Bunny (P8)
Bunny (P8)
Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader
summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.
a/n: I was worried you guys were gonna bomb my house after the chapter yesterday so I though I gotta dish this out quick, so here's the next part. This chapter is so hot- but so gut wrenching. no further comments.
(thats a lie- lowkey re-reading this now about to post and think I shifted through the chapter in the tense I was writing in, lowkey not deep but my apologies 😬)
warnings: mentions of alcohol, strip tease, lap dance, sexual tension, emotional distress, mentions of past harassment (implied sexual assault and rape), kinda smut but not really, sad and stressed bunny :(
(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8)
Rafe’s steps were slow, unhurried, leading the girl up the staircase, the only glow in the dimly lit house coming from the room at the end of the hall. Y/N followed without a word, the air thick, her pulse matching the steady beat of their ascent. She had never been in this house before, but she had never expected it to feel like this. When they reached the office, Rafe pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The scent of expensive cologne and whiskey filled her senses. He moved with a quiet confidence, walking toward the small bar cart in the corner, where he poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light. He barely glanced at her before tilting the glass slightly in her direction.
“Want one?”
“No.”
She shook her head as she looked away from him, her gaze darting around the four walls. His eyes flickered over her, unreadable, before he took a slow sip murmuring out,
“Suit yourself"
Y/N shifted on her feet, taking in the room. It was painfully neat, every book on the shelf precisely aligned, the desk practically untouched save for a few scattered papers. Her eyes wandered, landing on the fireplace, and above it, a framed picture of three kids. Sarah, Wheezie, and Rafe himself- years younger, looking at the camera dressed smartly- if she had to take a guess she assumed it must've been for Midsummers. She swallowed, forcing her eyes away from the frame just as Rafe leaned back against his desk, glass in hand. He was watching her. Studying. The same way he always did, but there was something different now. Maybe it was her or maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t snapping at him like usual, wasn’t fighting him for control over whatever this thing between them was. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms.
“So...?”
Rafe exhaled through his nose, amused at her impatience. He swirled his whiskey in his glass, watching her.
“You’re actin' strange”
Her jaw tightened as she kept her arms tightly folded, “That a problem?”
“No,” He took another sip, letting the silence stretch, letting her sit in it “just an observation.”
She hated that he was good at reading her, hated that he noticed things, hated his stupid fucking smugness. Hated even more that he was right. But instead of answering, she just shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting. Rafe finally set his glass down on the deep mahogany desk, leaning against it, running his tongue along his teeth before speaking.
“Y/N, what are you actually doing here?”
Her stomach tensed, because she knew what he was really asking. God, she'd slapped him in the fucking face and now she was here, in his office, in his house. Yet she also knew she wasn’t about to give him a precise answer, cause two can play this stupid game of back and forth,
“I'm here to dance for you”
Rafe tilted his head slightly, as if he was mulling her answer over. Finally, he exhaled slowly, dragging his knuckles along his jaw before finally pushing off the desk.
“Right”
He moves, settling himself down onto the leather couch, legs spread wide, whiskey glass resting lazily in his grip. His eyes stay on her, watching, assessing. There's something heavier about the air between them tonight, something pressing at the edges and it causes her to speak up.
"I need music."
A hum rumbles through his chest, amusement flickering across his face at her little demand. He reaches for his phone, thumb lazily scrolling before selecting a song. The speakers in the background hum to life, the slow, sensual rhythm filling the room, seeping into the space between them. "So—" he drawls, swirling the whiskey in his glass,
"you gonna be my pretty little dancer tonight Bunny?"
She bit the inside of her cheek, creating a stinging feeling which she hoped would numb the pressure in her chest. This was what she asked for, what she came here for. So she swallowed down the lump in her throat and let the music take over, moving in tune with the slow, deliberate beat. Her fingers skim along the hem of her shorts, teasing, a light brush of fingertips against fabric before she hooks them just beneath the waistband. The motion is unhurried, drawn out, the shorts inching down the curve of her hips as she rocked them from side to side, before slipping lower, lower, lower- pooling at her ankles. She stepped out of it with precision, bare legs catching the glow of the fireplace, a flickering contrast against the deep shadows of the room.
The heat of his gaze is palpable, dragging over her newly exposed skin like a touch. He doesn’t sip his drink now, doesn’t move- just watches, the ice in his glass barely shifting as he grips it a little tighter. She lets her hands travel, brushing over her sides, her stomach, her ribs, before they come to rest just below her chest, teasing at the band of her top. A slow roll of her hips follows, matching the hypnotic rhythm of the music. Every movement is deliberate like a silent challenge, a game of control. Then, she turns her back now facing him, moving just enough for him to see the word printed onto the pink panties stretched across her hips.
'Bunny'
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
She keeps moving, hips swaying to the slow pulse of the music, rolling with the beat as she lets her hands drift up, fingertips grazing the hem of her t-shirt. The fabric lifts slowly, teasing, inching higher over her stomach, then her ribs. Rafe doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound, but she can feel the weight of his stare pressing into her skin, scorching her in the dimly lit room. She pulls the t-shirt over her head, her back now bare except for the delicate strings holding her bikini together, tied neatly into a bow at the centre. The soft glow from the fireplace casts shadows along the curves of her body, highlighting the sharp dip of her spine and the gentle slope of her shoulders.
Rafe shifts, sinking further into the couch, his grip tightening around the glass before he brings it to his lips. He takes a slow sip of whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the crystal as he urges the liquor to sooth his sudden dry mouth. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, catching the lingering taste of alcohol as his head tilts back slightly, eyes dragging over every inch of her. His gaze is lazy, hooded, but there’s something sharp behind it, something that burns hotter the longer he looks.
She moves closer, each step slow, deliberate, the soft hum of the music carrying her across the room. The whiskey-laced air between them feels thick, pressing against her skin as she nears. She doesn’t straddle him- doesn’t give him that satisfaction- but instead turns, her back facing his chest as she lowers herself onto his lap. His legs are spread wide, her body fitting perfectly between them. The moment she starts to move, grinding down in slow rolls, his breath hitches just slightly, barely noticeable- but she catches it.
Her hands plant firmly on his knees, steadying herself as she works against him, her movements unhurried, teasing. Rafe’s jaw tightens, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he watches, as he feels her. His fingers flex around his glass before he exhales, setting it down on the side table with a soft clink.
Then, both hands are on her hips.
His grip is firm and guiding, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there, dragging her down just a little harder, a little slower. He doesn’t rush it- he'd never rush something like this. Doesn’t take control just yet instead lets her move, lets himself sink into the heat of her movements. His head falls back against the leather, eyes half-lidded, lips parting slightly as a low groan slips from his throat.
“Fuck”
He breathes out, his grip on her hips tightening, but she swears she isn’t paying attention to his reactions. That was the whole point of this, right? To tune everything out, to focus on the goal, to make this stupid money and leave. But then she hears it—his breath, the slight hitch in it, the way it escapes his throat unbidden, then the quiet groan which follows that he probably hadn’t meant to let out.
It makes her feel hot.
The warmth spreads down her spine, settling deep in her stomach, and before she can stop herself, she presses down harder, grinding against him with just a little more pressure, and maybe, it's not just to please him anymore... Rafe lets out a low, amused hum behind her, and his fingers squeeze at her hips in a way that tells her he noticed—of course, he noticed. “Shit Bunny,” he muses, voice thick, laced with something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“Didn’t think you’d enjoy this so much.”
Her stomach tightens at his words, and she clenches her jaw, trying not to react. This is just for the money, she needs to remind herself, it's just a job. But the problem is, she can feel him- straining against his trousers, hot and heavy beneath her, pressing into her just right as she moves.
And for a second, she forgets herself.
Because she isn’t supposed to feel like this. She isn’t supposed to want to hear him groan again, isn’t supposed to feel her thighs clench at the sound of his voice, or let the heat between them seep into her bones. But it’s happening anyway, and she doesn’t know if she can stop it. She barely registers the shift, the way she moves, one moment she’s grinding against him with her back to him, and now she’s straddling him, facing him, legs on either side of his lap.
And he just drinks her in because it’s not just the whiskey that’s intoxicating him anymore- it’s her.
The way she moves, the way she breathes, the way her hands skim up his arms, fingers trailing over the firm muscle of his biceps before settling on his chest. She rolls her hips down again, firmly pushing herself down right where she can feel him. His pupils are blown, fully dark now, the usual sharp blue of his irises nearly nonexistent as he stares up at her, breathing heavier. Then his hands lift, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her forward, until there’s barely any space left between them.
She’s so close
Her lashes flutter as her eyes flicker down to his lips, just for a second, and when they snap back up, he’s already watching her do it, already smirking at the way her breath hitches, at the way her thighs squeeze just slightly around him. His nose bumps against hers, and when he shifts beneath her, pushing his hips up into her, her fingers press harder into his chest, her own hips stuttering. She bites her lip, holding back the sound threatening to escape and he catches it, one of his hands leaving her hips, coming up to her jaw, fingers sliding against her skin just enough to keep her looking at him. His voice is low, barely audible, a whisper that seeps into her skin.
“Tell me to stop…”
Yet she doesn’t say anything
Her hands move instead, fingers working the buttons of his shirt, one by one... Each undone button reveals more of his tanned skin, the warmth of him radiating beneath her touch. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate for a second, and a deep hum rises from his chest as he watches her, but then he moves- leaning in, tilting his head so his lips find the delicate skin of her neck.
She sucks in a sharp breath, body tensing for a moment before melting under his touch.
His mouth trails down, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses, and then his teeth graze lightly over her pulse point, making her shiver. Her fingers still against the fabric of his shirt, and then one of her hands moves up, running her fingers up from the nape of his neck to the back of his hair.
“Didn’t think you’d fold so easily”
She lets out a quiet gasp and he smirks against her skin, lips brushing her throat as he murmurs,
“Where’s that loud mouth gone huh?”
His hands slide up her waist, fingers pressing firmly into her skin before one of them finds the thin strap of her bikini top. With a teasing snap, he pulls it back before letting it slap lightly against her heated skin. She jolts slightly, sucking in a breath, and he chuckles low against her throat, lips still working their way along the column of her neck. She doesn't stop moving, rolling her hips against his slightly more desperate now, and he meets her movements, pushing his own hips up in sync. The friction between them is thick, electric, and she feels the heat coil deep in her stomach, something dangerous and exhilarating all at once.
Her hands don’t falter as she slides his shirt down his shoulders, dragging her fingers over the broad muscles underneath before pushing it off completely. It falls to his elbows, and he pulls back just long enough to shrug it off, tossing it lazily over the back of the leather couch. His gaze locks back onto hers, eyes blown wide and unreadable. His hands tighten their grip on her hips, holding her there, keeping her close.
“Still not telling me to stop”
He mutters raspier than before, arousal evident in his tone as her body still presses into his in a way that feels too natural, too inevitable. He knows she feels it too- knows that whatever’s been simmering between them has finally reached a boiling point. His voice is teasing as he tilts his head slightly, lips just inches from hers.
"Is this really just about the money, hmm?"
She doesn’t answer.
Because the truth is, she can’t even think about whatever heat is crackling between them anymore, can’t allow herself to acknowledge it- not when her reality is suffocating her. She’s stuck in something she doesn’t want to be in, something she shouldn’t be in, and for the first time in a long time.
She doesn’t know what to do.
But she pushes it down and keeps moving, keeps rolling her hips down onto his, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as if she’s trying to ground herself, as if she’s trying to pretend. His hands slide down her waist, rough palms skimming over soft skin before they settle firmly on her ass, squeezing, guiding her against him. And for a fleeting second, she lets herself fall into it- lets herself chase the momentary distraction, the heat of his body against hers, the way his breath pauses when she leans in and presses her lips against his neck.
But it’s not enough.
Because even as she kisses against his skin, even as his hands grip at her, even as her body moves in perfect rhythm with his- she feels it clawing at her chest, pressing in on her lungs until she can’t breathe.
The weight of it all
The desperation
The fear
She swallows hard, blinking quickly, trying to shove it down, trying to pretend it’s not happening. But then her throat closes up, and before she can stop it, her vision blurs. She's silent at first, just trembling shoulders, her fingers tightening against his skin. But then the tears come, hot and fast, slipping down her cheeks before she can catch them, before she can stop them. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her face further into his neck, her lips brushing against his pulse, tongue gliding over the skin there, but barely. Rafe's eyes are closed when he suddenly feels it- small, warm droplets hitting his skin. It takes him a second to register what it is, his brows furrowing slightly as he clocks the sudden shift in her body language and he stills beneath her,
"What are you doing?"
His voice isn’t teasing anymore. It’s not smug, not taunting. Just… confused and then she crumbles
Right there on his lap.
A sob rips from her throat, and she tries to stifle it, pressing a trembling hand over her mouth, but it does nothing to muffle the sound. Her body shakes, shoulders heaving as she wails, the weight of everything hitting her all at once. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, as if she can disappear there, as if she can hide from hi gaze. Rafe's chest tightens, an unfamiliar pressure building inside him as he stares down at her, completely taken aback, "what the fuck", he mutters to himself his mind suddenly reeling. "Hey—" His voice is hesitant now,
"We can stop, it’s okay—"
But she just shakes her head, violently, desperately, refusing to look at him because she simply can't stop crying. His hands twitch at her sides, unsure of what to do, how to touch her. His mind is racing, trying to piece together what’s happening, why she’s like.... this? He rewinds everything in his head- her walking in, the way she spoke, the way she moved, but only one question keeps plaguing his mind- did he do something..? His hand moves hesitantly up her back, trying to soothe her, trying to ground her, but he feels so out of his depth, he’s not used to this—whatever this is. He murmurs, his fingers pressing lightly against her spine. He doesn't know what else to say, doesn't know how to fix this.
"Shh, hey…"
All he knows is that something in his chest is pulling tight, something he doesn’t understand.
Minutes pass, and the heavy, body-wracking sobs have quieted into something softer, just her breath hitching every so often as she sits there in his lap, unmoving. Her head feels heavy on his shoulder, her weight pressing into him like she might collapse entirely if she weren’t anchored there. Rafe says nothing. His hand moves against her back, rubbing slow, absent-minded circles, his touch surprisingly gentle and she’s just… not sure what to do anymore.
"I'm sorry."
