Days after your confession you once again find San at your doorstep. His eyes were bloodshot; even though you had seen this sight more times than you can count, it still makes your heartache.
“Hurry,” you mumble, rubbing away sleepiness as you usher the distraught male into your house. A small sigh escapes your lips as he makes his way to your living room couch.
Before you could get your words out he looks you in the eye, lip trembling, and says “I broke up with her.” For some odd reason, his words shook you to the core as you hurriedly sit beside him. She had broken up with him multiple times but he had never broken up with her. Maybe the relationship was over for good. Half of you was ecstatic but the other half of you felt terrible. As much as you didn’t like the girl he was dating, she truly made him happy more often than not.
Patting his back, he lays his head on your shoulder and sniffles softly. “I wish I was still in love with you...” he mumbles softly, eyes shut tightly. The comment breaks you completely as you stay quiet, staring at the turned-off television in front of you. “Yeah, me too Sannie.”
“You missed a spot.” his voice is raspy and shaky as he helps you wash your back. You couldn’t muster up the words to say anything and only motioned for San to help you out, which he did. After his abrupt confession on the couch and yours that soon followed, you felt a weight lift off of your shoulders. You felt relieved like you could finally move on with your life. Yes, you longed to be with San but if he didn’t share those same feelings, what good was it to you?
Laying beside him in bed, you don’t notice how he takes in your features. He never once forgot how pretty you are and he never forgets how lucky he is to sleep beside you. Yawning, you turn your head and your eyes meet his. “Hi,” you whisper out, smiling slightly.
He waves, a goofy smile on his face as his heart pounds. He missed this feeling, he missed you. Yes, he slept beside you and talked to you but the circumstances weren’t ideal when he did. He missed the heartfelt moments with you, the moments that caused him to fall in love with you in the first place. Ever since the kiss you two shared, he couldn’t get the feeling out of his mind. The feeling of truly being loved and cared for. He longed to love you again and he hoped you would continue to wait for him.
“Please wait for me,” he whispers, lip quivering as he looked into your sleepy eyes. You simply smiled, closing your eyes. “I have been San,” you pause, “and I’ll continue to do so until you don’t want me to anymore.” your breath turns shaky. “Please don’t want me to wait anymore.”
A lump in this throat forms as silence fills the dark room. He can make out the outline of your body, how pretty you looked despite your eyes being closed. He wanted to be selfish, to continue to make you wait for him but he couldn’t...what if he was never ready again? “I-” the words are caught in his throat, conflicted, he bit his quivering lip.
holding hands while riding nagumo and casually talking about what’s for dinner…
ugh he would so do this...he's so annoying
a/n: kinda late (sorry), had a pile of work i had to do for uni </3
"slow down, i'm not going anywhere," he teases you, hands on your waist as you ride him. he's right though, he's really not going anywhere with how planted your knees are around him.
he'd gotten home from work not too long ago, even if work ran long today; his poor girlfriend couldn't be kept waiting for him (nor did he want to keep you waiting).
you're so pent up today, and it'd be a shame if you did nothing about it. your cunt has been so needy to just use him like your own personal dildo, but nagumo really doesn't mind at all. "just like that...fuck, you're so needy for my cock, huh?"
he takes your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours—bringing one of them to his lips. he kisses the back of your hand, "what's for dinner tonight, beautiful?" he asks while you're moaning and whining all over him.
"mmm...i—hah..." you couldn't possibly answer him right now, you're riding him into oblivion—going dumb on how good he stuffs your weepy pussy. "how about takeout?"
you nod your head up and down, not listening to a thing he says. your mind has gone completely blank as your cunt quivers around him. you roll your hips so sloppily on him that it's taking everything in him not to just cum inside of you instantly.
your hands grip tighter as you hold them for leverage, your knees getting weaker as the fat of his tip kisses all of your sweetest spots. "where do you want me?" he croons. "hah—inside" you moan out. "you want me inside, princess?"
"fuck...yes nagumo, cum inside me!" you practically beg as you let go of his hands. he moves his hands back onto your hips—fucking himself into you.
in a couple of thrusts, you're cumming all over him, your pussy fluttering around him—squeezing him so nicely. nagumo pushes your hips down, burying his cock into you—filling your pussy with all of his cum.
summary- After a heated argument, Megumi leaves for a dangerous mission, and in a moment of anger you say the one thing you can’t take back.
contents- angst! angst! angst! Don't hate me, please !!
“So you’re leaving?” Your voice cracked before you could stop it. “Again?”
Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you stood frozen on the other side of the room, watching Megumi shove clothes into a worn duffel bag. The zipper screamed through the silence, every pull of it sounding final.
“I have to,” he said without looking at you.
“No,” you whispered, tears burning hot behind your eyes. “You want to. And that’s the difference.”
Two years ago, you’d promised each other this life was over. You’d sworn to walk away—to be normal. No cursed spirits. No missions. No blood on your hands. Just the two of you, building something quiet and safe.
Megumi finally exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t do this to yourself, (Y/N). You’re working yourself up over nothing.”
“Nothing?” Your laugh was hollow, breaking apart as it left your mouth. “They want you to hunt down a special grade.”
Silence stretched between you.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “They do. And I’m not letting Yuji do it alone.”
The words landed like a blade. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just about leaving—it was about choosing that world over the one you were standing in now. And no matter how hard you tried to hold him there, Megumi was already gone.
“Go,” you spat through clenched teeth. “Fucking leave.”
Megumi’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he turned without a word and walked toward the door. The silence he left behind was worse than if he’d shouted back.
You followed him out, stopping in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as he slipped his shoes on with stiff, mechanical movements.
“Yeah,” you said, the bitterness spilling out before you could stop it. “Leave. Just like your dad. Guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
The room went dead quiet.
Megumi froze.
Slowly, he looked up at you—and the expression on his face felt like something breaking inside your chest. Hurt carved deep between his brows, his eyes glassy, wide, like you’d reached inside him and crushed something fragile.
“I hope that was worth it,” he said softly. His voice barely held together.
“Me too,” you whispered, your voice cracking again, the weight of your words settling in too late. “When did you lose sight of what was important?”
Megumi looked away, blinking hard. He shoved his shoes on and yanked his duffel bag up, clutching it tight against his chest like armor.
He didn’t say goodbye.
The door clicked shut behind him, quiet and final—and the sound echoed long after he was gone.
The door barely had time to settle in its frame before the weight of what you’d said came crashing down on you.
Your chest tightened, breath catching like you’d been punched. The silence he left behind was deafening—no footsteps, no voice, no chance to take it back. Just the echo of your own words, sharp and cruel, replaying over and over.
Just like your dad.
Your knees threatened to give out.
You stumbled forward a step, then another, like maybe if you moved fast enough you could still stop him. But the apartment was already empty. His shoes were gone. His jacket. The faint warmth of him, too.
“Megumi…” His name slipped out, broken, useless.
Your throat burned as tears finally spilled, blurring the hallway, soaking into your sleeves as you pressed your hand to your mouth to keep from sobbing out loud. You hadn’t meant it. Not really. You’d meant don’t go. You’d meant choose me. You’d meant stay alive.
But you’d chosen the one thing you knew would hurt him most.
