrote him, saying she loved him three months in like either of them knew what that meant.

And to be fair, he said he loved her, too. Just not to her face. Many, many times to Hajime, though.

Tooru and Girlfriend #2 broke up in May. He wasn’t even planning on it, either. She just moved to a different country and he wasn’t looking for a penpal, and she said she didn’t wanna cheat on him.

The third girlfriend is where his small list gets serious.

He gave romance a break after the one that got away. He just flirted with people up until his first year of high school, the big leagues, which is when he actually got too much attention.

It’s a huge deal when you’re sixteen and your girlfriend is seventeen. He was crowned royalty of his class, the chosen one. The only one that could possibly score an older girl and act like it’s no big deal, and then proceed to blow her off to watch a game taping or something. On top of the world, and yet so below the standard.

She was pretty good to him. Makki always said he was a moron and she was gonna dump his ass, and Tooru probably knew that, too. Hajime said he was wasting his time, and every time he’d deny it, he’d think about how right he was.

He and the third girlfriend—Hana, he remembers—had one Valentine’s Day together, but it was so close to two that he almost wants to count it as such for the hell of it.

He got her wildflowers because she always said she hated roses and tulips. Basic flowers mean they don’t care, or something like that. He didn’t understand it fully, but he was happy when she leapt into his arms, that was for sure. It felt pretty good when she kissed him stupid and said he was the best, but that high didn’t survive the Spring Tournament the next year.

That’s how close he was to two Valentine’s Days—January. Fucking brutal.

She dumped him and he swore off girlfriends in senior year; probably even blamed it on something stupid like ‘bad omens.’ He graduated with D1 offers, though, so he counts it as a win.

That tallies up to three successful Valentine’s Days, so far right? Yeah, right—all with flowers.

The fourth bouquet wasn’t a bouquet at all, it was actually orchids in a pot, left on the kitchen table of the apartment he lived in when he moved. He was twenty, her name was Riko, his first almost everything. First I love you, first time—name it, basically.

He did make it to two Valentine’s Days with Riko, which is something so impressive for him that confetti emojis were everywhere in the groupchat he kept with his friends from high school. Hearts, confetti, eggplants, whatever else.

The first one was admittedly better than the second, though. The second one, he got a really serious offer overseas, and he didn’t even ask about it. He just told her that he loved her, and that he’d be in Argentina by August.

(Safe to say that he was the only one packing for that.)

That was the last time he bought flowers on Valentine’s Day, because it was the last time he consciously celebrated with someone. He sent his friends funny clips or pictures just to tease, taunted them whenever they could keep a girlfriend to celebrate with, but he gave up himself.

(It’s just so much easier to relax—he’d have no problem getting a girlfriend if he wanted one. His issue is keeping them.)

He’s twenty-seven and solo.

Mostly solo, he should say. You come around a lot, stay the nights with him. You typically collect your clothes and leave the next morning with a wave and maybe a ‘text me if you wanna do this again Friday,’ but he hates how he’s lying when he grins and says he just might.

Tooru is so used to being the one to leave, or to sabotage himself until someone else does, that he’s forgotten that it actually sucks when you don’t wanna be left alone.

The whole point of you and him is to keep it casual, but Tooru can barely keep it cool.

He likes to consider himself experienced. It’s why he gets so fucked up when he kisses you for longer than he realizes, or how he finds himself holding back words he thinks might be too much for casual sex.

You two are functional together, at least. He just puts the system at risk a lot.

When he wakes up today, February fourteenth, he doesn’t even know what day it is. He’s naked, in his own bed at the very least, and he can see his jeans on the floor through the light of the bathroom dripping through the door left open. Dawn peeks through the curtains.

The room is quiet, the window’s open so the birds can talk to him, and to his left, you’re still here.

“Hey,” he says, yawning.

“Good morning,” you say back, a small smile on your face as you stretch. He can’t help but smile back, with his grin and smile lines, eyes drifting to the hem of the sheets that try and cover you up. Okay, naked too. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Woah.

“It’s Valentine’s Day?” he replies in a hurry, leaning up on his elbow as he grabs his phone. Yes, very much so.

You raise your brows. “What? Got a wife you forgot about?”

“Very funny.”

“I know, I’ve been waiting,” you say. It’s your turn to yawn now, moving to lay your head on his chest, hand pushing him back down into the bed. “What’s the panic, then?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just … forgot. It's weird.”

“Hm. So where are my roses, huh?”

Tooru scoffs, glancing down at you as he rests a hand on your waist. “They’re being delivered, obviously.”

“I figured.” You cock your head. “What’s up with Valentine’s Day, huh?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never not gotten flowers for someone when I’ve had them.”

“Are you talking about me?”

“What, I can’t get friendly flowers?” he asks, raised brows and attitude waking up with him. “You’re naked in my bed, that must constitute something.”

The way you pout your lip in thought makes him wanna reach out for your hand. Is it weird to do that? Can I do that?

(You do it first, but he holds you tighter.)

“No, this is fine.”

“Fine?”

“Better,” you quickly correct. “I’d rather just stay in bed and say it once. I prefer acts of service, anyway.”