The words are barely a whisper, her voice hoarse from crying, she still can’t bring herself to pull back, to look him in the eye, to see whatever expression is on his face right now. Rafe stays quiet. His other hand, the one that isn't on her back, is thrown lazily over the back of the sofa. He taps his finger against the leather, slow, rhythmic,
Like he's thinking
Like he’s waiting
She presses her lips together, willing herself to get it together, to push this all down the way she always does. Her hand comes up to wipe at her flushed cheeks, fingers brushing away the tear tracks as she straightens up. Pushing herself off his chest, she sits up properly in his lap, her back straight now, shoulders squared. His hand slips off her back, falling away completely as he takes in her flushed face. "I need the money-" she says finally, voice still a little raw but steadier now.
"Cause I need a ferry ticket to Charleston."
Rafe watches her, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. His arms come to cross over his bare chest, muscles flexing slightly as he leans back against the couch. His brows pull together as he speaks out,
“What’s in Charleston that you can’t find here?”
Her eyes snap up to meet his, narrowing slightly, her body tensing as she sits there still almost naked, in his lap. She bites back, defensive now,
“That’s none of your business,”
“Yeah? Well, considering you just had a meltdown in my lap, I think I’m pretty entitled to know.”
Rafe scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, and his tone is sharp, edged with something between frustration and curiosity. Her jaw clenches, fists tightening slightly in her lap before she exhales sharply, mumbling something incoherent causing his brows to furrow even deeper,
“Speak up”
“I need to see a doctor.”
His confusion only deepens. He watches her closely now, his blue eyes flickering over her face like he’s trying to read between the lines, trying to make sense of whatever the fuck is going on. His gaze lingers on her pupils for a moment, scanning her like she must be high or drunk because none of this is making sense.
“There’s doctors on the island Maybank”
He points out, slow, deliberate, as though an adult scolding a child. She clenches her jaw, hand coming up to rub the arch of her brow before she mumbles something again, barely audible. His patience thins completely as he bites at her,
“God, can you stop fucking mumbling and just spit it out—”
“I’m pregnant, okay?!”
She bursts, voice loud and sharp as it echoes through the dimly lit room. Rafe’s eyes widened for a split second, caught completely off guard by the outburst. The word crashed into him, heavy, knocking the air from his lungs. Pregnant? For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence between them, a suffocating pause. Slowly, he tilted his head, trying to keep his cool, but the way his jaw locked, the way his fingers flexed against his bicep where his arms were still crossed digging into his skin, betrayed him. His voice came quiet, almost too calm.
“You- you’re pregnant...?”
The words settled in the air between them, so much heavier than anything else that had been exchanged tonight. Y/N’s throat tightened, her eyes burning all over again but she refused to let the tears fall as she forced herself to nod, voice breaking as she whispered,
“Yes”
Rafe sat stiffly, his gaze lingering on her, unblinking, as if waiting for her to take it back. As if he’d misheard. But the weight of her words settled deep in his chest, and he felt something shift- something uncomfortable rising, something that left a bitter taste in his mouth. His eyes narrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his face before something cold crept in, tension crackling in the air between them.
“Whose is it?”
The words slipped out before he could stop them his voice harsh, his effort to stay composed now out the window. A part of him hated that he even asked, but he couldn’t help it. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white, though he tried to mask the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Y/N scoffed, shaking her head.
“Are you serious-”
“-are you?”
His voice was tight as he cut her off, edged with something she didn’t like. She could hear the tautness laced through his words, and it only pissed her off more. But beneath her anger something else twisted in her stomach- something that made her uneasy, that made her want to disappear. She swallowed, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
“I-... I don’t know"
The second the words left her mouth, the silence that followed was deafening, worse than when she'd first told him what was going on. The disbelief on Rafe’s face was obvious as he let out a short, almost mocking breath. He shook his head, eyes flicking over her expression as he ran a hand down his face, searching for something- anything- that made this make sense.
“Yeah, right.”
Y/N felt heat rush to her face, a mix of frustration and something deeper—something raw and aching- clawing at her chest- that inescapable pressure. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as though protective,
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You think I believe you don’t know who knocked you up?”
Rafe scoffed, running a hand over his jaw again and her breath hitched. A bitter laugh left her lips, but it didn’t sound like her, not at all.
“Yeah- I don’t fucking know who he was.”
“Right. So you just slept with the guy without even getting his fucking name? Jesus Y/N, I know you’re a stripper, but I didn’t take you as a slu—”
“I didn’t fucking sleep with him!”
Her voice cracked, the force of her words slamming into him like a gunshot. Rafe blinked, his expression shifting into something unreadable, a small laugh of disbelief slipping out.
“Well, how the fuck are you pregnant then?”
“I didn’t sleep with him.”
Her voice was smaller this time, but no less sharp. Rafe was still looking at her, still waiting for an explanation. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t getting it. Y/N felt her throat close up, that overwhelming shame which hadn't reached her yet since it happened, was finally engulfing her now. She finally whispered,
“I don’t even know who he was,”
And then, it clicked.
“...oh”
The realisation hit Rafe like a freight train, knocking the breath from his lungs. His chest tightened uncomfortably. He was still staring at her, his face unreadable, and Y/N felt something cold settle in her chest. The way he was looking at her- it wasn’t disgust, it wasn’t pity, it was just… blank. And it made her panic.
“Fucking say something”
She snapped, voice breaking slightly. Rafe’s mouth parted like he was going to, but then he just… didn’t. He shook his head instead the slightest bit, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he pressed them into a thin line, still silent and she couldn’t take it.
“Fuck this”
She pushed off his lap so fast that at first he didn't even register her weight lifting off of him as she yanked her oversized t-shirt on angrily. “This was fucking stupid,” she muttered, shoving her arms through the sleeves, “Don’t know what the fuck I thought would happen.” She stepped into her shorts, dragging them up her legs quickly as she grabbed her shoes off the floor. By the time she reached the office door, she could hear Rafe finally snapping out of whatever daze he was in.
“No, no- wait! Y/N-”
She didn’t stop.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she mumbled under her breath as she pulled open the front door, but before she could step outside, a warm hand pressed flat against the wood, shutting it back in place. "Just listen-" his voice spoke out and Y/N turned sharply, staring up at him, still barefoot, shoes gripped in her hand. Both their breathing was uneven, chests rising and falling too quickly from all the sudden movement. Rafe swallowed hard, his blue eyes locked on hers.
“…Let me help, alright?”
She stared at him, trying to figure out if he actually meant it, or if this was just some weird attempt to settle his own guilt. She should just tell him here and now, to give her the money and leave- she was sure it would probably be enough to pay for a ferry ticket to Charleston, a hotel for the night and for an appointment at the... clinic. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes burning, torn between running and staying, between pretending this conversation never happened and letting him in, because truthfully? She had no one else. Rafe’s voice was quieter this time, steadier, softer.
“Let me help you Maybank.”
Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling shakily as her hand came up to wipe away a stray tear.
She hesitated, then finally she gave him a small nod.
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More Posts from Writtenbyhollywood and Others
→ Midnight Cravings.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!reader.
Summary: Dean Winchester is a good husband and an awesome dad.
Rating: Fluff.
Warnings/Tags: Domestic fluff, breeding kink, implied smut...
Word Count: 1.3k
The baby monitor crackles softly. Then, a tiny, restless whimper fills the quiet room.
Your eyes crack open, a sigh escaping your lips.
Dean stirs, sighing as he rubs a hand over his face. “Your kid’s up,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.
You hum, already half-awake. “Our kid,” you correct, but there’s no fight in it. Just fondness.
Dean groans but pushes himself up, swinging his legs over the bed. “Yeah, yeah.” He scratches his stomach as he stumbles toward the door, his movements slow but sure, muscle memory at this point.
You watch as he disappears down the hall, the sound of the nursery door creaking open. A moment later, through the baby monitor, you hear his low, gravelly voice.
"Alright, little man, what’s the deal? Bad dream? Hungry? Dirty diaper?"
A soft coo. A hiccupy sniffle. Dean sighs.
"Yeah, I get it, bud. Whole damn world's a lot to take in." The floor creaks as he moves, likely rocking the baby in his arms. Then, quieter, gentler—"S’okay, Daddy’s gotcha."
Your heart squeezes. Dean has always been a daddy material, in your opinion, like he's been made to be one. It's a delight to watch him do his dad stuff.
Dean sniffs the baby's butt to check if the little one has a surprise for him. Dean raises his brows and flips his lip as he only smells clean baby scent.
“Are you hungry or just cranky, hmh?” Dean holds your son in his hands, facing him.
Your baby babbles at Dean, tugging at his face. “Da-da!”
Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, brushing his thumb across the baby's cheek. “Yeah, that’s me,” he murmurs. “Da-da.” His voice is soft, almost reverent.
Your baby babbles again, hands reaching up to pat Dean’s scruffy jaw. Dean chuckles, adjusting the baby in his arms. “You're trouble, you know that?" He presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead. "Just like your mom.”
The baby coos in response, curling his tiny hand around Dean’s finger. Dean’s breath hitches, his smile faltering for half a second before he leans back in the rocking chair and starts swaying.
“You don’t know how lucky you are, kid,” he whispers. “Having her.” His gaze turns distant for a second, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. “You’re gonna grow up good. Better than me. Promise you that.”
Then, Dean, standing in the dimly lit nursery and cradling the baby against his chest, he rocks side to side. The baby’s tiny fingers curl into Dean’s shirt, his wide green eyes—Dean’s eyes—blinking sleepily up at him. Dean hums softly, low and rough. It’s not really a lullaby—more like the gravelly hum of a Metallica song toned down to something soft enough for a baby’s ears.
A sleepy sigh from the baby is the only answer Dean gets, but it’s enough. After a few more minutes of quiet rocking, the baby’s eyes flutter shut. Dean watches him for a moment longer before the baby shifts, letting out a soft, unhappy whimper.
“You fightin’ sleep, huh?” Dean mutters, rubbing the baby’s back. “Can’t blame ya. The world’s a pretty scary place, kid. But you don’t gotta worry about that yet.” His hand cups the back of the baby’s head. “Not while I’m around.”
The baby whines, a soft noise of discomfort, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for something.
Dean frowns. “What’s wrong, bud?” He presses his palm to the baby’s back, rubbing small, soothing circles. The baby squirms, fussing harder.
“Ah, hell,” Dean sighs. “Alright, I know what you need.”
He stands, cradling the baby carefully against his chest, and pads down the hall toward your room. The floor creaks beneath his bare feet as he pushes the door open with his shoulder.
You’re already awake, propped up on your elbows. Your hair’s a little messy, your eyes hazy with sleep, but you smile the second you see them. “Hey.”
Dean crosses the room, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “Think he’s hungry.” He gives you a tired smile. “Mind givin’ him a top-up?”
You smile, reaching out to take the baby from him. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Dean hands him over, watching as the baby instantly calms down in your arms. You adjust your shirt, helping him latch on with practiced ease. The baby makes a soft, content noise, his tiny fingers curling against your skin.
Dean’s eyes soften. His hand brushes your hair back from your face as you nurse. “You’re a sight, you know that?”
You huff a quiet laugh. Yeah, messy hair, and leaking tits are a sight. “Stop.”
“Not kiddin’.” His hand rests on your thigh, thumb brushing over your skin. His gaze drops to the baby, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Looks like he’s got my appetite.”
You roll your eyes. “Dean.”
“What?” His hand slides higher, warm and steady. “Just sayin’.”
Once the baby finishes, you gently settle him against your shoulder, rubbing his back until he lets out a tiny burp. His eyes are already drifting shut.
Dean stands, taking the baby from you with a gentleness that always makes your heart clench. He kisses the baby’s head before going back to the baby's room and cautiously settling him in his bassinet.
“You’re good at this,” you whisper when he's back to your room.
Dean’s gaze lingers on the sleeping baby for a moment on the monitor screen, his jaw tightening slightly before he crawls back into bed beside you.
You smile as he pulls you close, his arm wrapping snugly around your waist. His lips trail a line of kisses on your neck. You can feel the urge, the need in them. Same goes to his hands as they roam your body gently.
“Dean,” you murmur with a giggle.
“Mm?”
“Are you knocking me up again?”
Dean’s mouth curves into a wicked smirk against your neck. “Maybe.”
“Dean—”
“What?” His lips ghost along your collarbone. “He sleeps through the night now. We’ve got time.”
You laugh softly, but the sound is lost as his mouth finds yours again, slow and deep and hungry. His hand slides beneath the blanket, and you shiver.
“Dean—”
“Shh.” His mouth brushes your ear, his voice low and dangerous in the dark. “Daddy’s gotcha.”
Dean’s lips trail lazily down your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slides beneath the blanket, skimming over your hip, his touch firm but careful. You feel the low hum of his breath against your skin as he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear.
You huff a laugh, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
You don’t deny it. You can’t, not when his mouth moves back to yours, deep and slow, and his hand slips beneath the thin fabric of your underwear. His touch is rough from years of hunting, but he’s careful with you—always so careful.
A sleepy whimper from the monitor cuts through the haze.
Dean groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You laugh softly, brushing your hand through his hair. “Guess he’s not ready to share.”
Dean sighs and pushes himself up, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’, kid.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips before getting up.
You watch him disappear down the hall again, the monitor crackling to life. Dean’s voice is low and soothing.
“Alright, little man. What’s wrong this time?”
A soft sniffle.
“Just need your old man, huh?”
You smile, leaning back against the pillows as Dean hums softly through the monitor. It’s not long before the sound fades, and Dean returns, settling back into bed beside you with a tired sigh.
“False alarm,” he mutters, tugging you against his side. His arm curls around your waist, warm and steady. “Now, where were we?”
You laugh, tucking your head against his chest. “You were telling me how much you love knocking me up.”
Dean grins, pressing his lips to your hair. “Still true.”
His hand slides beneath the blanket again, fingers trailing low over your belly. “We’ve got time,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and something deeper. “Plenty of time.”
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Ahhh so cute!!!
only you my girl, only you babe
PAIRING: rafe cameron x pogue!fem!reader
SUMMARY: four times your “enemy” rafe hinted he cares for you and the one time you actually caught on it. OR you thought rafe doesn’t like you because he hates all pogues. little did you know he has always looked at you differently.