You slid down against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, heart pounding like it was trying to escape. The promise you’d made two years ago felt shattered now—normal, safe, together—splintered by fear and anger and love you didn’t know how to hold without breaking.
no one ever suspected that you and megumi were dating.
not that you made a point of hiding it—megumi simply didn’t see the merit in pageantry, and you shared the inclination. you walked side by side, trained across from each other; coexisted so naturally that not a single soul caught on.
not panda, who considers himself something of a social savant. not maki, who dismissed your closeness as mutual misanthropy. inumaki has his suspicions but.. he had no one to confide in. certainly not gojo, though that said more about his obliviousness than your subtlety.
until one afternoon.
training ends late, you’re all gathered on the track field bleachers, half-shaded by the sky, eating snacks with the sort of sluggish detachment that only post-training exhaustion allows. sitting next to you, megumi reaches out, and carefully plucks a leaf from your hair. he flicks it to the ground, then tears open a cracker and takes a bite. crunch.
the silence that follows is instant and cavernous.
“wait,” panda says, “wait.”
you and megumi glance up in perfect synchronicity.
“what.”
“you two—” gojo points a finger between you. “this is a thing?” his voice pitches up half an octave.
“yeah.” you say, taking a sip from your pocari sweat.
“how long?” maki demands.
“salmon roe,” inumaki echoes, scandalised.
“four months.” megumi looks vaguely irritated by the attention.
i, as a black person, am very—very tired of black folk constantly being watered down to the baseline of stereotypes created about us over the years, by our oppressors, in fanfiction.
imagine how tiring it is to read jabber/reader, jabber/literally-anyone fics and realise, “oh, this is just the mandingo stereotype,” every single time. you non-black people characterise him as insatiable and voracious, aggressive and primitive to satisfy your sexual fantasies surrounding him.
your fanfics are minstrel shows.
please, do better. we’re more than that, and you know it.
Billy Hargrove x Female Reader (she/her pronouns used throughout)
Genre(s)/Trope(s): Angst, fluff, friends to lovers, hurt to comfort (emotional)
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: violence, characters getting hurt, not following the original plotline from ST, mentions of hospitals, Neil being an abusive pos dad, mentions of being used for sex basically, allusions to sex (no sexual acts are described in detail/at all), swearing, few mentions of alcohol and drugs
A/N: lowkey didn’t know how to end it so the ending might be shit. I feel like I don’t see enough Billy angst or fluff/angst turned fluff, so I wanted to try a thing here. This is my first fic in like two years, so pls bear with me as I try to get back into writing :,) lmk if you have any suggestions or requests – I’m open to almost anything – for smut, I may have some limitations and will elaborate on that soon!!!! That being said, however, I will be getting out a detailed list of who/what I write for and what I do/don’t do in my writing. Formatting may not be the greatest either, but again, pls be kind as I’m just getting back into writing 😭
Read my other works here! | Join my taglist here!
GIF CREDS TO @yaoi-on-ice00 !!
The horrors that took place at Starcourt Mall replayed in her head endlessly, her body limp on the floor of her bedroom on a cold Tuesday afternoon. Leaves flew about, tapping ever so delicately on her window. Her body jerked frequently, a glimmer of hope shooting through her that it was Billy, but she was met with disappointment each time.
Horrors from two weeks ago also replayed in her mind.
“Max,” she uttered softly upon the door swinging open, the little redheaded girl falling into her warm embrace. “Oh my God, Max.”
The two held each other, standing in the doorframe. Silence consumed them, yet so much was said. Tears pooled in Y/N’s eyes, her mouth beginning to tremble as she began to speak.
“I’m so happy you’re okay. I didn’t want to leave your side, or Billy’s, and I’m so sorry, Max-“
“Stop apologizing, Y/NN.”
Max tried to make light of the situation, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Y/N fell into her arms yet again, the two holding each other as they broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
“I’ve been visiting her at the hospital, but it kills me to see her like that. I tried to help her, I really did.”
“I know,” Max assured, her eyes sincere.
Seeing Eleven in a hospital bed, lying lifeless. No one could stand to see her in such a condition, but Y/N’s priority was to protect her that night. Billy instructed her to watch over the young girl after she shared a compassionate moment with him, and she did. But when she saw that Billy was almost killed right before her eyes, she ran to cover him. It was a trick, alright. That was just what the Mind Flayer wanted — El all alone, defenseless. And so when Billy saw her running to him, abandoning El, he shouted her name, and at the same moment, El’s body was struck, sending her into an unconscious state.
The chaos slowly died down as they continued their fight, everyone running over to El once it was safe enough. Y/N lingered back with Billy, and albeit feeble, she attempted to wrap some of his injuries that gushed with blood. He said not a word, his body trembling, anger in his expression.
“Billy?”
“Get off of me.”
He shrugged her off his arm, storming away to assist El. Her entire body grew cold, and she didn’t realize she was losing blood too, until she felt a dull pulse near her ribcage. Her body was growing weaker by the second, but she nonetheless dragged her figure to the group. They all tended to one another, mainly keeping their focus on Eleven as they eventually signaled down an ambulance for her.
Y/N sat still next to Billy, feeling as if breathing or shifting wrong would set him off. It was almost as if he knew what she was thinking, though, finally uttering, “She showed me my mom.”
She remained silent, tugging a bit on the dull grey blanket that sat on her shoulders. It did nothing to keep her warm, but it was something, nonetheless.
“She showed me my mom. I hadn’t seen her in years, at least not the way El showed her to me,” he let out a cold chuckle. “Bitch left and I never saw her the same. Until tonight. And I remembered, and I wanted to thank El for showing me that, but I didn’t get to. No, I didn’t, and that’s all thanks to you.”
Her heart staggered, her breath hitching as tears welled in her eyes. It felt as if someone were pressing down on her chest with all their might, knocking the wind out of her lungs. “Billy, I didn’t me-“
“No, I know. If I hadn’t known you all this time, I wouldn’t. But…she almost died. Because of you,” he turned to look at her, his stare ice cold. He got up, walking away. He didn’t say anything else, his figure fading in the distance as Y/N was stuck in her position.
They were best friends before anything. They were in middle school when Billy moved to Hawkins. She was assigned the task of touring him around the school, and eventually she was tasked with tutoring him. Billy was freshly into his troublesomeness, making many horrible attempts to look up her skirt when she would guide him around the school. She would always keep a hand behind her, holding out for Billy. He was always too full of himself to hold her hand in public, but when they were at her house and she did the same thing, holding out her hand to lead him to her dining room, he didn’t hesitate one bit.
High school rolled around and their friendship wasn’t so innocent anymore. She went through all of middle school crushing on him, and he felt the same way, but neither made a move. She hadn’t visited his home once, only seeing the outside when her parents would drop him off at home after their tutoring sessions. He thought the coast was clear one day and he was sorely mistaken.
Neil was having a bad day at work. Nothing could have fixed his state of anger. So when he heard obnoxious laughter and saw another pair of shoes at the door, the kitchen a mess with no dinner ready, he was at his wits’ end. He quietly moved to the living room, gaining a small view of the two teens. Billy looked too happy for his liking. When he saw the way Billy’s eyes glimmered at you, he just had to make his presence known. He cleared his throat, startling the pair. Y/N chuckled a bit, but she stopped quickly when she saw Billy’s demeanor change.