Looking at you, laying on his bare chest, the sun creeping in over yours, he doesn’t care all that much about how he’s breaking tradition anymore. Maybe it’s not even tradition, maybe it’s just a cycle he’s breaking; a vicious one, at that.

You’re an unconventional valentine in the sense that you’re not even his, but maybe when the day’s passed and he doesn’t feel it looming over him, he might bring it up again.

“Acts of service, you say?”

You snicker, being pushed onto your back as he looms over you. He’s looking at you like Cupid hit him; bullseye.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of those, would you?”

“Just tell me what you want, already. Let me make up for the flowers.”

You take him by the back of the neck, pulling him down to kiss you like he means it. Tooru speaks in tongues the two of you best understand.

For the first time in four official Valentine’s Days, Tooru doesn’t buy his valentine flowers. But, for the first time in four official Valentine’s Days, it feels so right that it doesn’t even matter he’s doing it ‘wrong.’

(Next time, when you’re hopefully here again, he doesn’t think he’ll get flowers, either. This'll do.)

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu!! x reader #kit writes

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bia-wayne-west · 10 months ago

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Mom has a tattoo [Tim Drake x Batmom]

Synopsis: Tim Drake discovers that his mother, Batmom, got a tattoo without anyone knowing.

Characters: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne and Reader[You]

A/N: I wrote this in a few minutes, I hope it’s good. I made this imagine inspired by the fantastic imagine of @ellana-ravenwood. I hope that you who are reading have fun and enjoy what I wrote. Apologies for bad grammar

Requests are open

MASTERLIST

It was a surprise for your baby Tim. When he saw the birds drawn on his skin, Tim was by tour side when he noticed.

It all happened when you decided to watch a new TV show on Netflix. First, you made sure all your children, your husband, and Alfred were busy somewhere. Whenever you sit on the big sofa in the living room, one of your babies runs to sit next to you, demanding all your love and attention.

But this time you got confused and forgot to check if Timothy had his eyes on the video game. You were wearing a sleeveless t’shirt and old leggings. Your feet were covered in socks you stole from Bruce's closet.

You were watching the TV show's protagonist lie to her boyfriend. You felt like you were being watched and noticed your third child standing at the entrance to the room with a box of chocolates in his hand. You smiled at Timothy and patted the couch next to him. The boy ran with the candy in his hands, throwing himself next to you with a huge smile on his face.

“I was going down to the Batcave when I noticed you were watching Netflix alone. I came to keep you company, mom.”

“Oh my baby. Thank you for staying here with me.”

When you leaned over to pick up a bag of jelly beans, your hair fell to the side and tour shoulder was exposed. Timothy let out an exclamation of surprise when he saw that you had four birds tattooed on your shoulder. When you returned to your normal position, you noticed your baby looking at you with surprised eyes.

“DO YOU HAVE A TATTOO?” He shouted, pursing his lips.

You laughed and rolled down your shirt sleeve so the boy could see your tattoo in full.

“I did this a month ago. It has a meaning. I have four chicks and I made four birds to have my beautiful chicks with me until the end.”

“ Ah, it’s a beautiful meaning. But I would never have imagined that my mother would get a tattoo. Tattooing is something for young people.”

“Oh my god, Timothy, this really offended me.” You said, placing your hand on your chest while laughing. “ I want to have you with me even when I'm in a coffin and now I have you marked on my skin.”

“We will always be with you, mom. I love you and my brothers too.”

He hugged you tightly, smiling. You smiled back, thinking about the fact that Timothy rarely called Dick, Jason, and Damian brothers. It was unique to see that he really cared about his family.

“I love you, my little bird.”

Your lips kissed Tim's warm forehead. His head touched your shoulder and the two of you continued watching the TV show.

“Mom, when I'm sixteen, can you convince Dick and Jason to get a family tattoo? Like birds or a bat?”

“Of course, my dear. We can also include Bruce and Alfred and of course Damian when he's older."

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carlos-in-glasses · 2 months ago

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Rhythms

120k, 17 chapters all written, E, updates on Sundays on Ao3.

TK swoons when he discovers a sentimental scrapbook full of notes he and Carlos have left for each other – but he also unearths a book of poems that closeted teen-Carlos wrote about his struggles, including a few dedicated to his high school crush. An adorably mortified Carlos recalls the stir he caused when he was published anonymously in the high school paper, and everything he went through to write his wedding vows for TK years later. With TK as a hype-man, maybe Carlos can embrace his creative side again.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 - Love Heart: The day after TK and Carlos’ first wedding anniversary, TK is sent home from work sick. Back at the loft unexpectedly, he makes a surprising discovery about Carlos.

Chapter 2 - Club Can't Handle Me: In 2011, sixteen-year-old Carlos is both in the closet and in his high school’s wrestling team – and it’s all a bit too much. Perhaps against his better judgment, he turns to poetry and makes a decision that will change his life.

Chapter 3 - Crossroads: Daydreaming about his wedding vows mid-drive, Carlos gets pulled over for a traffic violation – and Gabriel isn’t happy. Reunited with TK, Carlos might be lost for words, but he finds another way to express his love and desire.

Chapter 4 - The Wrestler: Carlos’ poems are published – and he quickly learns there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle.