WORD COUNT: 6.7k
WARNINGS: drinking, drugs, swearing, blood and wounds, kinda canon rafe (omg kez????), obx cliches (mainly the whole ‘kooks vs. pogues’ thing from S1), extremely ‘only soft to you and no one else’ vibes, fluff, angry confessions, heavy pining, mentions of y/n
EDITH SPEAKS: oh. my. god. if you were there on my old blog you would know how long it’s been since I first introduced my idea of writing this fic. I got stumped on it way too often and then forgot about it for months, and then decided to abandon it. But I found it again and I got my inspiration back and now I’m so so happy it’s actually finished!! <3
major thank you to @zyafics who helped me last year when i was writing the fic and helped me brainstorm ideas for it :’) kissing your beautiful mind just like always zya xxx
this really is a labor of love and I genuinely couldn’t be happier 🥹I would highly appreciate all kinds of feedback and reblogs, because they really are extremely motivating and fun to get back to! I hope you enjoy reading, and i hope these 6k words are worth all your time and attention :)
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PROLOGUE
“Stay off Figure 8!”
The all too familiar deep voice boomed across the beach, a completely dead silence started to surround the atmosphere. A loud groan was heard along with the unsteady thump of a person falling onto the sand, causing people standing around to gasp.
JJ struggled to get up from the ground, the big punch he received from the one and only caused his nose to bleed non stop, and when he barely opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of icy cold blues staring back at him.
“You hear me, Maybank? Stay. Off. Figure. 8. You and all your filthy pogue friends.”
JJ tried getting up and talking back, he really did, but the one and only Rafe Cameron punched him so hard he lost all his balance. Blood kept on flowing in a never ending fashion, and JJ could see dark spots in his vision, his mind feeling light headed.
“JJ!”
Rafe froze in his position, not looking up from JJ at the sound of JJ’s name being called out. The voice, the perfume, the general aura of the presence; Rafe didn’t have to look up to see who it was.
“JJ oh my god please tell me you’re okay,” you mumbled, your voice almost trembling with the worry dripping from your words. You got on your knees and gently cradled JJ’s face, pulling it into your lap as you brushed his hair aside to look at the extent of damage on his face. JJ mumbled something incoherently and you let out a sigh, relieved he wasn’t completely knocked out.
Rafe stood there on the side, his eyes widened as he saw how your fingers ran through his hair and wiped off his blood, he saw how careful you were with him, he saw how you mumbled small words of sweet nothingness to him.
Rafe didn’t know what to say, he stood there limply as he watched you help JJ up, let him loop an arm across your shoulders so you could help him walk back to The Cut.
As he saw you both walk back, he felt his blood boil. The rage built in him slowly like a thunderstorm, his breathing started to become erratic and his fists clenched tightly on his sides.
“FUCK!”
Rafe’s foot kicked across an empty beer can buried in the sand, causing it to fly and topple a few meters further from him.
He wouldn’t have done anything to JJ, heck, he wouldn’t have looked at him if he knew you were on the beach too.
The look on your face when you saw how hurt JJ was, the concern clouding all over your facial features; from the furrow of your brow to the frown on your lips, he knew you now hated him more than ever. He knew you would never want to look at him ever again. He knew you would never acknowledge his presence ever again.
He knew there was no chance you would look at him the way he looked at you.
ONE — THE PARTY
It was crazy.
The lights were neon and bright and they pierced your eyes harshly. The people at the party were almost sticking next to each other, their sweat, weed, alcohol, and an ungodly mix of expensive and cheap colognes being the only thing you can smell.
You almost gagged as you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd, but you finally did, finding yourself taking deep breaths as you leaned against the countertop of the makeshift bar in the kitchen, letting the awful smell wash away from your nose palette.
When you started feeling better, you got yourself a nice cold beer, letting the icy liquid run down your throat, sending chills down your spine but in a way you relished deeply.
It was a scene like any other party; there were people dancing, some catching a smoke break at the side, some making out on the other side, nothing new.
And it wasn’t anything new when a fight broke out.
You didn’t know who the boys were who started to fight; all you saw was them go at each other like wolves, their courage mostly coming from the plethora of drugs in their system, profanities after profanities spilling out their mouth, and you were just watching from the side, completely nonchalant about it.
But you were not so nonchalant when glass bottles were involved in hurting the other; you being in close proximity to the fighting pair resulted in one of the flying broken piece of glass cutting your hand, making you yell out at the sharp pain. The cut looked deep as the blood didn’t stop gushing out, but no one focused on you. Everyone was too busy watching the fight, trying to stop it, or just enjoying it for the heck of it.
You hissed in pain, your own beer bottle set aside as you squeezed your eyes shut from the stinging pain spreading from your hand to your forearm. The blood started to trickle down from your palm down to the floor, and you had no idea what to do or who to go to.
It all became a huge mess very quick, you on the side with your hand bleeding, and the rest of the party too busy to peg the immature boys on.
You felt a tall shadow stalking over you, the scent of the rich cologne all too familiar.
“That looks bad,” you heard in your ear.
You turned to be face to face with Rafe. He was stalking down your wound, the blood flow not really stopping as the drops dripped down on the hardwood floor. His expression wasn’t one of worry. But it wasn’t one of detest either. It was just… emotionless.
“Yeah no shit,” you muttered, looking down at your wound too.
“Here,” he said, fishing out his handkerchief from his pocket. “This should help for the moment…” he muttered as he gently took your hand and wrapped the handkerchief around your cut.
You looked at his hands working around your hand, covering up the cut. The pearly white cloth was quickly stained with a deep red of your blood, slowly spreading throughout the cloth.
“You should get that checked once, just in case you need stitches,” he said, tying a knot to fix the cloth in its place. Just like his facial expression, his voice is also emotionless, monotone words leaving his lips.
“Why are you doing this?” You couldn’t help but ask, out of all the people, Rafe was there to help you with your wound.
“Because you’re bleeding a little too much,” he said, taking a step back from you. His hands then buried in the pockets of his jeans as he shrugged at you.
You looked up in his icy blue eyes, not a single emotion in them. You weren’t sure what to say, finding yourself to be quite stunned which was never really the case; whenever Rafe talked to you, you were always quick to talk back, never letting him be the one who said the last words.
“Right… thanks,” you muttered, looking down at the securely tied handkerchief around your hand.
“Yeah,” he said with a nod of his head, and left you alone.
TWO — THE FAILED DATE
You clutched on the tablecloth out of utter anxiousness, your eyes darting around the room. You took a look at your watch for the umpteenth time, and saw that the time you were supposed to be meeting someone got farther and farther in the past with each passing second.
It had now been over an hour, the waiters had politely asked you if you would like to eat something, and all you asked for was a simple glass of water, because what if he shows up?
But now you could very clearly see that he won’t.
You had a date, which unlike the past dates you had been on, really excited you. You thought he was a nice boy, someone you met while you were buying some beer for you and your friends. You don’t remember how the conversation started, but you both used to talk quite often, numbers exchanged and texts sent under the pale moonlight of 3 am.
He finally asked you out on a date, and you were thrilled, to say the very least. But now, here you were at a fancy restaurant on Figure 8 which you barely got to go to, absolutely impatient as your knee bounced up and down out of anxiousness and embarrassment.
You felt tears prick your eyes but you were quick to not let them fall, wiping them away from your waterline. You looked down in your lap, your fingers nervously pulling onto each other as the reality of being ditched settled in you. You took another look at your phone, desperate for any text, but there were no notifications.
But then, you felt the sunlight falling onto you from the window next to you being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe.
Of course, Rafe, out of all the people.
He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you; your slightly red eyes and the tears accumulated in them didn’t go unnoticed by him.
“Why are you here all alone?” He asked you, still standing in front of you.
You just shook your head as a reply and picked up your belongings from the table. “It’s none of your business Rafe… I’ll just leave…” you muttered, but before you could do anything else, Rafe sat in the seat opposite to you.
He took a look at your outfit, noticing it’s something different than the attire you’re usually sporting, something more formal.
It didn’t take him long to connect two and two together to figure out everything.
“You got ditched huh?” He said silently. His tone came off condescending to you, even though he didn’t mean to sound that way at all.
You mentally braced yourself to get embarrassed by him, ready to hear a comment or two from him, because that’s what he did: say rude things to people, especially Pogues, because he felt like it.
But he didn’t say anything.
Absolutely nothing.
You looked up at him, small streaks of tears had started making their way down. “I told you it’s none of your business,” you said, sniffling.
He only sighed as he leaned back in the chair, watched you carefully as your head hung low, silent sobs escaping you as you occasionally wiped away your tears.
“Listen, it’s not your fault okay?” He mumbled. You looked up from your lap with your eyes filled with tears. “I know you must be feeling really bad right now, and there is nothing wrong about it, but don’t think too much about it,”
“I… I got ditched Rafe. I am sitting here all alone in this expensive restaurant crying my eyes out. How can I not think too much about it?” You whispered, your eyebrows creased together.
He leaned a bit closer to you. “I’m trying to make you feel better…” He said softly.
“Well,” you sniffled, looking away from him, “I didn’t ask for it, okay?”
These were the last words you said, before you got up from your chair and left the restaurant, whilst Rafe watched you walk away, wanting to hold your hand and to stop you, but he just couldn’t.
THREE — THE BEACH CLEAN UP
You looked up at the sun, wiping the sweat off your forehead as you took in a deep breath. The summers only seemed to be getting hotter this time around, and the fact that you were at a beach clean up at noon was not helping your situation.
You liked to pick up work like beach clean ups in between your main job at the island club so you could make a little side money.
As you got back to picking up the trash from the beach, throwing it in the little basket you’re carrying with yourself, you looked up to hear some chatter besides the otherwise quiet beach and the other people working quite silently.
It was a group of Kooks – their expensive clothes and accessories shining under the bright rays of the sun completely unmissable. And in the group of them, a pair of electric blue eyes had its gaze fixed on you intensely.
You didn’t even know why Rafe was there. Or why the other Kooks were there. They didn’t have any need to participate in these kinds of jobs. Everything was just handed down to them, daddy’s money being what they thrive on.
You ignored them and got back to working, focusing on clearing the trash from the specific area of the beach you were at. Just a few minutes later you felt the sunlight being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe right by your side, separated from his Kook friends.
You wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure what, so you peeled your focus away from him and got back to picking up the trash and throwing it into the basket.
“Here,” he said almost suddenly, causing you to look up at him. “I’ll hold it for you,” he gestured the basket in your hand, and even proceeded to hook two of his fingers into its side, holding onto it.
Before you could have protested, he gently pulled the basket from your hand, causing you to let go of it. You wouldn’t lie, your basket had started to get heavy from the innumerable aluminum cans and other trash sitting in it.
“Thanks,” you murmured under your breath and from the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe acknowledged you with a nod of his head.
For the next hour or so, you went around picking up the trash and Rafe followed you holding the basket for you as if it weighed nothing, and you kept on dropping the trash in it. It was oddly comfortable, the silence between you two as you weren’t sure what to say – and frankly, you thought that was the best.
As the clean up came to an end, everyone was sitting in the sand, and light laughter and chatter filled the group. The afternoon had started to turn into evening, the bright rays of the sun turning into something more warm, more comforting instead of burning. You sat in the sand, leaning back on your forearms a little away from the rest, just letting the summer breeze blow past you gently.
Rafe sat down next to you, and held out something. You saw it was a glass of iced lemonade he got from the little surf shop.
“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled, eyeing the glass in his hand, the condensation on the surface causing water droplets to slide against the smooth glass.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ve worked all afternoon. Have it, it’s my treat.”
You took another second or two before taking the glass from him, sipping on the cool, sour yet sweet liquid and allowing it to run down your throat. He remained seated next to you as you both watched the waves crash on the shore, the seagulls flying over and the sun only delving you into a comforting warmth more and more with each passing second, and slurped on your little lemony drinks.
FOUR — THE TIP
The day was slowly turning into dusk, the bright afternoon light leaving to welcome darker pink and orange streaks cast by the almost setting sun. This was the time when the island club started filling in more and more, the bar being one of the first parts of the club to get exceptionally occupied.
You were busy serving an older woman, your mind completely occupied to make the martini, when out of the corner of your eye, you caught the all too familiar gist of a head of dirty blonde curtain bangs.
You turned your head to meet Rafe’s blue eyes looking intently at you. The way he was focused on you, his gaze not wavering for even a fraction of a second, and the strong intensity behind them made you feel like the only girl on this planet. Though, of course, that feeling was short-lived when you were snapped out of your daze by a customer calling out for you.
You were quick to rush over to the customer, who had just finished the drink you had served him. He left the money for his drink where he was sitting and was already making his way out of the club.
You picked up the dollar bills to see he paid completely for the drink, but the tip wasn’t even touching the bare minimum. You didn’t know what the reason was, you had been kind to the customer, made his drink perfectly and served it on time, and even presented it as aesthetically as you could. Even then, your tip wasn’t up to the mark. Sighing, you made your way over to the other end of the bar counter where you kept your tip jar, which coincidentally also happened to be where Rafe was sitting.
“Everything alright?” He asked, eyeing your woeful expression as you were putting the newly received ‘tip’ (if it can be even called that) in the jar. His eyes raked over the jar, and he couldn’t help but find it a lot more empty than it should be.
“Yeah everything’s fine,” You mumbled, keeping the jar aside. You wiped your hands once on the towel slung in the loop of your apron before looking up at Rafe. “What can I get you?” You asked.
“A neat whiskey’s fine,” He said and you nodded. You served him the neat whiskey, setting the glass right in front of him. He gave you an acknowledging nod and wrapped his fingers around the glass and bought it closer to his mouth, drinking from it.
You decided to work around the bar a bit, just cleaning everything up, preparing everything you may need in advance, practically anything you could get your hands at – because anything was better than having to talk to Rafe, who, by the way, didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second. His gaze was firm and jaw was set as he just saw you work around the bar, silently sipping on his whiskey.
You kept yourself wonderfully distracted as you served the customers and prepared everything behind the bar, but every so often, your gaze would magnetically be pulled back to Rafe, and you would always catch him looking at you.
When you noticed Rafe’s almost done with his glass of whiskey, you made your way back to him.
“Another one?” You asked, and he only silently nodded as his reply. You refilled his glass with the neat whiskey, and leaned back against the counter, just simply glancing around the scene of the bar and the club and catching a small break.