“So, I come home, the house is a mess, better yet, the kitchen’s a mess, and there’s no dinner on the table. You’re here instead, goofing off with another one of your little sluts. What’s the meaning of this?”
She felt a knot growing in her throat, her cheeks heating up. “Sir, I’m s-“
“Don’t call her a slut.”
She didn’t know it, but that was the first time he was able to look him properly in the eyes and not back down from an argument. It escalated rather quickly; Neil grabbed him by the collar and busted his lip. Billy didn’t hurt him in return, opting to push him away. He made sure to grab Y/N and get her far away from the house. Eventually, they were in the woods, parked up in Billy’s car.
Her heart physically ached in her chest as she looked over his features. His lip was busted, his blood drying and starting to harden against his skin. She turned his face to her, rummaging through her bag and trying her best to clean him up with whatever she had in her bag. They remained silent as she dabbed a makeup wipe ever so gently along his skin, softly prying at the pellets of dry blood. He hissed occasionally, Y/N offering a small “sorry” as she continued to clean him. She blotted some of her strawberry-scented lip balm around the cut, hoping it would do something for his skin.
“How long has this been going on?”
The silence had to be broken at some point.
“Y/N-“
“How long?”
She persisted, tears welling in her eyes as Billy recalled Neil’s first outbursts toward him, not believing he went so long without saying a thing. She looked at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed and lips parted, “You don’t have to hide it, Billy. Not from me.”
He looked at her, his own icy blue orbs drowned in tears. Without thinking twice, he leaned over the center console, lips brushing hers before capturing them in a delicate smooch. She tensed momentarily and her body jerked backward. Her lips moved gently so as not to hurt him once she relaxed. The metallic taste of his blood seeped onto her tongue, strawberry ever so faintly as he slipped a hand behind her head, deepening the kiss.
“Bill-“
“I love you.”
In all their years of friendship, he’d said those three words all of three times — one night after he’d found her shitfaced at a party, crying over a guy she liked who ended up getting with someone else right in front of her face, another when she was at his side after a horrible car accident, tending to him at the hospital, and now.
She felt the butterflies going wild in her stomach, and knowing how long she’d been suppressing her feelings for Billy, she redirected the phrase to him, allowing her lips to find his again. One thing led to another and they were in the backseat of his car, fogging up the windows. Soon enough, they laid there, blissfully, tracing their names and random shapes along the foggy surfaces.
“Look, princess, I don’t want to jeopardize what we have, okay?”
She slowly felt her heart being torn from her chest. She read it all wrong. It wasn’t love, it was pure lust. He was letting his dick talk as he’d done several times with plenty of girls before. Suddenly, she felt disgusted, pulling an item of clothing further up to cover her exposed skin. She remained silent a moment longer, a single tear falling as he used a finger to turn her face to his. “Princess?”
“Yeah,” she sniffled. “Yeah, Bill, I get it.”
But each encounter hereafter, whether they were drunk or high, ensued as such. He would kiss her, make her feel like she was floating. They would have sex. They would bask in bliss, hold each other for a moment or two. And then Billy would run the same line: “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
She couldn’t help her feelings. She felt what she felt for him, concealing it to the best of her ability. She tolerated sleeping with him if it meant it made him happy. She would've done anything to keep him happy. But it was only so long that she could conceal her feelings, allowing them to show when he boasted about his one-night stands or when she saw yet another girl clinging to him at a party.
She allowed them to show a lot more when everything went to shambles with Vecna, genuinely fearing for his life, and trying her best to aid him through that point in time – hence showing up at Neil's. She caught up with Max and the rest of the kids, all of them sitting with glum expressions on their faces. They were drained, but they were just worried about Eleven. No one blamed Y/N for what happened, but both she and Billy had it engraved into their minds that she was the sole cause.
"How're you holding up?" Dustin broke the deafening silence, eyeing Y/N.
Her hands were trembling, and her mouth was dry. She managed to speak properly, but her body felt as though it were about to shut down. She took a deep breath, "I'm hanging in there. I came here to see Bills, but I don't know if he wants to see me."
They all gave her sympathetic looks as she excused herself, making her way to Billy's room. The few steps she took felt elongated as if she had blocks of cement for feet. She knocked on his door, and the pit in her stomach grew tenfold, her throat starting to close up on her. She watched the doorknob turn, wanting to run and hide immediately. As soon as she saw Billy’s face, however, her manner softened. His piercing blue eyes met hers, matching hers that were bloodshot. She wanted to hug him immediately but he walked away from the door, leaving her standing there with tears in her eyes.
“What’re you doing here?”
His tone was cold.
“I wanted to see you,” she whispered, shutting the door behind her. The room was dark with a faint blue hue as the daylight shone through his curtains.
“What for?” he scoffed.
“I missed you, Bill. I-I can’t be at peace knowing you’re mad at me. I’m sorry. I didn’t me-”
Her voice broke, tears beginning to fall from her eyes. He sat on his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the ground.
“You didn’t mean for it to happen, I know. I know, I know, I know, Y/NN. You’ve said the same shit to me about fifty times already. I know,” he paused. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that it happened.”
It felt like a knife was being twisted even further into her heart.
“Are people not allowed to fuck up, Billy?”
It came out harsher than intended, but she was sick of feeling as though she had committed a crime. She knew she had messed up and that none of it had happened on purpose. If she could change all of what happened and turn all of it around, she would, but she literally could do nothing more.
“She could have died, Y/N! So if you think that was some tiny fuck-up then you’re far beyond mistaken.”
“What part of that not being in my intentions are you not understanding, Billy? Why can’t you get it through your thick fucking skull that I didn’t try to get her killed!? I saw that your ass was about to die right in front of me! I’m so utterly and fucking sorry that I abandoned her and ran to you, Billy, because I was scared they would get you instead! I’m sorry!”
He stormed up to her, his pupils now blown.
“I’m a grown fuckin’ man, Y/N! So what if they got to me!? I can handle it! I don’t need you!”
“You make it so clear that you don’t need me, Billy, so fucking clear.”
She backed down, the two of them holding eye contact intensely and breathing heavily, the rest of the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“Y’know what?” his eyebrows furrowed, anger still evident in his features. “It should’ve been you.”
And that was the final blow. The knife couldn’t be twisted anymore. It was lodged into her heart as far as it could reach.
He turned his back on her, striding back to his bed. She remained still, a breath managing to sound from her mouth. She spoke slowly, “I’m going to give you a chance to say that you didn’t mean that. If you say nothing, I promise you, William Hargrove, you will be sorry those words ever came out of your mouth and you will never hear from me again.”
She waited a moment, total silence consuming them aside from the faint murmurs of the kids in the living room. He shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. She nodded, slowly backing her way to the door.
“Got it. I just want to say that I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you and you didn’t show me much of your shitty side as you did with everyone else, but you are a grade-A asshole, Hargrove. Have a nice life.”
With that, she sauntered back to the kids, bidding them farewell.
“I’m not sure if I’ll see you much around here anymore, but you guys are always welcome at my place. I love all of you so much.”
Dustin was the first to hug her, her tears gently falling on top of his head. Everyone else followed, Max kissing her cheek as she offered a look of sorrow.
It’d been about two weeks since then. Her boss knew all of what she was going through, so he didn’t question it when she showed up only three times within those two weeks. She spent most of her time locked up in her bedroom. She had a little cabin all to herself in the woods, Hopper and Joyce just a few miles down. They knew the deal as well, dropping off a meal ever so often. They offered comfort, but nothing satiated the ache in her chest.