Chapter 5 - A Gay Fantasia: In the aftermath of being abducted by a serial killer, Carlos reflects on recent events and resumes work on his wedding vows.

Chapter 6 - La Tormenta: Carlos is devastated when Scott gets a girlfriend, and he finds himself in another snowballing situation.

Chapter 7 - Soulmates: When TK has a Huntington’s disease scare, Carlos finds he knows exactly what to say. But will it help him with his writer’s block when it comes to his wedding vows?

Chapter 8 - Man of Mystery: It’s the day of the Lake View High School Talent Show – and will the real Shadow Poet please stand up?

Chapter 9: Crush: In 2011, it’s make or break for sixteen year old Carlos at the talent show. In 2024, TK becomes the hype man Carlos had needed over a decade ago.

Chapter 10: From Behind: A couple of weeks before the wedding, Carlos is still working on his vows when a deeper rift develops between him and his dad. In 2012, seventeen year-old Carlos is spiraling after coming out to his parents.

“I was just remembering–” Carlos says, “The first time you stayed for a while after one of our hookups. It was, like, the third time we hooked up, I think. I asked if you wanted tea and cookies and you looked at me like I’d said the weirdest thing ever.”

TK’s exhausted, puffy face breaks into a dazzling grin. “You were being such a Boy Scout.”

“But then you said yes and you ate half the cookie jar.”

“You called me the Cookie Monster.”

“That was the first time I really made you laugh.”

“Tea came out my nose.”

“It was beautiful,” Carlos says, pausing then to qualify: “Your laugh.”

TK gazes up at him, his clear green eyes large and shining. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“The first time you made me laugh was when we were dancing at the honky-tonk.”

“Hey!” TK swats his arm. “I was trying my best!”

“You were so goofy,” Carlos chides. “I just loved it. I loved you.”

Read on Ao3

#Tarlos #Tarlos fic #Tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #gay fanfiction #Rhythms #poet fic #cig fic #my fic #Thank you so much for reading! I'm so excited about this fic!

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wlntrsldler · 8 months ago

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almost (sweet music) | luke castellan

synopsis: exbf! luke castellan goes on a date with another girl after your death. went back to my roots and wrote an aphrodite reader!

song: almost (sweet music) by hozier

it's been a year.

it's been a year since percy uttered the words, "we need a shroud, for the daughter of aphrodite." it's been a year since he survived the battle of manhattan and you didn't. it's been a year since hermes had to pull him off your dead body as he thrashed and mourned your death.

he's out of camp half blood now, which he thinks you'd be surprised to learn. you always joked that he'd end up taking over mr. d's position if he wasn't an immortal god. luke had a special relationship with chb, just like you did. back when he was sixteen, the first time he kissed you, he let himself think about growing old with you there.

maybe taking over the summer activities and planning. living in a small cabin just on the outskirts of camp. he thought about making it into a welcome center for new arrivals, somewhere where they could have a hot meal and have a room of their own before they inevitably ended up in the hermes cabin with his rowdy siblings.

those were the easy days. back when his biggest fear was losing his best friend if he told you how he truly felt about you. it seems silly and trivial now that he looks back at it. he wishes he told you how he felt sooner, just to get those extra years, extra days, extra seconds with you knowing that you were his and he was yours.

but now he's in his twenties and you were six feet under. it wasn't fair and he felt disgusted with himself as he prepared for his first date with a girl chris set him up with from his sociology class at nyu. he knew that you would've wanted him to move on, after all, you always said that your favorite version of him was when he was in love. something about how his eyes sparkle differently and how his voice turns softer, kinder, when he spoke, but luke didn't know how to tell you that he was only like that when it came to you.

the date was fine. the girl was pretty. she had the same hair color as you and same giggly laugh, and luke should be grateful that chris knew his type, but all luke could do was compare her to you. it wasn't fair to the girl. she was lovely and she deserved someone who didn't think about their ex-girlfriend every time they looked at her.

when she showed up to the mom and pops restaurant luke picked out for the date, she was listening to your favorite artist. luke almost felt like he was back in the aphrodite cabin, listening to the song on your record player, swaying you back and forth in a lousy attempt at slow dancing. if he tried hard enough, he swore he could feel the sound of your heartbeat pressed against his chest, reminding him that you were still there, still alive.

it made him so dizzy that his date had to ask him if he was okay. he turned pale, all the color draining from his face. luke meekly nodded and told her a half-truth. i haven't gone on a first date in a while.

the girl smiled at him kindly, just like how you did when you first met him, and told him she understood. she sat across from him and sipped on her water, trying her best to keep the conversation going, but luke could tell that she knew his mind was elsewhere.

his mind was at camp half blood, in the sheds by the strawberry fields. his lips were on yours, a smile grazing his face that you had to pull away to tease him. he was always so smiley with you, no facade of the brooding, tough as nails, hermes head counselor that everyone else got from him. with you, he was luke, young, naive, and helplessly in love. when he closed his eyes, he could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, cherry lip gloss teasing his tastebuds.

his date complimented his necklace and for the first time that night, luke gave her a genuine smile and a look of interest. it was the necklace you bought for him for his seventeenth birthday. you'd saved up all your money from your part-time job at the froyo shop in ohio during the year. it was a silver dog tag with an engraving of mercury and venus circling each other. he hasn't taken it off since you put the necklace on him years ago.