A silence fell over the two of you, the light chatter and the music playing in the club thrumming against your eardrums. Rafe was just silently sipping the whiskey, not saying or doing anything, just sitting there and having his drink.
“So uh… you’re alone here tonight?” You asked, your words feeling cautious. “I mean, you’re usually here with Topper, or with someone, atleast,”
He set his almost finished glass at the counter, his fingers still wrapped around the clear glass. His gaze found yours, a warm blue instead of the usual icy one sinking into your eyes.
“Topper was busy,” He muttered, “so I came alone,”
You just quietly hummed at his words, and from the corner of your eye you saw one of your customers finishing their drink and leaving their money on the counter. You went to get it, and when you did, you saw it’s the same thing repeating itself: the ‘tip’.
You sighed, slightly aggravated as you made your way back to where the top jar was, and dumped the money in it.
“Will it kill them to just pay something to their bartender?” You sighed, leaning against the counter and tilting your head back, closing your eyes for a moment. Your shift was close to coming to an end and if that’s the money you had to go home with tonight, well, it’d be kind of fucked.
You could feel Rafe’s gaze on you, but he didn’t say anything, just finished the last sip of his whiskey in a gulp. You were about to ask him for another refill, but you heard someone calling you out.
You turned around to see it was one of your coworkers, who told you were being called inside. You turned to look back at Rafe, but he just shook his head, and gestured to you to leave. You followed your coworker and went inside to where he was leading to.
After being freed from the quite useless meetup with your manager, you finally walked back out to the bar after 15 minutes. When you did, you saw Rafe’s stool was empty, and there was money kept on the counter.
You approached the counter, and the moment you saw the money, your eyes almost fell out from how wide they got.
Ten crisp hundred dollar notes sat unfolded on the marbled counter along with the money for the whiskey, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. For a second, it felt unreal. You reached your hand out and your fingertips touched the paper, and you realised the money was real. You picked the notes up, your lips parted in shock as you gaze at them.
Rafe tipped you $1000.
1000 fucking dollars.
Your gaze immediately turned towards the exit of the bar, and of course, you couldn’t spot Rafe – you had completely missed him.
You carefully kept the notes in your tip jar and sealed the jar shut. Through the glass, you couldn’t remove your gaze from the notes, your mind now completely clouded with Rafe, and his tip.
ONE — THE BROKEN DOWN CAR
You let out a frustrated groan, kicking the tyre in utter vexation, which helped you release just the tiniest fraction of your rage. You fished out your phone from your pocket just to see it was nothing more than a dead device, serving you no purpose. You almost had the urge to throw the phone, but you stopped yourself at the right second, because you realized, you can’t afford to hear the sound of the glass screen cracking.
Instead, you just kicked a pebble in your path and slumped against the side door of your beat up car which decided to stop working halfway across your journey from Figure 8 to the Cut. You were at the side of the road, watching other cars and vehicles pass by as you sat there on the roadside, not having a single clue on what to do.
10… 15… 20 minutes passed and you were still in the same position, not knowing what to do and not making any effort to find out either. The road fell silent a few minutes ago, no vehicles crossing, but the silence was short lived when you heard the revving of an engine from the distance, and it came to a stop right next to you.
An all too familiar red and black bike stood next to you, the rider’s face covered by the helmet. But the bike, the gold signet ring on the index finger of the left hand, and the taut muscles peeking from under the t-shirt were more than enough to confirm who it was.
The helmet came off and Rafe’s piercing blue eyes found yours.
“What happened?” He asked, getting off his bike as he ran a hand through his hair, his curtain bangs pushed back momentarily before they fell down on both the sides of his face in a ragged middle part just like always.
“My car broke down,” you muttered as you looked up at him.
“Hm.”
He rounded around you and lifted the cover of the engine, holding it up with one hand as he inspected the engine carefully. You watched him intently, trying to figure out what the expressions on his face meant, but there weren’t any to begin with. It was a face so cold and plain, suiting well with the cold blue eyes.
“There’s some issue with the battery. You most probably need to get it replaced.” He declared, letting the cover fall back in its place.
“Oh great,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words as you threw your head back against the door of your car. “That’ll probably cost nothing, won’t it?”
Rafe caught the sarcasm of your words very well but didn’t comment anything, just wiped the dust off his hands as he gazed down at you.
“Come on,” you heard, and as you looked up, you saw he was holding his hand out for you. “You were probably going back home yeah? I’ll drop you.”
You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off the next instant.
“No ifs, or buts, or ‘Rafe’s, you hear me? You’re letting me drop you off, and are letting me take care of this,” he said, gesturing to your car. “I’ll call a mechanic who’ll get your car towed from here and will work on it. Now come on, none of us have got all day.”
By the end of his words, you knew whatever you’ll do is equivalent to pointless, so you gave in. You gently held his hand and helped yourself up from the road, brushing a hand over your clothes as he led you to his bike parked aside.
Rafe put his helmet on top of your head and adjusted the strap, and you heard a faint click as it fixed in place. You wanted to ask ‘what about you?’ when the only helmet was now sitting on your head, but you decided against it. He mounted the bike and gestured to you to do the same, revving the engine twice or thrice before taking off.
He was definitely faster than what you had expected, and you couldn’t help it when you gripped the sides of his t-shirt, fisting the crisp material in your fingers to provide yourself some stability. For a second, he took one hand off the handlebar and reached for your hand scrunching his t-shirt. He gently took your wrist and you let go of the fabric in the process, allowing him to tug your hand and place it on his waist. Your other hand followed suit, and both of your arms were firmly wrapped around his waist. His hand landed back at the handlebar, and he only sped up more, the wind whipping past you at a phenomenal speed.
The ride to The Cut came to an end when Rafe reached your home, and you didn’t want to admit to him or to yourself, but you felt it was short. The ride was nothing short of exhilarating, the wind whipping past your skin, and the way your arms found purchase around his waist gave you the comfort you needed.
You got off the bike, firmly planting your feet on the ground as you did so, and Rafe’s hand instinctively wrapped around your arm to make sure you remained stable. You carefully took off the helmet and handed it back to him.
“So uh,” You muttered, clearing your throat subtly, “thanks for the ride. Really,”
He shook his head, kicking the stand of the bike in place and allowing it to lean on one side. “Don’t worry,” He said, still sitting on the bike.
“You, you really didn’t have to,” You said, your fingers intertwined with each other behind your back.
“And do what? Leave you alone at the side of the road? With a broken down car and a dead phone?” Rafe sighed. “I wasn’t gonna do that y/n, you know that,”
You know that.
Yeah you do.
You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as a small silence fell over you two as none of you said anything, and you kept on contemplating how you could possibly return such a massive favor.
“You…” You began, your voice low, the words on the tip of the tongue feeling experimental, “you wanna come inside for a moment?”
Rafe’s response didn’t come out the very next second, and that small pause felt like years to you.
“Sure,” He said, getting off his bike. You let out a sigh of relief and nodded, leading him towards your place.
“It’s nothing big…” You muttered as you climbed up the stairs of the porch and he followed suit, watching you unlock the front door. “But it’s home, I guess.”
Knowing he had grown up in the richest part of the island, surrounded by everything he could possibly need and want, you had a feeling he’d definitely make some snarky comment. Cause isn’t that what he did? Rafe Cameron: the Kook prince, but also the biggest asshole?
But he was completely silent when he followed you inside and only quietly sat down on the couch you led him to, which you definitely were shocked to see, but nevertheless you didn’t really let it show on your expressions.
“So uh…” you began to speak, wanting to break through the awkward air around you two, “anything you’d like? Water? Or some tea maybe?”
He shook his head silently, and a moment later, gestured to the empty seat next to him.
“Come sit,” he said, words simple and direct, no beating around the bush, just like always.
You took a sweet moment to let his words settle in you, but when you did, you walked up to the couch and sat down next to him, a small distance maintained between the two of you. Your gaze remained fixed on your shoes, your hands perfectly intertwined in your lap, and your habit of pulling onto them – something which only tended to happen you felt really anxious – came back.
The awkward air was around you two again, settling over you two like a blanket that is way too warm for hot weather, making you feel uneasy and has got you squirming for any sort of cooling.
“Why do you do that?”
There it was.
It was out.
You blabbered out the question as if it meant nothing, when in reality, it carried so much more weight than you could possibly ever imagine.
When you were met with silence for a moment, you looked up, and saw Rafe sitting with his hands on his knees, his own gaze fixed at something on the floor. What was it exactly – you couldn’t tell.
When he still didn’t speak anything, you decided to take the chance.
“You’re always… there for me, in one way or the other. You patched my hand up at that party weeks ago, when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You saw me crying to myself when my date didn’t show up and came up to me when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You helped me at the beach clean up and carried my heavy bin for me when you could’ve ignored the situation. You saw my lack of tips and paid me a massive one when you could’ve ignored the situation. You could’ve always ignored the situation, Rafe. Just like you always do with the other Pogues. With them, you don’t care for even a damn second. But… why are you doing so much for me?”
The silence kept on greeting you, and you could feel yourself beginning to get impatient. Your gaze flickered over Rafe, and you didn’t miss the way he flexed his fingers over his knee, as if gripping it tightly.
“I, I don’t know…” He mumbled weakly. You had never heard his voice take such a softer tone. It’s as if you didn’t even know it existed.
“What– what do you mean you don’t know?” You sighed, turning your body a bit so you could face him. “That’s fucking ridiculous Rafe!”
“It’s not ridiculous I just can’t explain it the way you wish I could–”
“Well you should be able to cause I need explanations–”
“Not everything can be given a logical explanation come on–”
“Yes it can if you try hard enough–”
“I care for you okay!”
His words were loud, much louder than any of his previous words. Their loudness and conviction shut you up right at that moment, your eyes widening, and your lips slightly parted as you stared at him with a look of disbelief in your eyes.
“I–I Rafe began, running a hand through his messy bangs, and you had to control the urge to run your own fingers through them and gently push them out of his eyes, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, or being sad, or going through any discomfort. I just can’t okay? Each time I see you that way I– I immediately get to solving it cause I can’t bear to see you all troubled. I don’t want to see a single scratch on your skin or– or a single furrow in your brow I just… want to see you happy. Cause you look... so so pretty when you’re smiling, y/n, it’s… it’s unexplainable,”
A silence fell over you two as you let his words sink in you, which was a lot harder than you’d like, but you were doing it.
“And i just… wish that one day… you’d smile that pretty smile of yours because of me,” He murmured, “because I made you smile,”
You could see Rafe’s own words taking a massive toll on him, just as it was taking on you. You parted your lips to say something but you were just so horribly stumped, you couldn’t utter a single word.
He ran a ragged hand through his hair once again and stood up, clearing his throat.
“I should leave now,” He muttered, standing in front of your seated form but not facing you, but instead facing the door. Your own gaze was fixed at the floor, and you could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly in your eyes, his words repeating over and over like a broken record in your mind.
You didn’t say anything to stop him, so Rafe silently walked out the door, closing it behind himself with a silent click.
You were left all alone in your living room, Rafe’s weighted words lying heavy on your heart and mind, and the distant noise of his bike’s engine revving a bitter reminder that he wasn’t next to you anymore.
Just two days later, when you woke up in the morning and looked out your window, you saw your car parked. Not only was the battery replaced, a whole paint job was done, the ripped car seats were replaced with some fancy leather, the tyres were exchanged for upgraded ones, and for a second, you didn’t even recognise your own car.
You noticed a piece of paper held in place by the windshield wiper, and when you went outside and took the piece of paper and unfolded it, you saw a small phrase scrawled in black against the white of the paper.
don’t mention it. – R.C.
EPILOGUE
You let out a deep sigh as you watch him laugh, patting his friend’s arm in the process. A smile of pure contentment crosses your face, watching the rays of the bright, afternoon sun hit his bare skin and making it shine, his muscles seeming more pronounced than ever.
You watch him turn around and glance at you over his shoulder, his smile wide as he gives you a flying kiss. You can’t help but chuckle at the endearing action, causing you to send one his way too. He lifts up two fingers in the form of a peace sign and gestures to his friend next to him, silently conveying to you that he will be by your side in just two minutes. You give him an understanding nod and watch his head turn back to the front, getting delved into the conversation with his friend again.
You sip on your drink as you lean your head back, the sound of the boat rushing past the waves of the ocean filling your ear drums deeply. You close your eyes and just listen to the sound of waves, your mind shutting out the chitter chatter of the conversations of the other people on this boat.
Soon enough you feel the sunlight being blocked and as you open your eyes, you see him standing right in front of you, a smile on his face. The chain around his neck along with the little gold capital letter of your initial hanging from it catches the sunlight and gleams more than it usually does. He sits down next to you and silently wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You smile as you lean into him, your fingers going immediately to fiddle with the chain, feeling the edges of the cool gold initial under your fingertips.
You take a glance up at him, running your other hand along the side of his now buzzed head, feeling the short, prickly hair gently tickle your fingers.
“Are you having a good time so far?” He mutters softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, your head tucking in the crook of his neck.
“Yeah, yeah I am,” you say quietly, your fingers mindlessly continuing fiddling with the gold initial on his chest. “You?” You ask, slightly lifting your head up from his neck.
“Oh, the absolute best time,” He says softly, looking down at you with a gentle smile on his face. “We’re on our boat, and I’m with my gorgeous girlfriend, what else could I need?”
You can’t help but softly chuckle at his words, silently shaking your head as you lean your head against his shoulder again and resume fiddling with the chain. You do it often, almost each time you get your hands on him, and he loves it; feeling the occasional brush of your fingers against his skin and the gentle tugs on the chain.
He allows you to relax against him completely, his arms around you to keep you close to him as you both sit silently, only the sound of the water and the light chatter of your friends accompanying you two.
“Thank you,” Rafe says softly, his fingertips tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder.
You furrow your brows at his words, slightly confused, as you look up at him. “What for?” You ask.
Rafe only keeps on gazing at you, a gentle smile pulling his lips. He quietly shakes his head, and with a gentle pull, he allows you to rest against him again.
“Nothing.” He stays quiet for a moment. “Everything.”
Your own lips can’t help but upturn in a small smile too. “Well, in that case…” you murmur, leaning back to look up at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek as you gently caress the soft skin, and you slowly lean in, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss.