On the days she mustered up the strength to fix herself and visit El at the hospital, she wished she would run into Billy. She was met with disappointment each time he didn’t show, but she shook it from her mind, putting a smile on her face for El’s sake. El was doing better, thank God, so she didn’t hesitate to ask for all the details on what had gone down between the pair. Y/N didn’t want to bombard her much, but when Billy visited her alone, he didn’t hesitate. He was miserable, losing his mind without his right hand. They’d done everything together all this time and a part of him was simply missing without her there.
This was her third day in a row spent rotting away on her bedroom floor. She was so sure he would never show. He hadn’t even made any attempts at calling her, so why on Earth would he show up? All of her thoughts were silenced when she heard her window slam open. She got a glimpse of his disheveled blonde curls, frizzier than usual, puffy red lips complementing his eyes.
“You moved the spare key.”
She stared at him, nothing coming to her mind.
“You moved the key, baby.”
“‘Baby’? You have the audacity to call me ‘baby’, Billy? After two weeks of not speaking to me, you come in through my bedroom window, confused as to why I moved the spare, and you call me ‘baby’? Billy, last time I checked, you were fully okay with losing me. What the hell is wrong with you?”
She stood up, anger brewing within her. She was happy to see his face after so long, but he was acting like nothing had happened.
“’M sorry, Y/NN. I’m an asshole and I fucked up, but I am so sorry,” she gave him a chance to get close. “I missed you, princess.”
Then she smelled it. He reeked of liquor.
“You’re drunk.”
“Princess-”
“Billy, get out.”
“Babe-”
“Get out, Billy!”
Soon, she was crying again. It seemed as if she didn’t know him at all anymore. He walked over to her trembling figure, allowing her to just fall apart in his arms.
“I was drinking, but ‘m not drunk, princess. I didn’t mean it. ‘M not just comin’ to my senses now that I drank. I've been missin’ you all this time.”
“Why didn’t you reach out to me sooner?” she sniffled.
“Because,” he paused, sighing. “Because I didn’t wanna look weak. Didn’t wanna make it look like I became a pussy.”
She was seething once again but she couldn’t yell anymore, gently pushing him off instead.
“You hurt my feelings and you were worried about looking like a pussy? Really? I thought I knew you so much better, Billy. I guess I was wrong.”
He looked like a sad puppy, his head hanging low.
“Babe-”
“Shut up, Billy. Please just shut up. Please get out of my house and never speak to me again. Leave me alone. Please.”
Her tone was desperate. She loved this boy with every ounce of her being. He was engraved into every fiber of her. And to hear all of what he had to say was just disheartening. She moved to the door and he followed, taking hold of her wrist and turning her body to his.
“Please, Y/NN,” at this point, his face was dripping with tears. He fell to his knees, his arms instinctively making themselves at home around her hips. “Please forgive me, baby. Please! I will beg, do whatever the hell you want, if it means you’d forgive me and talk to me. I miss you so much! I can’t fucking live without you! ‘ve been a piece of shit to you for so long. You don’t deserve any of it and I really don’t deserve you, but if you give me the chance to make things right, I can’t promise I won’t fuck up, but I will try my best not to just for you.”
She took a breath, her mouth hanging open for a bit until she found the right words.
“You know I love you, right, Bill?”
He nodded, watching her every move.
“And you know that I’ve been in love with you?”
Silence.
His arms just tightened around her and his expression was as clear as day.
He knew. He knew all along. And so was he. But he stuck with his reasoning of not wanting to appear weak or seem like a pussy for actually loving someone. She was the only person he had a soft spot for. He didn’t show it very well, but he’d do things for her he’d never done for anyone else: he’d hold her hair back while she puked after a wild night of drinking, carrying her home and putting her to bed, making sure to tuck her in on those same wild nights. He didn’t do that for just anyone, a girl at that. It had to be his girl. It had to be his Y/N.
“Billy,” she started again, her voice softening. Her hands found his hair, moving to rest on his shoulders as her tears fell one by one. “I’ve been in love with you all this time, and you knew. You didn’t say anything because what? You’re scared of love? You don’t wanna show everyone that you’re a lovable person?”
The side of his face rested on her stomach. He couldn’t stand to see how much he was making her cry. A moment of silence passed, her hands finding his hair once again.
“‘M sorry,” was all he managed to get out at that moment. He looked up at once. “Please, baby, ‘m on my knees, beggin’ you to just gimme a chance. If you hate me and you really just want nothing t’ do with me, tell me and I’ll be out of your hair. But, just so you know, I will never be at peace with all I’ve done to you, princess, and I’ll make sure the dickhead that gets the pleasure of bein’ yours makes you feel like the most special girl in the world if it can’t be me.”
She’d never seen him like this, features and emotions so raw. She tried her best to silence the voice in the back of her mind that suggested he was bluffing. She held onto his shoulders, muttering “get up” as she braced herself for her following question.
“So, what does this mean, Billy?”
He took hold of her hips, pulling her body into his ever so delicately, like she were a piece of glass.
“Means I’m asking you to be my girl. Properly. I don’t wanna hear someone else call you theirs. I don’t want you in my bed or me in yours for a hookup just to leave the next morning and say we’re just friends. I don’t want to show you that I love you only when we’re high or drunk. I don’t. I want to wake up next to you every single morning. I want to hold you like this every single day after work. Wanna shout from the rooftops how much I love you and how lucky of a man I am to have you in my life and by my side. I wanna be the reason you smile every day. I want to be the shoulder you lean on when you don’t have the strength all on your own. I want all of it. I want all of you, princess. I’m all in, just for you, sweetheart.”
In that moment, she felt like a daft little girl, allowing a boy to sweet-talk her.
“How do I know you’re not bullshitting me?”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes avoiding his, showing that she was thinking of letting him back in but holding back due to her fears.
“I won’t hurt you, baby.” he took her hand and placed it on his chest, his heart drumming a mile a minute. “I promise, I won’t do anything stupid to hurt you, sweetheart. And I won’t do it simply because I love you.”
She finally looked into his eyes, and she didn’t have to search much as sincerity was written all over his expression. His eyes glimmered with hope, hope that she wouldn’t give up on him just yet.
“You promise?”
“I promise, princess.”
He waited for her to speak, watching as if he saw her thoughts unfolding in her mind.
“I forgive you, Billy, and…yeah, I will be yours.”