when she asked the story behind it, luke spoke your name for the first time in a year to a stranger. when he caught himself talking about you in the present tense, a bitter taste lingered in his mouth and he had to gulp down the rest of his water to wash it away. he flexed his hand, a nervous habit that he had. and when the girl leaned over to place her own hand over his to steady him, luke pulled away from her like she just burned him.

he apologized profusely and it became clear to the girl that luke was not ready to go on a date with anyone. luke saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes and he wondered if he'd looked like that the entire time, disappointed that it was her in front of him and not you. but then she tapped the back of his hand in a friendly way and leaned back in her chair and said, tell me about her.

you were his favorite topic of conversation. he recalled one too many conversations with chris and the stolls where they'd complain about how every conversation somehow ended up about you. so luke obliged and told her the story of how the two of you came to be. he kept the details vague, deciding that exposing olympus and the existence of the gods would be too much for a first date. maybe sixth, or seventh, but he doubts he'll get that far with her.

when the date was over, the girl gave luke a hug and whispered, i hope you guys get back together. it seems like you really love her.

luke wanted to tell her that if he had the power to be with you again, he would do it in a heartbeat, but that was beyond his control. luke thanked her and said, i hope so, too.

#frances writes #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke pjo #luke castellan x you #percy jackson

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scififettuccine · 5 months ago

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Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader: Darts

Pairing: Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Quick One-Shot Hurt/Comfort! Your girlfriend finds you playing darts in your office, and she can tell that something is up. If there's one thing Victoria doesn't like, it's seeing her girlfriend upset.

Word Count: 1.25k

Warnings: Darts (?), mentions of Homelander, mentions of Homelander being a whore, mentions of family death, glass cuts, corrupt government system, Vicky being a raging lesbian

Notes: I wrote this after playing darts for 3 hours. As you can see the concept has infected my brain. IF YOU DON"T UNDERSTAND HOW CRICKET WORKS WITH DARTS I'M VERY SORRY. (And honestly I don't know if the way my family plays is exactly right so don't come after me Dart Experts.) I know I put up a pole, and this option lost by a long shot, but half of it was already written and I needed to finish it since it was super gut wrenching <3

Your parents had added to the growing number of many unnecessary obituaries that came out of Homelander’s career. It happened around this time, ten years ago. Your parents had owned a bakery in the city, and on a hot day ten summers back, someone attempted to rob their small business. Of course, after the authorities were called, Vought added their golden boy to the scene. They must have expected some sort of heroic story, with a headline like “The Seven’s Homelander saves the lives of two elderly bakers, and keeps the beloved business open.” But instead of that headline, they weren't mentioned in any headline…Only in the obituary section of a few local newspapers due to Vought covering up Homelander’s sloppy use of his heat vision. The last you saw of your parents' bodies was the bottom half of one…and the top half of the other. You were twenty, planning your parent’s funeral all on your own from your dorm room halfway across the country. All Vought sent was a card extending their deepest condolences, signed by the company's CEO, and Homelander himself. Since then? You’ve had a vendetta against Homelander and Vought as a whole. Coincidentally, that's how you met your girlfriend, Victoria Neuman, and started working for The Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs.

You had been in your office all day, admittedly drowning yourself in work so you didn't have to think about it all. But once there was nothing else to drown yourself in, you cracked open another redbull and decided to play a game of darts. Since you didn't have a partner, you just decided to time yourself to see how long it would take you to clear the scoreboard: Three twenties, three nineteens, three eighteens, three seventeens, three sixteens, three fifteens, and three bullseyes. And of course…all your attempts were aimed at the sympathy card that had turned ten years old this morning. You played darts often, so you had gotten down to the bullseyes within 10 minutes. Yet the more you missed, the more you got upset…the more your mind drifted. You thought about what might have happened had you not gone off to college.

Double ninteens.

You thought about what might have happened had you just stayed and helped to better the family business.

Double sixteens.

You thought about what would have happened if you would have answered the phone when they called you earlier that day.

Shattered glass.

You gasped as the last dart you threw hit the frame you had hung on the wall, housing a photo of you and your parents holding a photo of you and your parents at your highschool graduation. You shook your head as you walked over to the mess…the dart you had thrown had pierced right through the center of the photo…right through your face. It was lodged deep into the wall, due to the force of your throw. You wanted to cry, scream out of frustration even…But a voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Everything alright in here, pretty girl…?” You heard the voice of your girlfriend and turned around, stepping over a bit to try and hide the mess of glass shards. When your eyes met hers, there was a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah…Yeah. It’s all good, Vic. I just knocked a picture frame off the wall.” You said, desperately trying to make your voice sound a little more upbeat than it truly was. Vicky raised a brow and looked up at the dart sticking out of the wall, then over to the dart board, and then to the card that was push-pinned to the dart board. Her gaze immediately softened, and her heart dropped.

“Baby…” She started, walking further into your office so she could close the door behind her. You shook your head and turned back around, trying to pick up some of the bigger glass shards with your hands.