“Thank you,” you mumble softly against his lips. Rafe’s hands grip your waist and he pulls you closer, not letting you pull back from the kiss. His fingers splay across your back as he kisses you, his lips moving in an unhurried, tender motion against yours.
A moment or so later, he pulls back, his eyes opening by just a fraction. You let your arms hook around Rafe’s neck, keeping him close to you.
“You’re the only one for me, Rafe,” you mumble quietly. “You’re the only one I’ll ever want.”
He leans his head against you and takes a deep breath, your scent and the smell of the ocean around you filling his nostrils deeply.
You both let the moment just simply sink in you, the sun rays bathing you in the warmest light, along with the presence of each other, which might be warmer than the sun any time of the day.
“Only you, my girl,” he mumbles quietly. “Always and forever.”
⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹
taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @drewstarkeys-world / @inthelibrarybtw / @mileyraes / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @khaisdrz / @weirdowithnobeardo
specific tags for this fic: @writingmeraki / @ghoslyethastaryn / @congratsloserr / @helloloverz / @littlelamy / @eolsens / @wtfdudesblog / @jkrafe / @onlyrealjoy / @husherstan / @lilithblackkk / @sublimepenguinpeach-blog
tagging some moots: @runningfrom2am / @b1mb0slvt / @nemesyaaa / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @jjsbank444 / @ladyinbl00d
Champion’s Heart
Rhea Ripley x Reader
Summary: After winning a championship, Rhea dedicates her victory to you in front of the whole world.
The roar of the crowd was deafening.
Thousands of voices cheered, screamed, and chanted Rhea’s name as she stood in the centre of the ring, championship raised high above her head.
Sweat shined on her skin, her chest heaving from the sheer brutality of the match she had just endured.
But her eyes, those fierce, stormy eyes, were searching the crowd.
Searching for you.
You were already moving before you even realised it, pushing past the staff at ringside, your heart hammering in your chest as Rhea locked eyes with you.
She finally found you.
The moment she spotted you, a smirk tugged at her lips, but there was something softer beneath it. Something only you could see.
Then, without hesitation, she rolled out of the ring, ignoring the cameras, the reporters, the screaming fans.
She didn’t care about them. She only cared about you.
The second she reached you, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a hungry kiss. You could taste the adrenaline on her lips, and feel the way her body was shaking against yours. But you knew it was not from weakness, but from the sheer weight of the moment.
“You did it,” you whispered, running your fingers through her damp hair, letting your nails scrape lightly against the skin of her neck.
“I did it for you,” she said, forehead pressing against yours.
Your heart skipped a beat.
The cameras were still on her, the entire world was watching, but right now, there were only the two of you. Her hands tightened on your waist as if grounding herself, and then, slowly, she pulled away, just far enough to drop to one knee.
The crowd erupted. But you didn't hear them.
Your heart stopped, eyes widening as Rhea reached into her boot and pulled out a small, velvet box.
“I knew I wanted to do this the second I won,” she said, her voice slightly rough, filled with emotion. “I wanted this moment to be ours. You’ve been my strength, my heart, my home. I don’t care about this title if I don’t have you to share it with.”
Tears burned your eyes as she popped the box open, revealing a ring, simple yet undeniably perfect.
“So, what do you say, baby?” she smirked, though you could see the nervousness flickering in her eyes. “You wanna be my champion forever?”
Your answer came in the form of a shaky laugh and a breathless, “Yes.”
The moment the word left your lips, Rhea was on her feet, crushing you against her in a kiss that left you dizzy.
The crowd screamed the commentators lost their minds, and the cameras caught every second of it, but none of that mattered to you.
All that mattered was her.
The way she kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world. The way she held you as if you were the greatest prize she had ever won. And the way she whispered against your lips, over and over again.
“I love you.”
And this time, she wasn’t just fighting for a championship.
She was fighting for forever.
Bunny (P12)
Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader
summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.
a/n: well bazinga. here we are- I'm loving you guys all fangirling over rafe and bunny cause they're such cutie patooties. But happiness is not for free, so I'm really really sorry about this one- I hope ya'll can forgive me. (and rafe) (idk if I can)
warnings: angst :(, alcohol, smoking, weed, violence, fights, drunkenness, rafe being a little bitch
(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12)
The air is heavy with the lingering warmth of the day, the sky streaked with dying gold and violet as Y/N steps out the back exit of the country club. The low hum of insects fills the silence, broken only by the soft scrape of her boots against the pavement. Her shoulders are tired, the strap of her bag crumpled in one hand, and she taps her phone screen with the other, the glow casting light across her features, a new message flashing on the screen.
JJ : Lost my charger again
JJ. : Its okay tho cuz I took yours
JJ : I'll give it back
JJ : (I won't)
A laugh spills quietly from her lips, soft and genuine. That familiar feeling of warmth spreads through her chest at his messages. It'd been a few weeks since she'd come back from Charleston- since JJ had finally got a job. And she had to admit he was trying, really trying, so now their long awkward conversation which ended with deafening silence had eased in to sweet and stupid messages and playful banter which filled the walls of their bedrooms once more. Her fingers typed out a reply—
Y/N : u better u loser
She places the phone into her pocket and glances up- and then stops dead in her tracks. Her car’s parked at the far end of the staff lot, right where she left it but what she didn’t leave, was the sleek black Range Rover sitting beside it, the glossy paint catching the orange hues of the setting sun. She stiffens immediately, scanning the lot, no one around and her steps towards her car quicken. The driver’s side door opens, and Rafe steps out, tall and unbothered, his hands in the pockets of his dark jacket, and there’s that stupid smirk playing on his lips. Her heart jumps straight into her throat. “Rafe—” she hisses under her breath, marching toward him with panic in her eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?!”
He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug, voice low and smooth, “What? I can’t come see you?”
“Not in the staff parking lot,” she snaps in a hushed whisper, “Do you want someone to see you? What if someone from inside walks out—”
“Relax”
He says gently, stepping forward and before she can argue more, his hands are at her hips, warm and familiar, tugging her closer until her body is brushing against his in the narrow space between the cars. The proximity knocks the air from her lungs. Her hands instinctively rest against his chest, palms flat over the material of his t-shirt where she can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm beneath her fingers.
Hers? Not so much.
“There’s no one around...”
He murmurs, head tilted down as he looks at her, his voice softer now, velvety and coaxing and her breath catches. She should push him away. She should tell him this is reckless, stupid, dangerous. But his scent- musky and alluring- clouds her thoughts. And his touch, just the lightest press of fingertips against the small of her back— is so familiar now, so comforting in its own twisted way. And she hates that it’s comforting. Her fingers twitch against his chest. She finally manages a whisper her words stubborn,
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” he says, and there’s the smallest hint of a smile in his voice as he leans in just a fraction closer, breath ghosting against her temple.
“But I wanted to be.”
She rolls her eyes with a long, exaggerated sigh, but her lips betray her- tugging upward at the corners, betraying the way he’s already wormed his way into her mood.
“We’re gonna get caught”
She mutters under her breath, glancing toward the dark stretch of the staff lot like someone might materialise from the shadows. The words barely leave her lips, soft and hurried, like they know better than to draw attention. Rafe just smirks, tilting his head down slightly, his chin angling toward her as he closes the few inches left between them.
“Not if you kiss me quick”
He says, voice low and roughened with amusement. Her eyes squint in a playful glare, head pulling back a fraction.
“You’re so annoying.”
But her body leans in all the same.
Her fingers find the soft t-shirt, curling into the fabric without even thinking. She rises onto the balls of her feet, just barely, and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s quick and light—barely a brush. Just a flicker of warmth, like a secret passed between two people in the dark. As she pulls away, his face follows hers- like his lips are trying to chase the kiss she’s already taken back. He doesn’t even think about it, just dips forward slightly, a greedy edge in his movement. She breathes out a small laugh, pushing against his chest with a single finger. “Nope,” she says, her smile widening.
“I'm hungry.”
"Yeah well so am I"
He lets his hands slip from her hips with a groan that’s more for show than anything, head rolling back as he leans against the hood of his car. She just shrugs, the inuendo lost on her ears as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.
“You’re such a tease Bunny”
He drawls and she snorts, already turning on her heel to head toward the trunk of her car.
“I don’t know what you mean Cameron.”
Her fingers make quick work of the car key, popping the trunk. She grabs the rolled-up apron resting on top her bag and tosses it in alongside her worn-out tote bag, the whole thing collapsing into a pile on top of an old hoodie and a dented water bottle. The sound of the trunk slamming shut echoes across the empty lot. Spinning back around to face him, she crosses her arms and leans her weight into one hip, chin tilted up with that same little smile that drives him crazy.
“You really wanna get caught by one of your little Kook friends out here with me?” she teases, cocking a brow. “Have to explain why you’ve been slumming it with a Pogue?”
His smirk twitches- just a smidge. For the briefest moment, his expression shifts and something softer creeps into it. Something a little more sincere. His gaze lingers on her face longer than it should and then flickers back down to her lips before returning back up again.
“Wouldn’t care if they did”
He says simply, a quiet shrug rolling off his shoulders as if he means it, as if it's the simplest answer in the world. It catches her off guard- freezes her for a beat. Her mouth opens, then closes again but she recovers quick, brushing it off with a scoff and a roll of her eyes.
“You’re so full of shit.”
But even as the words leave her lips, there’s a faint flicker of something else behind her voice- something almost moved. Something she doesn’t want to name because it’s been a few weeks since that night.
A few weeks since she tilted her milkshake to her lips and he wiped the sweet drip from her skin with his thumb like it meant nothing. Since he kissed her like he’d been holding back for months and she melted into it like her body had been waiting on that exact moment to exhale. And since then? It’s been a series of late-night meet ups that feel like a secret thread connecting them. Not the kind that spun in lies—but the kind too delicate to speak aloud. The kind you carry with careful hands and quiet hearts in fear of it snapping. Every night, after her shift ends and the world turns quiet, she finds him waiting. Always parked in the back corner of some parking lot—headlights off, music low and she slips into the passenger seat without a word, throws her bag in the back, kicks off her shoes, and leans over to kiss him like she’s been holding her breath all day.
The kisses are slow at first. Always. A shared pause. But then they tip into something deeper, heavier—like they’re trying to memorise each other without crossing any lines they haven’t drawn out loud- but it never goes further than that. His hands stay respectful, if not reverent- one cupping her jaw, the other braced on the back of her seat or tangled gently on her waist, on her hip, in her hair. Her fingers clutch the hem of his shirt like a tether, holding on but not pulling him in any closer than he already is.
There’s a quiet fire, always simmering, but neither of them dare feed it too much. Neither of them dare ask what they are. It’s easier this way. Safer. They stay pressed into the quiet hum of those car rides, the warmth of shared fries, the heat of stolen kisses in the dark, and the steady, unspoken beat of something they’ve both grown addicted to but don’t yet understand.
Rafe leaned against the top of her car, forearms braced over the roof like he had all the time in the world. The late golden hour sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the near-empty staff lot behind the country club. His eyes squinted slightly from the light, jaw sharp as ever, that casual grin tugging at the corner of his mouth “What’s your hurry today, huh?” he drawled lazily, peering down at her with a teasing glint.
“You extra hungry or what?”
Y/N huffed, already halfway into the driver’s seat of her little beat-up car, one leg in, one out, “No asshole- I just don’t want anyone to spot us, okay?”
Rafe chuckled under his breath, the sound low and unbothered. He shrugged one shoulder and pushed off the car just enough to stretch lazily.
“It’s not a big deal.”
She snapped her head up to look at him, her tone sharper now, “Yeah, actually Rafe—it is a big deal. Because if JJ finds out—”
“I know”
He cut in, dragging a hand over his jaw, irritation flashing in his eyes. “If JJ finds out, he’ll be mad. Whatever. I get it, okay? No need to tell me again.”
The words hung between them for a second, heavier than either wanted them to be. The silence wasn’t angry- but it was tense. The same argument they hadn’t quite had, bubbling beneath their stolen moments. He stood there now by her open car door, his figure blocking some of the sunlight, casting a soft shadow over her where she sat inside the car. From where she was, her eye level landed right at his belt. Her gaze softened a bit, guilt tugging at her gut. Then her hand came up, absent-minded and almost sheepish, her fingers catching on the loop of his jeans. She played with it lightly, tugging once. A peace offering. His eyes flicked down to her hand, then to her face, jaw still tight. She asked quietly, tilting her head up at him with a playful sort of pout, brows lifted just a touch.
“You mad..?”
“No,” he replied, voice low. “Why would I be mad?”
She shrugged, still toying with the denim loop, “I dunno. I thought—” she cut herself off, shaking her head a little, “Doesn’t matter.”
Rafe didn’t press. He let it hang, then gave a soft hum, looking around the lot- empty still, save for their two cars and the rustle of wind through the nearby trees. “So,” he drawled, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“We going to get something to eat or what?”
Y/N brightened a little, grateful for the pivot. “I’m feelingggg…” she stretched the word dramatically, “Chinese?”
He smiled at that slightly, nodding, “Chinese sounds good.”
“Cool,” she said, pulling her legs fully into the car now, “I’ll meet you there then?”
He gave a small nod, “Yeah… yeah.”
But she could tell- by the way he paused before turning away, by the way his fingers twitched at his side- that he was still holding onto a bit of a grudge. He hadn’t gotten his kiss, not a real one. And that wounded pride was showing, even if he tried to hide it behind his nonchalant façade. She rolled her eyes with a soft exhale- who would have thought Rafe Cameron was so needy?
Reaching up, she curled her fingers into the front of his T-shirt, tugging him gently back down toward her, guiding him until he bent slightly, face now level with hers. His breath hitched, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned into her touch. She kissed him then- firm, but warm. Just enough to melt that sulking tension in his brow. His lips moved against hers with a soft hum, his hand bracing on the edge of her door as he leaned in a fraction more, savouring it. When she pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, lips parted like he wanted to chase her mouth again.
“You done now, you baby?”
She murmured with a crooked smile, eyes teasing but fond. Rafe’s smirk returned, slow and smug. “Yeah,” he murmured, straightening up,
“I’m done now.”
And with that, he backed away from the car, hands in his jacket pockets like he hadn’t just been melting under her touch. She watched him retreat toward his car, her heart doing that dumb little flutter it always did lately, it lingered in her chest. Just as his door swung open, he looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.
“Don’t forget the egg rolls.”