She took a leap of faith, her lips finding his as her arms entangled themselves around his neck. His wet eyelashes tickled her skin, their tears mixing into the kiss. In all the years she dreamt of being with Billy, she didn’t think they’d get together under circumstances like this. Nonetheless, it was perfect; both of their emotions and feelings out in the open, raw, unfiltered – like never before.
wait!!! having szn 1 rafes baby, but with everything going on he kind of dips out, mainly because he wants to impress ward and he’s still on drugs, but around season three he makes a huge effort to trying and come back, but he sees how much the baby (i’m thinking like 1-2 years old) just loves you and the routine you guys are in. and how you’re extremely hesitant to have rafe around his kid. and becoming co parents around season 4 rafe
omg this got lost in my inbox help me... i'm so sorry.
season one rafe would be a horrible father — im sorry to say, i think we can all agree though. it will take him a lot to change his ways. the addiction is way too prevalent, he cares too much about ward's approval, and everything is just.. too much for him. he's not used to this. and he does what he knows best — he runs. he disappears into the coke and the paranoia, and you're left alone to carry the weight of this decision by yourself.
i can't see season two rafe coming back yet, honestly. the addiction still consumes him, he's surrounding himself with a bad crowd (barry's fine ass). be ready to hear things from other people about what he's probably told people, leading the narrative into what he wants it to be, not what it actually is.
season three rafe is slowly coming back. the cameron family is breaking up, he's understanding the importance of family. your routine with baby is solid, happy, safe. and he sees how unnecessary he is in that scene. you don't need him. but he tries to show up anyway — showing up for pick-up times, asking you what toys they like. you keep him at arm's length — the memories of the first few months alone are too painful to forget, but your child doesn't need to suffer, so you put it behind yourself. and when he asks to take the baby for a few hours? you choke on the word no, and he knows exactly why.
he doesn't get angry like he used to. lord knows what the old rafe would do in that situation. he just swallows, nods, and tries again next week.
the breath leaves him the minute he sees the baby for the first time, also. he freezes, because the kid looks like him. same smile, before tucking their face into your chest for comfort, a little shy. they're the only thing in his life that remains untainted after all the chaos.
season four rafe would be so cute with a toddler also??? my ovaries are working overtime rn at the thought.
it's awkward at first. of course it is, it had been just the two of you for so long. but there were new things to get used to. small talk over hand-offs in parking lots. the car seat permanently sitting in the back of his truck (he'd probably spent longer than he wanted to admit googling how to set it up the proper way for baby). but he's consistent, even when you push him away. especially then. he's there for all the firsts:
first real words
first tantrum (mirroring a much younger rafe, which genuinely scares him)
the night the kid wakes up sick and only wants dad after days of ignoring him
and it scares you half to death when you hear your baby say the words 'daddy', because this is the part where you could actually get hurt all over again.
and he states he's 'not leaving again,' and swears to god on that.
sometimes you believe him though. sometimes you don't.
→ you watched Dick Grayson love someone else—while you kept your own feelings buried beneath tight smiles and half-swallowed words. But sometimes the truth doesn't stay quiet.
→ unrequited love (that isn’t) | emotional confessions | angst with a soft ending
Word Count - 3,000+
Gotham glittered that night. The kind of glitter that came from too many spotlights and not enough soul—expensive gowns, hollow compliments, glasses of champagne held by people who didn’t know how to smile without calculating something behind it. I stood in the corner of the ballroom, trying to decide if I could disappear without anyone noticing.
My dress was the wrong kind of tight, clinging where I didn’t want attention. My heels were screaming. And my heart? Well. That had been screaming long before I walked through the doors.
Because I knew they’d be here.
And of course, they were.
Dick looked devastating in a black suit—hair tousled in that perfect not-perfect way, blue eyes soft as ever, laughing easily as Kory curled against him like she belonged there. Which, I guess, she did.
She was radiant. Always was. Like someone carved her out of sunlight and stars. People moved around her like she was the room’s center of gravity. And Dick… he always looked better next to her.
Not because she completed him. No.
Because he believed she did.
And I hated that. I hated how good they looked. How right they seemed.
I hated myself most of all, for wanting to ruin it.
I stepped outside halfway through the evening, needing air that didn’t reek of cologne and pretense. The Gotham night was cold, biting against my skin, but I stayed out anyway. Let it chill the ache behind my ribs.
I didn’t hear him at first. But I felt him. Like I always did.
His voice was a soft scrape. “Thought I might find you out here.”
I turned. He was holding two glasses. He offered one to me.
I took it, because it gave me something to do with my hands.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned next to me on the railing, watching the skyline. “You okay?”
That question.
That damn, damn question.
It cracked something. Not because he asked, but because of how gently he said it. Like he actually wanted to know.
And maybe it was the cold. Or the champagne. Or the fact that I had been pretending for so long that I forgot what it felt like to be honest.
But I turned toward him and said, quietly, “It hurts to see you with her.”
He stilled. Like a string had pulled tight inside him.
I should’ve stopped there. But the words had waited long enough.
“I’m not asking for anything,” I rushed on. “I know she’s… she’s her. And you love her. But I can’t keep swallowing this anymore. I’m tired, Dick. Tired of pretending I don’t feel it every time I look at you.”
Silence stretched between us. Sharp. Endless.
“I’m sorry,” I added, forcing a laugh that died in my throat. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just needed—God, I needed someone to know.”
He turned, finally. His eyes searched mine, soft and wounded.
“I wish,” he said slowly, “I wish you hadn’t told me.”
I flinched. “Right. Of course. I—”
“No, not because I’m angry.” He looked away, toward the city lights again. “Because now I can’t forget it.”
My heart stopped. Just… stopped.
He didn’t say he felt the same. Didn’t say anything else.
But the weight of his silence was louder than any answer I could have imagined.
He touched my arm—just a brush of fingers. Warm. Familiar. And somehow devastating.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He shook his head, not looking at me. “Don’t be. You were honest. I just… I don’t know what to do with it.”
I nodded. Because that was fair. Because I didn’t know what to do with it either.
We stood like that a little longer. Two people on the edge of something that couldn’t be real.
And then someone called his name—Kory’s voice, warm and golden and whole.
He handed me his jacket before he left, like that could make up for everything I just unraveled between us.
When the door clicked shut behind him, I let the wind bite deeper. Let my heart break just a little more.
Because I’d said it.
And he didn’t say it back.
We didn’t talk about it. Not really. Not after that night.
He didn’t bring it up. I didn’t press.
It became one of those memories you pack away and try not to touch—like a scar that still stings when the weather changes. And for a while, I let myself believe that silence was healing.
But it wasn’t.
It was rot. Quiet and slow.
We used to text every day. Dumb memes. Morning check-ins. Late night rants about Gotham’s never-ending crime rates or the coffee shop that always got his name wrong.
Now? Weeks would pass. Nothing but radio static.
And the worst part? I still remembered the sound of his laugh better than my own.
We were paired together on a recon job. Some low-level smuggling ring out in the Narrows. Simple intel, rooftop surveillance. Old routine.
Except it wasn’t old. Not anymore.
Not when every glance felt loaded. Not when the silence between us pulsed with things we didn’t say.
We were on hour three of rooftop silence when he finally spoke.
“You okay?”
Same question. Different battlefield.
“Fine,” I replied, not looking at him.
“You’re not.”
I let out a quiet breath and adjusted my scope. “Don’t start this.”
“Start what?”
“This thing where you act like we’re fine, then dig until I bleed.”
That got his attention. He looked over, jaw tight. “Is that what I do?”
“Yeah,” I snapped. “You poke at wounds you helped make and then flinch when they hurt.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and irreversible.
His voice dropped, low and guilty. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said bitterly. “What’s not fair is falling in love with someone who calls you just a friend while he holds someone else like the world revolves around her.”
His face crumpled for half a second. Just a flicker. “You said you didn’t expect anything.”
“I didn’t.” I turned to face him fully, heart pounding, voice shaking. “But you looked at me like it mattered. You touched me like it mattered. And then you left me out in the cold like it didn’t.”