“I’m fine. It’s not-” You cut yourself off with a wince as a piece of the glass slit your palm. “Shit-” Vicky shook her head and quickly moved to your side. She took your hand and turned your palm so the glass you had collected would fall back into the pile.

“You’re not fine. And you’re clearly not thinking straight if you're picking up broken glass with your bare hands, you're smarter than that.” Vicky sighed, moving to untuck her dress shirt so she could wipe the blood from your palm. It was moments like these where you truly understood how much Vicky cared about you. She would ruin a perfectly white dress shirt just to wipe blood off of a small cut. “You’ve gotta talk to me, pretty girl…What’s going on? You’ve been in here all day, there's 3 empty cans of RedBull on your desk, and you just threw a dart through a picture frame. Talk. Now.” You sighed and tried to pull your hand away, to which she held it a bit tighter.

“I can’t fucking stand it. How Vought gets off scott free after every fucked up thing they do. I was twenty years old, planning my parents' funeral from my dorm room. And what was he doing? Probably getting sucked off by some higher up for ‘a job well done.’ My parents were the only people I had. I sat in the first pew of that church alone. Completely and utterly alone.” You paused to take a breath, and pointed to the card pinned to the dart board. “That’s all I got. That’s all I have to show for it. I got…what? A fifty cent card with a bogus apology and two signatures on it? My parents were-” You choked on your words. “My parents were fucking sliced in half-” Your voice seemed to have left you as Vicky pulled you against her chest, being careful of the pile of glass shards.

“I know, baby…I know.” She cooed softly, tracing patterns on your back. Admittedly, you just sobbed into her shoulder, clutching onto her blazer as if it would disappear if you didn't. The two of you just sat like that. You couldn't even say how long. It was just the two of you, Vicky whispering comforting words to you as you let the ten years of suppressed emotions finally find some relief. “You are so strong, honey…And so incredibly loved, I want you to know that. You never have to hide these things from me. Whenever you want to talk about it, I'm here. I don’t care if I’m at a meeting with the god damn president…I’ll get to you as fast as I can.” Vicky pulled your face off her shoulder, and wiped your tears ever so gently. “I love you…So fucking much. It hurts me to see you like this.” Vicky herself was almost choked up at the sight of you in such sadness. She kissed your lips softly, before she moved to press her forehead against yours, her hands holding both sides of your face. “What can I do to make you feel even just a little bit better…? Say the word and it's yours.” She whispered. You swallowed and took a breath as you placed your hands over hers.

“Ice cream…and a Band-Aid.” You replied softly. Vicky laughed and squeezed your cheeks ever so slightly.

“That's it? Just ice cream and a Band-Aid? You could have anything and you chose ice cream and a Band-Aid?” She smiled and shook her head, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

“Yeah…That’s it.” You replied softly.

“Alright pretty girl…what flavor?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well...what can I say? Shes my favorite. Hope you liked it as much as I did, most likely starting either Butcher x Supe!Reader or Soldier Boy x Sidekick!Reader real soon depending on the results of the pole...It's been really really close! Adieu!

#the boys fanfic #homelander #vought #the boys fandom #the boys #the boys s4 #the boys season 4 #victoria neuman #victoria neuman x reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #lgbtqia #lgbtq #hurt/comfort #billy butcher #the boys fanfiction #wlw post #sapphic fanfic

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rosegoldrosieee · 6 months ago

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so high school

while flesh-eating walkers had seemingly crushed your long-held dreams of experiencing romance as a teenager, carl grimes made you feel so high school.

♡ carl x f!reader, fluff, implied suggestiveness, friends to lovers (sorta), ambiguously alexandria, reader has a spine

a/n: wrote this yesterday hiding in the bathroom during lunch on my school-licensed chromebook for maximum immersion

it was times like these, standing outside on someone’s back porch to get away from boisterous conversations and forced interactions, that reminded you of stupid high school chick flicks with cheesy one-liners, twenty-something actors playing sixteen-year-olds, and predictable love triangles.

you never got to navigate and, most importantly, surmount pubescent awkwardness, nor gush about crushes at sleepovers, because by your twelfth birthday, the dead somehow began to roam the earth.

out of sheer necessity, you’d eschewed any shot at teenage romance for survival skills, and effectively turned into a wallflower when you rejoined civilized society.

a gentle tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your reverie.

“hey.”

there stood the very reason you were even thinking about early-2000s romance movies in the first place: a chronically flannel-clad, one-eyed cowboy, notorious for merely sharing the same last name as the de facto leader of alexandria, now two feet in front of you holding a shot glass of fruit punch.

“didn’t mean to scare you.” he says with a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

“the only thing that’s scaring me is what you’re using as a vessel for your fruit punch.”

“everyone used up all the solo cups so i had to dig around in the cabinets,” he replies nonchalantly, holding up the glass. “why are you out here?”

why were you out here?

…

you can’t even remember.

“i don’t know.”

it’s hard to think, much less remember, anything when carl’s looking at you like that, arms crossed and leaning forward onto the banister, blue eyes boring into your own.

“did you even hear me?” he taps your hand that’s resting on the ledge gently, his lips quirking up with the ghost of an amused smile.

your eyes flick up to meet his attentively. “…what?”