She rolled her eyes and started her car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The quiet hum of the radio filled the space between them, the soft crackle of music soothing after a long day. They sat there in the dim light of the car, the smell of Chinese food mingling with the fresh evening air that drafted in through the slightly cracked window. Y/N leaned back against the seat, her legs tucked up beneath her as she dug into her takeout container. Rafe sat beside her, elbow propped up on the door, his free hand reaching for his food, the sound of plastic utensils scraping against the containers faint in the otherwise still air. Rafe asked, his voice low as he finally broke the silence, his eyes flicking over to her as he stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth.
“How was work?”
“It was… okay”
Y/N muttered, chewing before she continued, eyes shifting away from him for a moment, “Had this asshole customer... one of your friends actually.”
“One of my friends? Who?”
Rafe’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing slightly in curiosity as he put his food down. Y/N rolled her eyes as she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression calm despite the frustration in her voice.
“That guy Brett? The one you hang out with sometimes. Total jerk.”
“Why, what did he do?”
Her expression tightened as she recounted the experience, “he kept clicking his fingers in my face like I was some kind of dog, and whenever I went over to his table, he called me ‘waitress’ like I’m not even good to have a name? God he was so patronising.”
“He really did that?”
He asked, disbelief creeping into his tone, jaw clenched. Y/N tilted her head toward him, not missing the change in his expression.
“Yeah, why? You don’t believe me?”
“No” He muttered, his voice hardening a little as he picked up his food again, his hand gripping the chopsticks tighter than necessary.
“I believe you.”
He took a bite, chewing slowly as he fought the frustration that was rising inside him. A small silence settled between them, the only sound the soft clinking of their chopsticks against the takeout containers. Rafe didn’t like that she had to deal with people like that, didn’t like it one bit.
“What’re you doing tomorrow?”
He asked, his voice casual, but something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Y/N turned her head slowly toward him, her expression soft but guarded as she mumbled,
“Working.”
Rafe blinked raising an eyebrow, “It’s Saturday…?”
“Yeah, and?” She shrugged, taking another bite of her food, her voice low and almost dismissive. “I’m broke, Rafe. I’m always working.”
His eyes darkened again as he placed his food down with a soft clink, his fingers tapping against the lid of the container. He wasn’t about to let this go- he hated it, and they both knew it. He took a sip of his drink, the cold liquid hitting his throat like a jolt, but it did nothing to cool the fire that was building in him. He put the cup back in the cup holder with a sigh, his voice quieter but still firm.
“I don’t see why you can’t just take a break. You don’t always have to work.”
“We’re not having this conversation again Rafe.”
Y/N’s eyes flickered over to him, her face hardening slightly as she gave him a pointed look. He frowned, the words heavy in the air.
“Look, I get that maybe you think it’s embarrassing to accept my—”
“If you keep talking about this,” she interrupted, her tone sharper now, “I’m getting out of your car.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, taking in the shift in her expression- the quiet defensiveness there, the exhaustion she was trying to hide. He didn’t want to push her too hard, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. He paused, the weight of her words sinking in, then gave a short, almost defeated nod, like he was choosing to back off of the subject for now. Y/N didn’t say anything in response, her eyes softening as she turned back to her food, the brief tension hanging in the air like smoke. She had already given him her answer. She had already drawn the line before, and Rafe knew he’d have to respect it—for now. The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. Just... quiet. Their takeout containers were nearly empty now, the scent of soy and spice lingering faintly in the car, blending with the low hum of music still playing in the background. Y/N had reclined her seat a bit, one leg tucked up under the other, the other stretched out, socked foot resting against the dashboard. Her shoes sat forgotten on the floor, and a soft breeze drifted in through the cracked window, brushing gently against her skin.
Rafe glanced over at her, his arm draped over the back of her seat, thumb idly brushing the seam of the leather. She looked content, even if a little tired- hair slightly messy from the day, lashes casting soft shadows across her cheekbones as she stared out at nothing in particular. He liked seeing her like this, unfiltered.
“There’s a party tomorrow night”
He said suddenly, voice quiet but breaking the lull between them. He reached forward, placing his empty cup in the holder before leaning back again, tapping a slow rhythm on his thigh. She turned her head lazily, brows knitting together slightly.
“A party?”
He nodded, “One of the beach houses on Figure Eight. Bunch of people’ll be there.” He paused, then looked over at her, expression unreadable.
“You should come.”
“Me?”
Her head lifted a little more now, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard that right. “Yeah.” He gave a slow shrug, feigning casual, but his eyes were locked on hers, watching closely.
“I’m gonna be there...”
“Since when do you want me showing up to a Kook party?”
Y/N sat up slightly in her seat, feet slipping from the dashboard and landing softly on the floor. He smirked lightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Since now.”
There was a beat of silence, then another. Her gaze searched his face, trying to find the catch—but there wasn’t one. Just Rafe, looking at her like he didn’t care if the whole island had something to say about her. She asked, voice lower now, almost testing him.
“You serious?”
“Yeah- I am.”
He leaned a little closer, one arm still draped along the back of her seat. Y/N pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, watching him, chewing over the offer in her mind. The idea of being in that world with no responsibilities- even just for a night- felt risky. Foreign. But something in the way he was looking at her made it hard to say no.
“I don't know Rafe... I’d stick out like a sore thumb besides people will talk-”
"-people always talk”
He shot back cutting her off slightly, amused as she frowned slightly, arms crossing tighter as she shook her head a little.
“This is different. You know it is.”
Rafe tilted his head thinking deeply, but didn’t press her just yet, “Your friend’s gonna be there,” he said instead, voice smooth as ever.
“My—what? Who?”
“Sofia, right?”
He squinted slightly and Y/N straightened a little, her mouth dropping open at the mention of the girls name.
“Sofia’s going?”
“Yeah.” He was smirking now. “That guy she’s been seeing? The new Kook on the island? He’s the one throwing it.”
“She hasn’t told me that,” Y/N muttered, staring at him.
“Well.” He turned more toward her, resting his elbow against the console and tapping the edge of her thigh with his fingers playfully.
“Looks like you’re not the only one with a dirty little secret.”
She let out a shocked laugh, eyes widening at the words passing his lips before narrowing her gaze at him as she shoved his shoulder back, playful but not gentle,
“You’re such a dick, Cameron.”
He only grinned, letting her shove him- indulging in the feeling of her touch even if momentary. Y/N gave a little scoff and turned away, but her smile lingered. A beat of silence passed over them before she spoke out, “Fine,” she said, like it pained her to admit it.
“I guess I can… think about it.”
“Think about it?” Rafe echoed with mock offense, sitting up straighter, “Seriously?”
“Mhm.”
She didn’t look at him this time, just smirked and reached down to close her container, the sound of clicking plastic filling the car. She then bent over placing it down on the floor, and as she sat back up Rafe leaned in closer again, slower this time, the tip of his nose brushing her jaw before his lips followed. He kissed the curve beneath her ear, then slowly worked his lips down the side of her neck.
"Maybe I can persuade you to come hmm...?"
“You’re such a perv”
She mumbled through a grin, her hand finding his chest and giving him a half-hearted push. He pulled back slightly, lips acting from her skin as he muttered,
“So… still a no?”
“Fine... I’ll come.”
She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile that betrayed her. Rafe sat back accomplished as he spoke out, “Knew you'd give in.”
“But,” she added, wagging a finger at him. “You’re not glued to me all night, okay? Or people will notice.”
“Relax. We’ll keep it lowkey.”
He gave her that cocky, lopsided grin again and before she could snark back another smart-assed comment, he hit the button on the side of his seat. With a low mechanical whir, his chair reclined all the way back, and he stretched out like a king- arms behind his head, t-shirt rising just enough to show a sliver of his toned stomach. Then he patted his thigh, smirking.
“So… where were we?”
Y/N shook her head, heat prickling her cheeks as she shifted toward him again, “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but her knees were already crawling across the seat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun had long dipped below the tree line now, and the soft golden wash of string lights gave the Chateau its usual hazy, warm glow. A lazy summer night settled in with the gentle hum of cicadas in the distance and the low bass of music crackling from the old speaker propped up on a makeshift crate. Everyone was sprawled out in their usual places- Cleo had her legs kicked up on the railing, passing a blunt between her fingers, while Pope leaned back in one of the rickety lawn chairs, letting the smoke curl from his mouth toward the night sky. JJ was stretched across the hammock, shirtless of course, balancing a beer on his chest while making some offhand joke that had Kiara snorting into her drink. John B sat on the edge of the porch, Sarah curled comfortably in his lap, her fingers absentmindedly threading through his messy hair as she hummed along to the music. Then, like she suddenly remembered something juicy, Sarah’s voice piped up.
“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you guys.”
Everyone’s eyes flicked toward her lazily, half-baked or halfway drunk. JJ raised an eyebrow, already skeptical. “There’s this party tomorrow night. One of the beach houses on Figure Eight — some rich kid’s throwing it. But I got the invite,” she emphasized with a little smirk, twirling a lock of her blonde hair,
“which means you guys can come too!”
There was a collective beat of silence, then came the chaos.
“A kook party?” Pope made a face. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Hard pass”
Kiara chimed in, swirling what was left in her cup. JJ sat up a bit in the hammock, giving Sarah a look of exaggerated offence, “Sarah — my best friend’s dearest girlfriend — why the hell would I willingly put myself in a room full of kooks with their Vineyard Vines shirts and trust funds?”
“Kook fest? I don't think so- rude boy's got a point."
Cleo added, completely unfazed. Sarah groaned dramatically, tossing her head back against John B’s shoulder, “Guys, everyone on the island’s been invited. Literally everyone. You want to miss the one time we can sneak in and drink their expensive-ass booze and pretend to be civilised?”
John B scratched the back of his neck, “I mean… Sare, are you sure this is a good idea? These things usually end in someone getting arrested or beat up.”
“That’s what makes it fun,” she shot back smiling up at him, “Come on, baby...”
JJ shook his head with a mock sigh, “I do love chaos, but I also love not getting decked by some pastel-wearing rich boy with a superiority complex.”
“C’monnn,” Sarah pleaded, eyes bouncing between them all. “Free booze. Loud music. Rich kids being embarrassing. You telling me you wanna miss that?” JJ glanced around, took a swig of his beer, then shrugged like he was warming up to the idea.
“Free booze, huh?”
“Like actually free”
Sarah said, perking up as she nodded her head. Kiara sighed before adding to the ongoing debate. “Okay I guess if we go in a group, it’s not like they can kick us all out.”
Pope laughed, “That’s comforting.”
“So it’s decided then?”
Sarah asked, clapping her hands and JJ leaned back with a smirk.
“Eh why the hell not.
The chatter faded back into that familiar haze- the music a little louder now, the clinking of glass bottles, occasional bursts of laughter echoing under the soft glow of the porch lights. JJ had flopped dramatically back into the hammock, tossing a peanut at Pope, who swatted it away with a sharp “cut that out”, but he was grinning as he said it. Kiara and Cleo were side by side, passing the blunt like it was a baton in the slowest relay race known to man, and Sarah was still curled into John B, nose buried in his neck as she murmured something that made him laugh under his breath. Then the crunch of gravel under tires caught their ears- a car rolling up toward the end of the drive, headlights slicing through the trees. Everyone instinctively turned to look, and when the engine cut and the door swung open, a familiar silhouette stepped out.
“Y/N!”
Sarah called out instantly, lifting her hand in a wave. JJ was already in motion. He practically leapt out of the hammock with a lopsided grin on his face, his movements loose and full of that buzzed joy that lived in him when he was around his people. He jogged toward her, arms wide like he was about to tackle her. Y/N had barely rounded her door when JJ crashed into her, arms circling tight around her waist and lifting her a few inches off the ground in a twirling hug. She let out a breathless laugh, one arm instinctively hooking around his shoulder.
“Jay, are you drunk?”
“Yes ma’am”
He said proudly, nuzzling his nose against her cheek like a sleepy golden retriever. John B called out from the porch, raising his beer in salute.
“And high!”
“Wow what a responsible crowd I’ve joined.”
She looked past JJ and shook her head smiling, JJ grinned and still half-latched to her side laced his fingers between hers and started tugging her toward the group.
“Welcome, my dear sister, to the finest motive on the island.”
“Yeah, it looks so lit”
Y/N snorted as she said dryly, eyeing the half-deflated pool float on the lawn and Kiara using a stick to fish a beer bottle cap out of the fire pit. Pope looked up and offered her a beer, cracking open another one.
“You want?”
“Nah, I’m driving.”
She shook her head, raising a hand politely. JJ was still practically glued to her back, and now his chin came to rest on her shoulder, his head leaning sleepily against hers like gravity had chosen her specifically. She glanced sideways, her voice softening.
“You okay, mister?”
“Right as rain”
He murmured, words muffled against the collar of her white work polo. Y/N smiled to herself and brought one hand up to gently pat his cheek, a small fondness in her eyes. She dropped down onto the worn-out quilt Pope had stretched across the grass, tucking her legs beneath her and setting her keys in a little pile beside the cooler. The smell of bonfire smoke and salty air clung to everything, and the mellow strum of a guitar looped in the background from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. The Chateau felt hazy with summer warmth and low buzzed laughter, like time didn’t really exist here.
“Y'missed blondie trying to backflip off the porch railing”
Cleo said, raising her eyebrows at the girl, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she handed her a cold bottle of water. Pope snorted from where he sat beside her,
“More like he tripped, flailed, and then landed face-first into the lawn chair. Truly a work of art.”
“Sounds about right.”
Y/N laughed, tilting her head back slightly as she wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “Y/N!” Sarah suddenly perked up from where she was comfortably curled up on John B’s lap, her legs stretched out across the blanket and her fingers idly threading through his curls.
“I almost forgot to tell you- we’re all going to a party tomorrow night. You have to come”
“Oh—uh…”
Y/N hesitated for a split second. Shit. Rafe had already invited her out tomorrow- there was no way she could show up two places at the same time. She furrowed her brows thinking of a quick excuse, “I don’t think I can,” she said slowly.
“Sofia asked me to cover her shift tomorrow night. Late shift.”
The groans came instantly.
“Noooo” Kiara moaned out in disappointment. “Again?” Cleo frowned as she spoke, “Girl, you’re always working.” JJ leaned up, pulling a dramatic face as he sat up behind her, one hand propped on the ground and the other pointing accusingly.