Silence again.
Then, softly: “You shouldn’t have said it.”
I swallowed. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t replayed it a thousand times in my head?”
His eyes burned. “Then why did you?”
“Because I was tired of hurting in silence.” I stepped closer, just enough for him to feel the weight of it. “Because you kissed her in front of me and I felt like I was suffocating, and if I didn’t say something, I was going to shatter.”
He exhaled slowly. “You make it harder.”
“Good,” I said. “Because it was never easy for me.”
He didn’t answer.
I turned away first.
Back to the scope. Back to the mission. Back to pretending I hadn’t just cracked myself open again.
He stayed quiet after that. But I caught him watching me. Like he wanted to say something more. Like it killed him to stay silent.
But he didn’t.
And I didn’t either.
Because I’d already confessed once.
And bleeding twice in front of the same person starts to feel like begging.
The night of his birthday, I promised myself I wouldn’t get drunk.
Two glasses of wine in, I knew I’d already broken that promise.
It wasn’t the kind of drunk that makes you loud or stupid—it was the kind that slowed everything down, that made me feel too much. The kind that softened all the anger until only hurt remained.
Kory threw him the party. Of course she did. She’d always been good at planning things like this—decor that matched the theme, music that made people move, a guest list that looked like a Justice League reunion.
And I helped. I always helped. Because Dick was still my best friend, even if I wasn’t his favorite person to look at anymore.
He smiled at me across the room, raised his glass in that easy, boyish way of his that made my stomach twist, and mouthed, thank you.
I nodded and forced a smile. I’d gotten good at that—smiling like it didn’t scrape my insides raw.
Kory wrapped her arms around him from behind and kissed the side of his neck. The whole room cheered.
I needed air. Again.
I found him out on the balcony later. Alone. Leaning on the railing with his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from dancing. He looked tired and beautiful and achingly familiar.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
He turned and smiled when he saw me. “Hey you.”
That killed me a little. You. Like I was still something personal.
I stepped beside him and handed over the drink I’d brought. He took it, fingers brushing mine for a second longer than they needed to.
“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “Seriously. You always know how to make things better.”
I shrugged. “You deserve a good night.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
There was a pause. The kind that teetered on a ledge.
He looked down at the glass. “You ever think about... the things we don’t say?”
I blinked. “Sometimes I think that’s all I think about.”
He smiled faintly. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “This is gonna sound stupid, but...” he looked over at me, something unreadable in his expression, “...there’s a part of me that misses when it was just us.”
My heart cracked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “We were chaos. But it was good chaos.”
We stood there in the quiet hum of Gotham night, close enough to feel each other’s heat. Close enough to remember how it used to be.
His eyes dropped to my mouth for a second. Just a second. But I saw it.
He leaned forward. I didn’t stop him. Not right away.
His breath touched mine, warm and slow, and time halted between us like the city had pressed pause.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
And I did. Barely. A breath. “Stop.”
He did. But he didn’t move away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough now. “I shouldn’t have—”
“What do you want from me, Dick?” I asked, suddenly, harshly, because I couldn’t take it anymore. “You have her. You chose her. Over and over. But then you look at me like this and you almost kiss me and you wonder why I’m breaking?”
He looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You never mean to,” I cut in. “But it still happens. You still leave pieces of yourself with me and pretend they don’t matter.”
He went quiet.
And I hated that I wanted to cry.
“I’m not your backup plan,” I said, softer now. “I’m not the girl you come to when things get confusing. I’m not your almost.”
He reached for me, but I stepped back.
I couldn’t do it again.
He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Kory’s laugh echoed from inside, and just like that, the spell broke.
He didn’t follow me when I walked away.
I think the cruelest thing about healing is that it doesn’t come all at once.
You don't wake up one day and forget how someone made you feel.
It comes in pieces. One hollow breath at a time.
Somewhere between that balcony and the year that followed, I started letting go of Dick Grayson.
Not completely. Not in the way that counts. But enough to start saying yes when someone else asked if they could take me out to dinner. Enough to let someone new into the space in my chest where he used to live like a ghost.
His name was Luke.
He was kind. Funny. Normal in a way that felt safe.
He didn’t make my heart race like Dick did. But he made me laugh. He looked at me like I was enough.
And I needed that.
God, I needed that.
The first time Dick saw us together, it was at a Titans cookout.
Luke had his arm around my waist. We weren’t being showy, but there was a comfort in our closeness. A rhythm we’d found in just a few months of pretending I hadn’t once built my heart around someone else.
Dick was across the lawn, grilling with Roy and trying too hard to look busy.
When our eyes met, something flickered. Something dark.
He didn’t wave. Didn’t come over right away.
Later that evening, after Luke had gone to grab drinks and Kory was deep in conversation with Donna, Dick cornered me near the edge of the dock.
“You’re dating him?” he asked bluntly. No preamble. No smile.
I bristled. “Yeah. I am.”
He looked out at the water, jaw tense. “He’s... different.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. He’s just... not what I expected for you.”
I scoffed. “Well, you don't exactly get a say, do you?”
That hit him. I saw it.
“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he muttered.
“Then what are you trying to be, Dick?” I snapped. “Because every time I take one step forward, you show up and pull me two steps back.”
His voice dropped, pained. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer, “what’s not fair is the fact that I stood there for years loving you, waiting for you to choose me—just once—and every time you looked at me like I was something you wanted, you still went home to someone else.”
He flinched like I’d slapped him.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, softer now.
“But you did.” My voice broke. “And you keep doing it.”
A pause. Then: “You were always more than a maybe.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
He met my eyes. “You weren’t a backup plan. You weren’t a placeholder. You were always more than a maybe to me.”
The ache in my chest returned full force.
“Then why,” I asked, voice shaking, “was I always the secret?”
He didn’t answer.
And I didn’t wait for one.
I turned and walked back to Luke, who smiled when I returned like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just ripped myself apart all over again.
And for the first time in years, I felt something close to anger more than heartbreak.
Because I had begged in silence.
And I was done hurting quietly.
Kory left.
Not in a dramatic, tearful kind of way.
No screaming. No grand farewell.
Just… a decision. A quiet truth between two people who had tried their best and finally understood they had grown too far apart to keep pretending.
Dick didn’t talk about it. Not really. The news came through the grapevine—a text from Donna, a nod from Roy. I heard it in whispers before I heard it from him.
And when I did?
All he said was:
“She’s gone.”
Two words. Heavy enough to knock the wind out of me.
Weeks passed. We didn’t see much of each other. He went quiet again, hiding in shadows like he always did when things got too real.
I didn’t chase him.
For the first time in years, I didn’t go to him with soft words and open arms.
Because somewhere between the night on the balcony and now, I had learned how to protect myself.
And yet—some part of me still waited.
Because love doesn’t always leave when it should.
Sometimes it just… waits.
It was late when he showed up at my apartment.
Not vigilante late. Not emergency late.
The kind of late that means you’ve been pacing outside for thirty minutes trying to find your courage.
I opened the door and just stared at him for a second.
He looked wrecked. Not in the dramatic, sleepless kind of way. But in the subtle, soul-tired way that says: I’m not okay. I haven’t been for a while.
“I didn’t know if I should come,” he said.
“Then why did you?”
“Because I couldn’t not.”
I stepped aside. He walked in like he didn’t want to, like it hurt too much to stand still.