“wow, you’re really out of it today,” he laughs, sipping from his shot glass. “forget it.”

you shift your weight, shaking your head. “well, i’m listening now, so tell me.”

his fingers are fidgeting with yours, you realize. tapping gently on your knuckles. intentionally, unintentionally? it was cute either way.

he tilts his head. “i just want to know what you’re thinking about.”

you shrug, as dismissively as you possibly can. swallowing down the butterflies that threatened to crawl into your throat.

“getting away from this stupid ass party.”

he raises an eyebrow, tone skeptical. “and?”

you narrow your eyes. it was a bad habit, using vitriol to mask your emotions. you were well aware. “what do you mean, ‘and’?”

“‘cause you’re smart,” his lips curl into a smirk. “that’s not all you’re thinking about. you’re never all…spaced out, like this.”

fuck you, carl grimes.

“i’m just tired,” you fib. your eyes drift to your hand, intertwined with carl’s, before quickly looking away. “you’re reading into it too much.”

“only because you’re not acting normal,” he teases, a dimpled grin gracing his features before he adds, “and you definitely would’ve pulled away by now if you didn’t want this.”

you steal a glance at your entangled hands again, heat rising to your face before you ask, skeptical, “what are you trying to do, exactly?”

“what do you think i’m trying to do?”

you glance to the side furtively, tongue-tied, still able to hear the muffled revelry through the shut screen door, before your eyes trace over his features again.

you wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face so badly.

tugging at the collar of his unbuttoned flannel, you shift your weight to the balls of your feet, connecting your lips to his fruit-punch-stained ones.

you swear you’ll never drink hawaiian punch, or any drink with red-40 in the ingredients list, again without imagining the taste of him lingering on your lips.

expression tinged with a gradient of conflicting emotions when you pull away, you open your mouth to say something— and then he pulls you in this time, words dying in your throat with a soft whimper.

the party fades into an afterthought until you hear the screen door open just around the corner, thudding against the frame. quickly, you disentangle yourself from his arms, faces still flushed.

it’s rick, his rugged, stubbled face and piercing gaze (so it must be hereditary, you wagered) flickering between the two of you suspiciously, nodding at you curtly.

“carl.”

thank god for your quick reflexes — those, at least, hadn’t deteriorated just because you were sheltered by alexandria.

carl swallows, freckled face flushed as he quickly looks at you, panic etched on his face. the evidence of your little affair conveniently disguised by the shadow of his cowboy hat and the darkness of the night.

“dad, can’t we stay a little longer?”

“think the party’s ‘bout over.”

you peer into the ajar casement windows, abandoned solo cups decorating the vacant living room, watching abraham stagger into the mudroom and nearly take a shelf with him when he topples forward. rosita, unamused, rolls her eyes, grumbling something unintelligible before dragging him along.

before the grimes family gets into a fight, you take it upon yourself to leave first, retrieving your cardigan that was hanging on the banister. “see you around, carl. bye, mr. grimes.”

both of them wave as you disappear into tree-lined streets, intermittently illuminated by uniform streetlights.

as soon as you’re out of earshot and out of sight, you let out a pleasant sigh, smiling from ear to ear like an absolute idiot as your hands reached up to feel your flushed cheeks, still hot to the touch as you giggle to yourself at the incredulity of it all.

at home, once the high had worn off, or more realistically, ebbed for the time being, you shed your cardigan, scrutinizing the crimson patches blooming on the side of your neck in the mirror, smiling like a fool.

these were the only kind of bites you’d ever tolerate.

#Spotify #the walking dead #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #twd #twd fanfiction #carl grimes x you

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rafesapologist · 2 months ago

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the setback ─ rafe cameron; part sixteen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: drug use, alcohol, plot twist

author's note: okay i have to admit i havent sat down and wrote in awhile so pls forgive any errors, love u all

The following days felt rather protracted for Rafe since your sudden egress that morning at the Cameron's residence. His father was still absent as usual, likely plotting some sort of reprisal for the threats Rafe had made at the dock since it was unlike him to let such a thing go that easily. Truthfully, Rafe couldn't have cared less about whatever vengeance his father was brewing in his depraved mind, he could only seem to think about one specific thing as if his thoughts were a record that only had one track to play. You.

The hypothetically 'reasonable' thing to do would be to reach out to one of your friends, but knowing them, they'd glue their mouths shut before giving away where you were to him. But aside from the Pogues, there was really no one else to go to for answers besides them. Rafe knew you had a tumultuous, basically non-existent, relationship with your parents, therefore they'd be rendered no use in the search for you. Every option seemed to lead to a dead end for him, seeing how you kept your circle of friends diminutive and your family disconnected. It was practically impossible to find you.

Rafe realized he had made a mistake showing up unannounced when you had returned to the island, and that it had nearly drove you to despise him even more than you did before. He couldn't make the same mistake again, not when your view of him was now dimmed and tainted by the allegations that he was out to destroy you and your friends. The relationship between you and Rafe was more fragile than ever, and Rafe wondered if the situation itself was enough to diminish any chance he had of being with you again.

It felt like a cruel joke was being played on him. He finally had you back after two years of longing to see your face again outside of a chipped pixelated phone screen, an agonizing wait that was worth every minute of affliction he endured while you were gone. But now, it was like the past was repeating itself, a horrid nightmare that haunted Rafe like a bitter old friend.