“Y/N- my sweet, overachieving sister. You never go out.”
“I do go out!”
“When?!” JJ countered, hand waving wildly, “Name one time that we went out that didn’t involve grocery shopping or pretending not to cry while pumping gas for my bike cause you can't afford it.”
“JJ, please,” she groaned, rubbing at her forehead the others watching the small sibling quarrel, “Sofia never gets nights off. I have to fill in for her.”
But even as she said it, her mind was moving. What if I go to Rafe’s first? Just for a bit. Then come late, no one would know, they're on different sides of the island. She knew it was risky but- it was worth the risk if it meant getting her brother off her back. She sighed, trying to keep it casual.
“Where is it anyway... maybe I can stop by before it ends.”
Sarah perked up instantly at the question, “New guy just moved into this insane house on Figure 8- I’m technically on the guest list, so by extension, that means all of you get to come.”
Y/N froze.
Her stomach sank, it’s the same party. Her chest tightened like a fist was forming right behind her ribs. The same one Rafe is going to and now… JJ would be there. All of them would be there. She forced a tight smile, heart beating a little faster and her throat closed up slightly. She can’t go. She can’t risk it—JJ seeing her with Rafe? No. Absolutely not. That would ruin everything. He’d lose it. He’d probably have a fit and if he didn’t, the look in his eyes would be worse. She felt herself retreat inward for a split second- like her body was still sitting there on the blanket, but her mind was miles away, spiralling in panic. Then- she forced it back. Forced her lips into a smile, stretched just wide enough to pass as real. She said, voice smooth,
“I’ll see if I can make it”
“Yeah?”
JJ looked over at her, suspiciously squinting, she nodded without hesitation.
“Maybe just for a bit.”
Even as the lie came out of her mouth, her brain was already racing. Y/N cleared her throat softly, still gripping the now half-empty water bottle in her hand. Her eyes swept across the group lounging lazily on the worn blankets and cushions sprawled out on the overgrown lawn.
“I actually think I’m gonna head back now”
She said, standing up slowly and brushing the bits of grass and twigs from her shorts, “Just came to check up on you guys.”
JJ looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged now on a faded beach towel, lips wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle, and gave her a lazy, crooked smile. He winked, blonde hair a windswept mess.
“Mission accomplished sis.”
She rolled her eyes at him, amusement flickering behind her lashes, and bent to grab her keys from the little crate they’d been using as a table.
“You coming back or staying the night?”
She asked, giving him a look as she nodded toward the house, her tone light but a little pointed the role of big sister coming naturally. Before JJ could even open his mouth to respond, John B was already groaning dramatically from the other side of the blanket. “Take him,” he said, flopping his head back against the tree behind him.
“Please. I don’t want him here. He eats everything and he talks in his sleep.”
Sarah burst into laughter in his lap, her whole body shaking with it as she nearly spilled the beer in her hand. “He really does! The other night he mumbled something about raccoons with spatulas.”
“That was one time!”
JJ threw his hands up like he was being framed for a crime. Y/N just bit back a laugh, fighting back a grin watching the chaos unfold with fondness. JJ tilted his head, smirking toward her. “And just because of that,” he said smug as hell,
“I shall be staying the night here. With Mr. John Booker Routledge.”
A round of exaggerated groans erupted from the rest of the group. Y/N laughed under her breath, her fingers still gripping her keys as she shook her head fondly at them. “Alright, alright,” she said,
“Have fun then... don’t get too smashed.”
“No promises!” Kiara called out with a wide smile, raising her can in salute.
“Speak for yourself,” Pope muttered. “I have dignity unlike some.”
That earned another laugh from the group.
Y/N smiled again, softer this time, eyes briefly flicking back to her brother. He caught her gaze and shot her a lopsided grin, one that still looked more boyish than he probably intended. It made something ache a little in her chest- an affection threaded with worry she’d never admit out loud.
“Night Jay”
She murmured before reaching over to ruffle his hair messily. He smiled her lazily before flopping back onto the blanket like a man who had no thoughts, no responsibilities, and no idea that his sister was walking a tightrope he couldn’t see. Y/N turned, the noise behind her fading into the hum of summer insects and music humming from the portable speaker, and walked back to her car,
The car door creaked softly as Y/N pulled it open, the familiar weight of it grounding her just a little. She slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind her with a muted thunk, the quiet inside the car swallowing up the laughter still drifting from the Chateau. The engine wasn’t running yet, and the warm evening air clung to her skin like a second layer. It smelled like sun-warmed leather and pine needles.
For a moment, she just sat there. Her fingers hovered over her bag before she reached in and pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up as soon as her thumb brushed the side. No new messages. Just the same old wallpaper of a blurry sunset and the faint glint of her own reflection staring back. She hesitated and her thumb hovered over the screen for another beat- then tapped into her messages.
Rafe
The name alone made her chest tighten a little. She bit down on her lower lip, chewing at the soft skin absently. Her other hand reached up to pull her hair away from her face, then fell limply against her lap. The inside of the car felt like it was shrinking. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, a sharp whisper into the quiet. She tapped the messages open. Leaning her head back, she let it fall gently against the headrest, eyes blinking up at the roof of the car as she let out a long, tired sigh. Her fingers rested against the phone in her lap, before tapping her fingers against the screen.
She started typing. Hey, change of plans. I might not— Backspace. No. Too vague so she tried again. Something came up— Backspace. Her heart thudded in her chest, slow and heavy. Then she typed with more finality this time:
Bunny : I'm sorry but I can't do tmr
She stared at it. Read it once. Then twice. Then, with a small exhale that she couldn’t quite tell was relief or regret, she hit send. The text shot off into the thread, disappearing into that blue bubble like a stone dropped into deep water. She locked her phone again, let her head fall back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed. Her lips pressed into a line. Maybe that’s for the best, she told herself. Maybe-
Buzz.
Her eyes snapped open. The screen lit up and she unlocked it quickly, thumb tapping into the thread without thinking.
Rafe : what why not
Short and blunt. Her stomach twisted, that anxious little knot curling a bit tighter as her thumbs moved again.
Bunny : Your sister’s going to be there which means JJ’s gonna be there
She sat there, holding her breath like it’d keep her heart from thudding so hard. The typing bubble appeared instantly, three dots bouncing like they knew what they were about to say was going to matter more than it should.
Rafe : so what?
Of course, she thought bitterly, jaw tightening. But before she could respond, another message popped up. She blinked, stunned by how he could sound so calm about something that made her whole chest tighten.
Rafe : Why is that a problem
Bunny : It’s a problem cause he’ll see us
Her fingers tapped harder this time and her hand trembled slightly as she held the phone. She hated this—how tense it made her. How she had to think of all the possible consequences when Rafe didn’t even seem to care.
Rafe : are you serious
Bunny : Yes I’m serious wtf do u mean???
Her reply came before she could even second-guess herself but then… nothing. No bubble, no typing dots and her eyes flicked to the corner of the screen at the bottom. Read. That was it? He read it and then disappeared. A dry laugh escaped her lips, more disbelieving than amused. She pushed her palm against her forehead, trying to will away the creeping frustration crawling beneath her skin.
Rafe : You’re really gonna let your brother control us
Bunny : He’s not controlling us
Rafe : Well he’s controlling this.
Her teeth sunk into her lip again, harder this time as the message made her fingers still. She stared at the words, something bitter blooming behind her ribs. Then she typed, slowly, like the question had been sitting on her tongue for a while- because it had.
Bunny : What is this
Bunny : What even is 'this' Rafe?
Read
The air in the car felt heavy now. Thick with silence and words that would never be spoken aloud. She watched the screen for a beat. Then two. Then five. The beats turned into a minute but still there was no response from him so her fingers moved again of their own accord.
Bunny : seriously
Bunny : Leaving me on read are you being for real
Bunny : Hello?
Still.
No answer.
Her mouth twisted into a scoff, this one sharper. Less disbelief and more hurt. She leaned her head back against the seat, her knuckles white where she clutched the phone. She could feel it bubbling now- not anger, not really. Just… disappointment. That familiar ache that curled into her chest when something started to crack and she knew she couldn’t fix it. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she typed one last time.
Bunny : Grow up Rafe
Then she dropped the phone into the empty cup holder with a soft clack and her hands came up, pressing into her face, covering her eyes. She let out a breath- long and slow and quiet. She didn’t even know what this was anymore, or what she wanted it to be.
All she knew was that it hurt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bass was thumping hard enough to make the floorboards vibrate. Music roared from massive speakers set up on the back patio of the mansion, spilling into every corner of the sprawling beach house like a pulse. The crowd was thick—Kooks and Pogues alike stood packed shoulder to shoulder, laughing, grinding, shouting over the noise. Red solo cups littered the deck, the grass, the kitchen counters. Half-empty bottles of liquor sat abandoned on tables, the scent of alcohol and sweat clinging to the humid air. Inside, the lighting was low and tinted gold, shadows dancing as bodies moved through the house, more people flooded through the front door- new arrivals, drawn in by the promise of booze and the thrill of recklessness that always hung thick in the air.
Rafe was in the middle of it, standing near the table on the backyard patio where a lineup of liquor bottles had turned into a makeshift bar. His button-down was half undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, collar a little askew. He reached for another shot, his fingers curled tight around the glass rim as he knocked it back, throat bobbing as the burn slid down. “Bro,” Kelce said, squinting as he leaned forward, voice slurred with the edge of tipsy concern.
“I never do this but- maybe slow down a little”
“That’s like, your seventh” Topper added from where he was slouched against the couch, a beer dangling between his fingers.
“You good man?”
“I’m fine”
Rafe muttered, his voice low, gruff, and not even remotely convincing. His jaw flexed as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his damp forehead. He didn’t look at either of them as he spoke but he wasn’t fine. Not even close. His head was heavy, the alcohol catching up to him in a sluggish crawl through his limbs. He could feel it in his slow, unsteady blink. In the weight of his shoulders, in the way the music felt a little too loud, a little too sharp.
She wasn’t here- Y/N wasn’t here.
And he hated that it mattered. Hated that he kept glancing toward the front door every time someone new walked in- just in case she'd changed her mind. Hated that he could hear her voice in the back of his mind. “I can’t go, your sister’s going to be there” ... “JJ will be there” ... “He’ll see us.” His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, the burn of the liquor lingering in his chest. She was always so damn concerned about JJ, about keeping him in the dark- about keeping them in the dark.
Like this is all some secret she needs to protect.
Topper was saying something again, laughing about a girl he’d hooked up with last weekend, but Rafe didn’t hear it. He was staring at the countertop, where drops of clear liquor beaded on the marble surface. His hand was still fisted around the empty shot glass. He looked like a storm waiting to happen- cheeks a little flushed, eyes shadowed and distant, lip twitching at the corner in a scowl. But under it all, he was sulking. Quietly. Bitterly. Like a kid who didn’t get what he wanted.
And all he wanted was her.
The rumble of the Twinkie pulling up was swallowed by the thump of music echoing off the walls of the massive house. Lights flashing inside spilled through the tall windows in bursts that lit up the manicured lawn and the stretch of cars already jammed up along the curb. The Pogues piled out- John B leading the charge in his usual messy curls with Sarah right on his heels, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo. JJ slammed the passenger door shut with his hip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his loose cargo shorts, eyes flicking over the crowd on the lawn before following- Pope, Kiara and Cleo weren’t far behind.
The house was huge. Open floor plan, high ceilings, the kind of kitchen you only saw on cooking shows. People were everywhere—on the stairs, pressed against walls, spilling onto balconies. It smelled like weed and citrus vodka, and someone in the hallway was definitely already throwing up. “Damn,” John B muttered as they walked in, eyebrows raised.
“This place is nice.”
“No shit”
Pope said, already eyeing the built-in speakers in the ceiling. Cleo let out a low whistle and made a beeline for the massive kitchen island, where liquor bottles and mixers lined the counters like a buffet. She said with a grin, snatching a bottle of rum and starting to pour,
“The free alcohol is even nicer”
“Now this is why I dragged you guys here..’.”
Sarah laughed, reaching over to help herself to a half-mixed drink and Kiara grabbed a couple of plastic cups, handing them around. The music rattled the cabinets, the floor under their shoes vibrating faintly in time with the beat. People were dancing in the next room, someone yelling something about beer pong from the backyard, but the Pogues took a moment to regroup in the kitchen. JJ stood a bit apart from the group, back braced against the counter, swirling whatever was in his cup without really drinking it. His hat was pulled low, hair curling beneath the brim, and there was a little pinch between his brows that hadn’t faded since they arrived. Kiara noticed first. She nudged him gently with her elbow, tilting her head toward him.
“She’s not coming then?”
JJ blinked, not catching the question right away over the music.
“Huh?”
“Y/N- she’s not coming?”
Sarah repeated, louder this time, looking up from her drink. JJ’s expression tightened for a split second, and he looked down into his cup like it suddenly had answers. “Nah,” he said, voice clipped.
“She’s not.”
There was something in the way he said it in a short and flat tone, a little irritated like he didn’t want to care, but he did. Kiara gave a small nod and didn’t press. Instead, she reached out, rubbed his arm gently with her hand before stepping away to help Pope crack open a bottle of something suspiciously blue. No one said anything else. But in the middle of the crowd, under the flashing lights and the pounding bass, JJ stood a little stiller than the rest. Eyes drifting toward the front door they'd came through like maybe- just maybe- she’d still show.
Rafe shoved his way through the backyard, the lights and thumping music cutting through the cool air like a heavy pulse. He could feel the tension in his chest, the tightness that hadn’t loosened since their texts earlier... "What is this"... That question had been eating at him ever since because he didn't know what it was. But that didn't change the fact that his mind kept circling back to her. The way she made him feel, how easy it was to talk to her, how easy it was to just be around her- it wasn’t like anything he'd ever experienced. And it scared him. Because he wasn’t the kind of guy to get tangled up in feelings, he didn’t do that. But Y/N, she was different- it unsettled him. He couldn’t admit that to her, though. Couldn’t let her know that she was getting under his skin, into his bloodstream like a drug, that she was getting too close.
By the time he made it through the crowd and into the kitchen, he was ready for another drink, maybe more than one. The sound of glass bottles clinking and people chatting loudly barely registered in his mind as he reached the counter, eyes scanning the chaos for what he needed. He was almost there, his hand reaching for the first bottle of vodka, when he collided with someone.