He didn’t sit. Didn’t touch anything. Just stood in the center of the room, turning toward me with eyes that had held too much for too long.
“I thought I could forget it,” he said. “What you said to me. What almost happened. What we almost were.”
He swallowed.
“But I didn’t.”
I stayed quiet.
“I kept thinking,” he went on, “about all the times I told myself I was doing the right thing. That being with Kory made sense. That we were good. That it would be easier if I just—just loved her enough to make it quiet everything else.”
He looked up. Met my eyes.
“But I never stopped hearing you.”
My throat tightened. “Dick…”
“I was scared,” he said, stepping closer. “Of what it would mean to want you. Of how much it would change things. Because you’ve always been in my life. And if I let myself fall into that… I wouldn’t come back out.”
He stopped right in front of me.
“I didn’t choose her because I loved her more.” His voice broke. “I chose her because I thought you would destroy me.”
Silence.
And then, finally, my voice: “You already did.”
He closed his eyes like I’d punched him.
I stepped back, because it was all too much. “You don’t get to just come here and—”
“I’m not here to win you back.”
I blinked.
“I’m here to tell the truth. Even if it’s too late.”
I hated that I felt something bloom in my chest anyway.
He took a breath. “I love you. I’ve loved you through every ‘almost.’ Through every fight. Every moment I kissed her and thought about you. I didn’t say it when I should have, and maybe that’s the end of this. Maybe I don’t get to have you.”
I stayed quiet.
“But I had to tell you. Because I can’t keep pretending I’m not still yours in every way that counts.”
The room went still.
Slow. Silent.
And then I did something I hadn’t done in years.
I let myself hope.
“Do you mean it?” I asked.
He looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. “It’s always been you.”
I walked to him. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… real.
We stood there, inches apart, breath shaking.
“If we do this,” I said quietly, “it’s not a maybe anymore.”
His hand came to my face, thumb brushing a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“No,” he whispered. “It’s always.”
And when he kissed me, it wasn’t like the almosts.
It was soft. Certain. Shaking and solid all at once.
maybe Rafe meeting corporate's friends for the 1st time... maybe he feels out w them
something like this
Fit Me In, If You Can
꩜ corporate!reader x bluecollar!rafe
꩜ A/N: soso fun to write tysm anonnn
꩜ ❝wish i could beee part of your worlddd❞
You’d told him he didn’t have to come.
Said it was just happy hour with your coworkers, just a couple drinks before everyone went home to their overpriced apartments and perfectly curated lives.
But Rafe had insisted. Said he didn’t like the idea of you walking out of some rooftop bar alone in heels, said he didn’t trust finance bros with too many negronis in their system.
Said he just wanted to see you home himself.
And now, here he is.
Standing awkwardly near the glass-paneled entrance, a step behind velvet rope, boots scuffed and posture stiff, like he knows he’s not supposed to be here.
Like he thinks someone’s going to ask him to leave.
Your heart squeezes.
He cleaned up, you can tell. Showered, probably changed shirts three times before settling on the navy henley that hugs his shoulders, the jeans that sit just right on his hips. His hair’s still a little damp. Like he came straight from the shop and didn’t stop moving until he got to you.
He’s trying.
For you.
You don’t even think before moving. You’re halfway across the bar before your friends realize you’ve left.
“Hey,” you say, soft, reaching for his hand. “You came.”
His calloused fingers twitch, then curl around yours. “You said nine.”
There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your chest ache. Like he’s seeing something he doesn’t quite believe belongs to him.
“You look good,” he says gruffly, then adds: “You always do.”
You smile. “So do you.”
You tug him gently toward the table, and he follows, hesitant but willing. Like a dog walking into a thunderstorm, knowing it’s gonna rattle him but staying close anyway.
The table’s already mid-laugh when you slide back onto your stool, Rafe standing behind you like a sentry.
“Guys,” you say, voice smooth, practiced, still holding his hand beneath the tablecloth. “This is Rafe. My—”
“Boyfriend,” he says quickly, firmly. “I’m her boyfriend.”
Your heart skips a beat. A lurch. A warm rush of something that has no name.
You glance up at him, startled by how sure he sounds.
Mine, he’s saying, like he’s already bracing for the moment someone tries to make him feel like he isn’t enough.
Emily’s the first to speak. Of course. Hair pin-straight, laugh pinched at the edges. “Hi. Wow. Boyfriend. We’ve heard so much.”
Rafe nods. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch.
Just stands there, feeling like the only real thing in a room full of polished glass.
Carter, with his trust fund teeth and an open collar, raises his glass like he’s offering a business card. “What do you do, man?”
“I’m a mechanic,” Rafe says. “But also dabble in renovation and custom builds.”
The silence is just long enough to be condescending.
You tense. He notices.
“Ah,” Carter says, with a thin smile. “You probably get more done in a day than I do in a week.”
Rafe shrugs. “Probably.”
You stifle a laugh into your wine glass. Rafe’s hand is resting on the back of your chair now, thumb stroking the wood like he’s grounding himself in something. It feels like a metaphor.
Emily sips her drink, peering at him like he’s an opinion she can’t quite decide on.
“So how did you two meet?”
You smile, “My car broke down near his shop. He helped.”
“She threatened me,” Rafe adds, a ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Told me if I scratched her paint job, she’d ruin my life.”
Laughter flutters around the table but its light, obligatory. But you laugh for real, remembering it, remembering him. The way he looked under the hood. The way he didn’t blink when you barked orders in heels and a suit. The way he smiled when you finally said thank you.
“I knew then,” he says quietly, just for you, “you were gonna ruin me anyway.”
Your heart stumbles.
You blink, stunned, because God.
Who gave him permission to say things like that? To mean them?
Emily cuts in, tone syrupy-sweet. “You know, it’s just so different that you’re dating someone like him, for once.”
You go still.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, too calmly.
“Oh, just... not another successful guy from Dartmouth or some hedge fund. Someone who works with their hands.” She gives Rafe a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “That’s not an insult, by the way.”
You open your mouth. Rafe beats you to it.
“I work hard,” he says, quiet but firm. “Maybe not the kind of job you brag about over oysters and trust funds, but I show up every day. I build things that stay standing. I take care of what’s mine.”
He doesn’t look at Emily.
He looks at you.
And you feel it in your chest, in your throat, in every inch of your spine.
“I might not have gone to Dartmouth,” he says, voice rough, “but I know what I’ve got when I look at her.”
The table is silent and you reach for his hand again.
Because damn.
There are million-dollar men who’ve never made you feel this seen.
You glance around the table. The expensive drinks, the performative smiles, the empty chatter.
Then you stand, sharp eyes flickering over your coworkers that you'd considered friends.
“I think we’re gonna head out,” you say, voice resolved.
No one stops you.
You’re already in the elevator when you look up at him, your voice low. “You okay?”
Rafe swallows. Nods. “Did I embarrass you?”
You frown. “What? No. You—Rafe, you killed that.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for an hour. Then he murmurs, “I just wanted them to like me.”
You lean in, press your hand to his chest.
“They don’t have to like you,” you whisper. “I do.”
And when his eyes soften, when his mouth brushes yours like a promise, thats when you know you’d choose this man in a thousand rooms full of platinum watches and inherited wealth.
Every single time.