Rafe did the only things he knew to do to cope with your disappearance—coke and parties. Like retracing the steps on a well-worn path, every turn feeling like deja vu with every line he inhaled. Sure it didn't make him forget about you, but it sure did make the pain more manageable.

"Damn Rafe, I haven't seen you rage this hard since your dad tried kicking you out last year," Topper's drab tone rang through Rafe's ears, although fortunately for him, his friend was far too high to pay it any mind.

Rafe responded with a half-hearted chuckle while he carelessly bent back down to the table to inhale one last line of the white powdered substance before him. He breathed it in with an ease only a seasoned addict could do, a shameful talent he acquired in an attempt to mend his affliction.

"Yeah, well," Rage shrugged, wiping his nose of residue, "he's good at bringing that side out of me."

Topper's brows furrowed at the remark, feeling as if it was a subtle hint at what Rafe was going through. It would only make sense if Ward had been the reason his son was becoming a full blown addict again, since Rafe held his father's words to a much higher degree than anyone else's.

"Hey, why don't we lay off for a bit and get some drinks?" The blond added, a pang of worry coursing through him at Rafe's flushed and disoriented complexion, his pupils dilated to the max.

With droopy eyelids and a gaunt look on his face, Rafe's hazy gaze met Topper's with a faint smirk present across his lips, "Yeah, I could use another drink." He slurred while he gave his friend an inept pat on the shoulder before wandering off to the bar.

As he strode through the crowd of people, Rafe's usual posh appearance was replaced with disarray. His hair had fallen into uneven tufts, his face pallid and streaked with sweat. His azure colored eyes were glossy and unfocused, darting around the room with an unsettling lack of coordination. His typical arrogant, assertive demeanor stripped away by a slack-jawed, dazed expression. If it weren't for the fact that he was surrounded by a hundred other intoxicated people, perhaps someone would've been concerned by the way he looked.

The more steps he took, the more he could feel himself go in and out of consciousness. The loud, thumping music and flashing lights only heightened the symptoms of his high as he reached a euphoric state. The world around him was hazy and blurred but he felt a blissful peace as his once-racing thoughts suddenly went silent. It was the first time in days Rafe had felt anything besides grief and anger. Between you and his father, he felt like a burden under the scrutiny he faced by the ones who knew him best, and figured, maybe you two were right; maybe he was the problem.

Before he could reach the bar, Rafe felt a finger tap him on the shoulder, urging him to turn around. He sluggishly turned to face whoever it was, only to be met with disappointment at the sight of a familiar brunette standing before him.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Sofia looked in horror at the sight of Rafe's sickly complexion.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed by her comment, "What do you want, Sofia?" Rafe grumbled through his slurred speech.

"I.. came to say hi cause I thought I saw you across the room. Didn't expect to see you here," she replied hesitantly while she continued to observe his bloodshot eyes.

He scoffed at Sofia's remark, his voice dripping with a mix of anger and derision. “Haven’t you done enough?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “It’s bold of you to even come up and talk to me right now.”

Sofia’s eyes widened at the venom in his tone, her brow furrowing with a blend of hurt and frustration. “Look, Rafe, I know what I did and I’m sorry but—”

“No,” Rafe cut her off sharply, his voice like a jagged edge. “A bullshit ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to fix what you did. And besides, you should be apologizing to Y/N, not me.”

Her face fell, the weight of his words hitting her like a cold splash of water. “I know,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I made a mistake and I let my emotions get the best of me, Rafe. I was just so angry seeing you with her that I lost it.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, a harsh scoff escaping his lips. “I don’t give a fuck how you felt. You had no right shoving her into the pool like that. What if something worse happened to her? Then what? Your apology means nothing to me.”

Sofia's eyes filled with tears, her lower lip quivering as she struggled to hold back her emotions. “I didn’t think... I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so caught up in my own pain and jealousy that I didn’t see how wrong I was.”

Rafe’s face remained a storm of anger and disappointment. “It’s not just about you and me anymore. It’s about her, and the fact that you let your anger turn into something so cruel.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the depth of his frustration and helplessness.

Sofia’s shoulders slumped, her voice barely a whisper now. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I just… I can’t stand seeing you with her after all we went through together. You promised me forever.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, muffling the chaotic noise of the bar around them. Rafe's face softened slightly, a mix of weariness and regret settling over his features. He looked at her, seeing the remnants of a pain he once knew intimately, but now felt so distant.

“Forever?” Rafe echoed, his voice rough with a blend of bitterness and exhaustion. “That was a long time ago, Sofia. Things change. People change.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of the situation pulling him down. “What we had is over. I’m with her now, and you forcing yourself into this situation only makes things worse. I need to focus on fixing what’s broken.”

Sofia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head slowly. “I know it’s over. I just didn’t want to be forgotten like this, to be left behind so easily.”

Rafe's expression hardened again, a wall of frustration rising between them. “It’s not about forgetting you,” he said, his tone sharp but tinged with a hint of sorrow. “It’s about moving forward. I’m trying to make things right for her, for us. But right now, all I see is a mess that needs fixing. And you’re only adding to it.”