...
You hadn’t planned on staying long.
Rafe had asked if you’d swing by for a drink, said the guys were hanging out at a dive bar near the docks. Just “grab a beer and say hi,” like it was no big deal.
And it wasn’t, not really.
Even if you came straight from work, still in a blazer, hair slicked back, heels clicking against the sticky floors of a bar that smelled like fried food.
You don’t care about looking out of place. You care about him.
You spot him instantly at the back table with pitchers of cheap beer and loud laughter. Rafe’s got one arm slung across an empty stool, his head tilted back, laughing at something one of the guys said.
He looks so relaxed. So at home in this chaos. You feel it tug at something in your chest, not envy, exactly. Just something soft. Something that makes you want to step into his world a little more.
When he sees you, his whole face lights up.
“There she is,” he says, rising from the booth.
You smile. “Sorry I’m late. I had a client meeting.”
He leans down to kiss you, quick and warm, his hand brushing your hip, and then gestures toward the table.
“These are the guys,” he says, and they all nod in various stages of buzzed approval.
You sit down beside him, cross your legs, and accept a glass from someone with an easy smile.
For a while, it’s fine. You sip beer. You ask polite questions. You laugh at a few of their stories. They’re not bad guys... just loud. Just a little too used to being the center of the room.
You hold your own. Of course you do. You’ve been holding your own since you were sixteen and learning how to win boardrooms full of men thrice your age at prestigious internships you'd somehow weaseled into.
But then one of them named Jake, with a backwards hat and too many opinions, leans forward and smirks.
“So…you’re the one who tamed Rafe Cameron.”
You raise a brow. “Tamed?”
Jake shrugs. “I mean, come on. You’ve got him drinking wine, dressing like a gap model, talkin’ about his feelings.”
The guys laugh. Rafe shifts uncomfortably beside you.
You smile, cool and composed. “Right. Because God forbid a man have depth and a clean shirt.”
“Damn,” another one whistles. “She’s spicy.”
“She’s uptight,” Jake counters, grinning. “Bet you got a spreadsheet for your sex life, huh?”
You blink.
The table laughs again, but you don't bother to politely fake laugh with them this time.
You don’t flinch. You just take a sip of your drink and say, voice calm as a blade: “Only thing I organize is orgasms. Bet you can't say the same?”
That gets actual laughter, even from a couple of the guys who’d been snickering before.
But Rafe isn’t laughing.
He’s watching you with a hint of pride but also something stormy and unreadable.
Jake recovers with a smirk, wanting to one-up you. “Bet Rafe misses the old days, huh? Back when he was goin’ home with someone different every weekend.”
There’s a beat of silence.
A dangerous one.
Then Rafe sets his glass down, hard enough that the table jumps.
“That supposed to be funny?”
Jake laughs, but it falters. “Relax, man. We’re just bustin’ balls.”
“Nah.” Rafe leans forward, eyes dark. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. You don’t get to talk about us like that.”
You rest a gentle hand on his knee, not to stop him. Just to let him know you’re there. That you’re fine.
But he’s not fine.
“I brought her here,” he says, voice low. “Because I wanted her to see where I come from. Because she means something to me.”
“Rafe—” you murmur.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he says, glancing at you, softer now. “Not of you. Not of this.” Then back to Jake, voice sharpening again. “But don’t ever disrespect her like that again. You got it?”
Jake raises his hands. “Jesus, alright. Chill.”
Rafe’s jaw is clenched. His leg’s bouncing. And then he leans in, kissing your cheek. “I think we’re done here.”
And at the words you slide off the stool, smooth, poised, calm, like your heels were made to walk over spilled beer and shattered egos.
Rafe follows without hesitation.
You’re outside before either of you speak.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know they’d be—”
“Hey.” You stop him. “You don’t have to apologize for them. You stood up for me. That’s all I care about.”
He exhales, glancing down at you. “I just…I didn’t want you thinkin’ I was that guy anymore.”
“I don’t,” you say simply.
He swallows. “I used to be, y’know. Like Jake said. Reckless. Selfish. I didn’t—” He falters, then looks at you like you’re the only thing holding him steady. “I didn’t really give a shit about anything until you.”
Your heart catches.
He’s not the smoothest with words. But God, does he mean them.
“I know who you were,” you say, stepping closer. “I know who you are now. And I know who you are with me.”
He breathes in, sharp and shallow. “Wanna get outta here?”
You grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”
TAGLIST (OG taglist + anyone who asked to be tagged): @lunaleah, @luzstarkey, @rafeycameronsgf, @pluviophilis @aerie717, @voqueflms, @drewstarkeyspecs, @nightchanges777, @starkeyjoseph, @bonjourjiminie, @discomago, @kissylec, @kelbrave, @therosequartzwitch666, @laurel-inheaven
now what rlly pmo abt the blue lock fandom is when people say that rin and sae are similar in personality or if people give those two the same reactions to things, because they are VERY different people.
sae is a completely nonchalant guy. he’s more or less emotionless around most people, and he doesn’t really get mad or even slightly irritated unless someone gives him random physical affection (shidou). he’s rude because he says whatever is on his mind, no matter how rude it is or how much “erm actually” energy it gives, although sae also isn’t afraid of complimenting someone as he complimented Isagi at the end of the u20 arc. basically, sae has a pretty dry personality.
rin is similar on the outside, but certainly not the inside. rin tries to be nonchalant in order to imitate sae, but rin is the least from nonchalant. he gets mad easily, he’s got the emotional maturity of a child, and speaks rudely even though it usually isn’t what he actually thinks. rin knows that isagi is just as good as he is, but he always says something rude at isagi out of insecurity and to imitate sae. so to sum it up, sae is just a dry asshole with not a whole lot of brightness to him. meanwhile, rin pretends to be nonchalant but is the opposite.
rin has anger issues and emotional management issues, and sae just has issues in general.
Your hand pressed against the cold glass as you held the phone to your ear. If someone had asked you where you would be in five years you would've never guessed it would be jail. Interestingly enough, you were happy here. Happy to have sacrificed your freedom for him. He was going to break you out anyways so you could both continue to cleanse the world of its sins.
The world didn't see what you two were doing as good. In the eyes of the law, murdering those who were evil made you evil too. Something that, didn’t make sense to the both of you. Clearly the system was flawed and that’s simply another thing you would have to fix. Gods were what you both were.
Placing your hand back in your lap, you stare at the man in front of you. Mere glass separated you two and if you both were brash, you would’ve broken out already but being in jail further helped both of your causes.
Jongho places his hand on the glass, reading the ink sprawled all over his hand. The cop behind you doesn’t notice, or maybe he does but since it looks like gibberish, he ignores it. ‘How stupid’ you think to yourself as you finish reading the writing sprawled across the palm of his hand. How the justice system could hire people so brainless and spineless was beyond you.
A giggle escapes your lips as you watch the complete chaos happening before you. Soon, you would be out of here and making the world a better place with your lover by your side. How sickeningly sweet.
The Sophomore Collection
by @sentate & @serenity-cc
This collection is ✨ amazing!! ✨
I hope you like the lookbook I created, it was so much fun showcasing the versatility & endless options within this collection 💗
More Information:
• Early Access Available Now!
• Public Release: April 28th
• Get @sentate's part HERE
• Get @serenity-cc's part HERE
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