Sofia's plea cut through the din of the bar, her voice cracking with desperation. “Please, Rafe, I only want what’s best for you. Please don’t shut me out like this.”

Rafe hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of the bar as he struggled with his own conflicted emotions. He turned back to face her, his eyes weary and clouded by the weight of everything that had transpired.

“Best for me?” he repeated, his voice hollow. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Sofia. You had your chance, and you made your choices."

Sofia's face hardened, a steely determination replacing the remorse in her eyes. "Then I’m sorry for what’s going to happen, Rafe. I truly am."

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his inebriated mind struggling to grasp the gravity of her words. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, a chill creeping into his voice as he sensed the shift in her demeanor.

Sofia’s expression grew somber, her tone taking on a more serious, almost threatening edge. "I was going to tell you that your dad came to me and offered me a proposition. If I did something for him, he’d pay me a large sum. At first, I wanted to reject his offer, come to you, and do the right thing. But seeing how you reacted tonight... I really need the money, Rafe. I’m sorry."

The words hit Rafe like a sledgehammer. His heart pounded violently in his chest, the alcohol-induced fog momentarily lifting as fear and anger surged through him. “What did he ask you to do?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent.

Sofia’s gaze dropped to the floor, guilt and fear mingling in her eyes. “I can’t say,” she whispered. “But it’s something that could hurt you and... someone you care about. I didn’t want to, but I’m desperate, Rafe. I’m sorry.”

Rafe felt the room spin as his mind raced. The reality of Sofia’s admission was like a brutal awakening, the weight of his father’s manipulative schemes crashing down on him with full force. He took a step closer, his face inches from Sofia’s, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “No, Sofia. You aren’t going to touch her. I swear to God, if you do—”

The threat hung in the air, taut with menace, each word charged with a volatile mixture of fear and fury. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the intensity of his emotions almost palpable.

Sofia’s eyes widened, her fear evident as she recoiled slightly from the raw intensity in his gaze. “Rafe, I—I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just... trapped. I didn’t know it would come to this.”

Sofia’s shoulders slumped under the weight of her decision, her eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the gravity of her choices. “Sof, don’t do this,” Rafe pleaded, his voice raw and desperate. “You don’t have to do what he says. No amount of money is worth this.”

Her head shook slowly, each movement punctuating the anguish on her face. “I didn’t mean for it to come like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I already made the deal. So now it’s either my life or hers, and I have to look out for myself, Rafe.”

The words struck Rafe with the force of a physical blow, his heart clenching painfully at the realization of the desperate position Sofia had put herself in. The intensity of his feelings for you surged anew, a fierce protectiveness that burned in his chest. “You’re choosing your own safety over someone’s life,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You know what that makes you?”

Sofia’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, her tears tracing a path down her cheeks as she wrestled with her torment. “You have no idea what it’s like to live like a Pogue, Rafe,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is my only chance to have a second chance at a better life for myself. And if this is what it takes, then… so be it.”

Her words cut through Rafe like a knife, the raw pain and desperation in her voice mingling with the weight of her choices. He could see the conflict etched into her features, the inner struggle between her dire circumstances and the moral cost of her actions. It was a choice born out of desperation, not cruelty, and the complexity of her situation only deepened his own anguish.

Rafe took a step closer, his voice soft but resolute. “I get that you’re in a tough spot, but you don’t have to sacrifice your own humanity to escape it. There’s always another way, Sofia. We just have to find it.”

Sofia shook her head, her eyes still lowered, as if the weight of her decision was too heavy to bear. “I wish I could believe that,” she murmured. “But right now, this is all I see. I’m sorry, Rafe. I never wanted it to come to this.”

Rafe’s voice trembled with desperation as he reached out to Sofia, his eyes pleading. “Sofia, I can’t let you do this. Just tell me where she is, please. I’ll do anything.”

Sofia’s shoulders sagged further under the weight of his plea. She looked at him with a mixture of anguish and resignation, the fight in her fading as the reality of his desperation sank in. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her resolve crumbling in the face of his earnestness.

“I… I can’t,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “It’s not that simple, Rafe. I’m bound by the deal, and if I break it, there’s no telling what might happen to me—or to you.”

Sofia’s eyes were heavy with the burden of her choices, her face etched with torment as she looked at Rafe. She could see the raw desperation in his eyes, the plea for her to help you cutting through the veil of her own fears and guilt.

“Rafe,” she began, her voice trembling, “I know you’re begging me, and I wish I could give you what you want. But I can’t jeopardize my life like this. You don’t understand—”

Before she could finish, Rafe cut her off, his voice strained with emotion. “I don’t care about your life right now, Sofia. I care about hers. You know what you’re doing is wrong. There has to be another way.”

Sofia’s gaze softened momentarily, tears brimming in her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to keep her composure. “I can’t tell you, Rafe. I’m sorry. I... I have to go.” She turned away, her footsteps echoing with the weight of her decision, leaving Rafe with a suffocating sense of dread and urgency.

As she walked away, Rafe stood rooted to the spot, the last remnants of his resolve dissolving into an all-consuming fear. The finality in Sofia’s voice was a harsh reminder of the time slipping away, the enormity of his task pressing down on him like a relentless storm.

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