Thud
He didn’t even flinch, just kept moving forward until he heard a sharp, annoyed voice.
“Excuse me?”
Rafe’s shoulder had shoved into Sarah, causing her to stumble back just a little. She glared up at him, her eyes narrowing with irritation. He didn’t care and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for small talk with her.
“You’re excused”
He muttered back, not even bothering to meet her eyes as he grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off.
“Asshole”
Sarah muttered under her breath, clearly unamused, but Rafe wasn’t listening. He poured the liquor into his cup with a steady hand, watching the clear liquid slosh into the glass. The burn in his throat might’ve been the only thing that could numb the frustration gnawing at him. He downed it in one go, feeling it course through his body. Rafe stood near the edge of the kitchen, the alcohol still burning in his stomach as he surveyed the crowd. The noise was becoming a dull roar in the background, a blur of laughter and shouting, but his mind was still running on autopilot. He tried to focus on his drink, twisting the glass in his hand, but then something caught his ear.
JJ
He was talking to John B, and it didn’t take long for Rafe to hear the frustration in his voice. JJ’s words carried across the room, loud enough for Rafe to pick up on.
“I don’t get it bro”
JJ was saying, his voice edged with something close to bitterness already lightly slurred from the alcohol he consumed since they arrived, “Y/N’s always working. Always dude. It’s like- I literally got a job so she could work less? And she still can’t make time for anything. Not for me. Not for us. She's always got some lame ass excuse.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened at the sound of JJ’s voice, and he instinctively stepped closer to the conversation, the growing frustration in his chest gnawing at him. He watched as JJ’s face twisted, anger bubbling up in his expression.
“She’s never around anymore. Like, she’s always somewhere else, doing something else. It’s like she doesn't care- You know what? Maybe it’s just me she doesn’t want to spend time with maybe I’m just a fucking inconvenience to her.”
John B shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable, but he didn’t know how to respond. He just nodded slowly, not really agreeing or disagreeing as he brought his beer bottle to his lips. Rafe’s pulse spiked. His chest felt tight, and for a moment, the room seemed to narrow around him. His fingers tightened around the glass until his knuckles went white.
He was angry.
No, he was beyond angry.
He could feel the heat rising in his body, but it wasn’t just because of JJ’s words. It was the way he was talking about Y/N, so dismissively, so coldly. The kitchen was still a chaotic blend of chatter and clinking glass, the music vibrating through the floor, and the air thick with alcohol. But his mind wasn’t on the drink anymore. It was on her—on Y/N. On the way she would slave away all day in her shitty job only to go home to a brother who wasn't even grateful? He could hear JJ’s voice cutting through the noise of the house, loud and full of venom. Rafe turned, just in time to catch the words.
“Acting like she’s such a good fuckin’ sister,” JJ spat, his words as he gestured around. “When she can’t even take the time out of her day to talk to me. It’s a fuckin’ jok, man..”
John B was still next to him, leaning against the counter, his eyes tired, clearly not wanting to get involved in the growing tension. But he let out a soft sigh and said,
“Come on, man. You’re being a little harsh she does a lot for you-”
“-No. I’m not,”
But JJ wasn’t having it. His face twisted into a mix of frustration and bitterness. “She doesn't give a damn about anyone but herself," he snapped, his voice louder now.
"She’s a shitty fuckin’ sister.”
Rafe could feel the anger bubbling up in his chest. He was barely holding it together at this point. His hand clenched around his glass, and without thinking, he pushed himself away from where he was and made his way towards the blonde haired pogue,“Hey-” Rafe’s voice was rough, his jaw tightening,
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth.”
JJ didn’t even hesitate as his brow furrowed, his head snapping toward Rafe, his eyes narrowing. The smirk on his face was all cocky arrogance, like he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Rafe stood in front of JJ, his fists clenched so tightly around the edge of the counter that his knuckles were turning white. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the alcohol in his system only amplifying the frustration that had been simmering for hours.
"You really think you know your sister?"
Rafe's voice cut through the tension like a blade, each word laced with disbelief and a deepening anger. His gaze was intense, narrowing as he stared down at JJ, his stance aggressive and unsteady from the booze. JJ didn’t flinch, instead, he scoffed, the sound dripping with disdain.
“Yeah, well, what the fuck do you know about her?”
The words were laced with spite, his eyes flashing as he shot back, barely holding back his irritation. He was drunk, way too much to back down. The space between them was closing, both of them leaning in slightly, their bodies tense as if they were about to collide. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flickered between JJ’s face and the rest of the room. John B was already sighing, rubbing his hand over his face, clearly feeling the impending collision. His tone was a little exasperated.
“Alright, guys... let's not do this tonight.”
But his words were barely a whisper in the whirlwind of tension between JJ and Rafe. They didn't take their eyes off each other. Rafe stood his ground, every inch of his body radiating the anger and frustration he’d been holding back all night. His expression twisted into something cold, nasty, as his voice came out low, almost a growl.
"A lot more than you"
He spat, the words dripping with contempt. JJ’s eyes flared with fury, and before anyone fully processed the insult, his body reacted. Without thinking, he shoved Rafe, a rough, sudden motion that sent the air between them crackling.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
His words were sharp, cutting through the already tense atmosphere like a knife. The crowd around them seemed to gather and the only thing that mattered now seemed to be this confrontation, the two of them standing face to face, inches away from an explosion. Rafe’s jaw clenched, his teeth gritting as he stumbled back just a half-step from the shove. But he didn’t let it slide, his eyes burned with rage, and with a brutal shove of his own, he sent JJ stumbling back.
“Get off me, you dirty fucking pogue”
He snarled, his voice a low rasp. John B and Pope, sensing the situation spiraling, rushed in to intervene, but their voices only seemed to intensify the already-fueled fire.
“Hey, hey—alright JJ stop."
“C’mon man”
John B called out, his tone a mix of frustration and concern, his hand on JJ’s arm trying to pull him back. But JJ, his face red with anger, ignored them, shoving them off as if they were nothing. His eyes were locked on Rafe, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. Sarah, standing nearby, caught sight of the escalating tension and turned to Rafe with an incredulous expression.
“What is your problem?”
She spoke out her voice sharp as he brows drew down into a concerned frown, but Rafe didn’t even glance at her. His attention was fully on JJ, the hate between them palpable. The room seemed to hold its breath, the entire kitchen watching in stunned interest as the two guys stood their postures defiant, aggressive. JJ, unable to take the weight of the situation anymore, spun on his heel and began to turn away, his anger boiling over, his fists still clenched with popes hand on his arm leading him away. But Rafe’s voice, cutting through the tense silence, sliced through the air like a final verdict.
“I pity her for having a brother like you”
He said, the words slow and deliberate, aimed to sting. The room went deathly quiet apart from a few low mutters, and for a split second and the words hung in the air like a curse. JJ froze, his back to Rafe, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His body went rigid, the hurt flashing in his eyes as he clenched his jaw tighter. Kiara’s voice came through softly, but it was too late.
“JJ don’t”
She pleaded, but JJ had already turned and with a motion of pure, unfiltered anger, he threw a punch, his fist flying straight at Rafe’s face with all the pent-up rage he’d been holding back. The force behind it was hard enough to knock Rafe off balance, and in that moment, the air around them seemed to explode. Everything that had been building up, the tension, the anger, the frustration- finally came to a head.
And just like that, the fight erupted.
The air was thick with the sounds of punches landing, grunts of pain, and the occasional slap of skin against skin. People's previous murmuring had turned to excited yells and cheers, phones being raised as they recorded the ordeal. JJ’s vision was red, every inch of his body screamed as he threw wild punches, each one landing with force, but Rafe was no slouch- he met every hit with a violent shove or a retaliatory strike of his own. JJ's jaw was clenched tight as he pushed against Rafe, throwing a punch that caught him square in the ribs, causing the other man to grunt in pain. Rafe staggered but didn’t fall, instead grabbing JJ’s shirt and yanking him forward with a growl. Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing heavily, sweat and blood mixing, the scent of alcohol clouding the air. Rafe’s eyes were wild, his face contorted with anger as he bit out the words through gritted teeth, each syllable harsh and slurred.
“If you love your sister so much, why is she always running to me when she’s got problems, huh?”
His grip tightened on JJ’s shirt, pulling him in closer, their faces just inches from one another. His words were cold, bitter. JJ blinked, his mind struggling to process what Rafe just said. His nostrils flared as his nose dripped blood, a line of crimson streaking down his face. JJ’s voice was a low growl, disoriented, the anger still there but replaced by confusion.
“What?”
“That’s what I thought”
Rafe sneered, a harsh laugh falling from his lips, his bloodshot eyes alight with a murderous glint. JJ’s fury surged again, his face lit with rage as his eyes narrowed, locking onto Rafe’s smug expression. Without warning, he launched himself forward, his head connecting with Rafe’s face in a brutal headbutt. The impact was sickening- Rafe’s head snapped back violently, and a grunt escaped him. He staggered back a step, dazed, blood oozing from his busted lip.
Rafe didn’t back down, he shoved JJ with both hands, sending him stumbling back a few steps. The two of them were back at it in an instant, their bodies crashing together, fists flying in every direction. JJ’s elbow connected with Rafe’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Rafe faltered this time, falling backward, his balance compromised. He hit the ground hard, the floor beneath him rattling. For a split second, the fight paused. Rafe lay there, stunned, his chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to catch his breath. But JJ was already on him, a feral grunt escaping his throat as he scrambled to pin Rafe down. He grabbed Rafe’s polo top, yanking him up to his face, his grip like iron. His chest was heaving, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged gasps as he leaned in close, his face twisted in disgust.
“Don’t fucking talk about my sister like you know her- you don't know anything about her- you don't know her like I do.”
JJ snarled, his voice low and seething. His words were laced with every ounce of hurt, frustration, and protective anger he could muster. Rafe’s head lolled back for a moment, his eyes glazed and unfocused from the blows. He let out a drunken, mocking scoff, a bitter chuckle escaping from his busted lips. His mouth was smeared with blood, but the sneer on his face was unmistakable, even through the haze of intoxication. He muttered so only the blonde boy could hear, the words sharp, but somehow quieter than before.
“You didn’t even know she was pregnant”
The entire world seemed to stop in that instant.
JJ's grip slackened, his fingers loosening around Rafe’s shirt and his chest tightened as the words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him in an instant. John B and Pope, who had been trying to pull the two apart for the last few moments, finally managed to tear JJ off Rafe. JJ didn’t resist this time, his body felt stiff like stone, his mind struggling to catch up with what he just heard. Rafe lay on the floor, barely able to lift his head, but his voice, now quieter and almost hollow, drifted through the space between them. “Yeah,” he said, his words slow and deliberate,
“She didn’t tell you, JJ. She came to me.”
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HEY, JUDE ㅤ₊ ㅤ˚ ㅤ✧ ㅤ ﾟ ㅤ. ㅤ☾
☽ㅤdetails, or, dean never expected to have a family of his own, and his expectations hold true when all that becomes of it is a baby who looks identical to you.
☽ㅤincludes, single dad!dean, girl dad!dean, reader exists in mentions, self deprecation, grief, blood mentions, death mentions, i am so sorry
word count: 7.1k
baby girl.
“hey, jude,” he murmurs softly into his baby girl’s ear, cradling the fussing, teary eyed infant to his chest. she was still so little — so fucking little — but he wasn’t sure when being little shifted from something to coo over to something to fuss over. and he doesn’t have much comparison to go off of, over what is too small, not when everything shrinks in the expanse of his biceps.
it is not the first time he wishes you were still around, but instead another tack on the growing list.
he is so fucking useless without you. he really is. and it only hits him now, in the dead of night when his little girl won’t stop crying like something aches or something’s wrong, and he’s completely at a loss on how to fix it.
he couldn’t fix losing you; and now he can’t fix her. he’s all she’s got left, and he’s failing her.
those thoughts are a plague. they fester. they gnaw on his skin and feast on his blood and whittle his bones. and he is so sick, and he is so lost, that he couldn’t find his way to a cure if he tried.
jude is wailing now, and he’s seconds from joining her. he doesn’t know, still, the difference in a baby’s cries. he did not nurse her for nine months in his belly, like you did; the internal guidebook on fatherhood was not automatically installed into him when she was brought out to be cradled by you that very first time. his was a manual installation, and it was still, seven months in, fucking lagging.
“m’sorry, jude,” he whispers into the soft hair gracing the top of her head. it’s the same color as yours. the only thing she inherited from him was his eyes, and he hates looking into them and seeing every failure he’d made so far reflected back at him.
all he can do is rock her, until she stops her fussing or she doesn’t, and then he can switch tactics. he doesn’t think often about the military-sort of childhood that he was raised in, but it comes up every time in times like this, when his methods of defense present themselves in tactics.
the cradling tactic: for when jude wailed like she was grieving, like she’d sobbed so hard in her dreams that it broke into real life. there was no way that little girl remembered your face, but sometimes he thought that she missed your voice, with the way his never seemed to soothe her in times like this.
the food tactic: for when it was clear that the cradling tactic didn’t work. sometimes her lips opened and closed like a fish’s, and he could skip the first step entirely and go to this one. maybe he wasn’t entirely useless as a father, after all, if he subconsciously knew this little tell of hers. he’d never let himself think so kindly of himself for long, though.
the diaper tactic: no explanation needed. this one he could always tell when was necessary. sometimes, it’d linger like the plague in his blood, and then he’d had to dive into,
the bath tactic: which jude hated. god, she fucking hated baths, almost like she could tell that warmth was the thing that took you from the both of them. that’s why sometimes, even when it felt awful, he let her cry while he sat idly in the rocking chair beside her crib. didn’t want to stress her out more with his lack of coherency when it came to what she needed — and that little fact, that he thought it upset her more sometimes when he tried to be the thing to fill the missing, bleeding wound that was you.
in his arms as he rocked her, jude’s little mouth opened and closed. her cries were still ear piercing and raw, but at least he could do something about it now. he nearly sighs in relief the moment that she gives him that little hint, like she can tell, in her infancy, that he was incapable of this on his own.
she’d moved away from bottles long before, and upgraded to the wonderful world of mashed vegetables and fruits. though, she hated new flavors. he thought it was a game, in a way; always making him have the first tiny spoonful of pureed asparagus. he felt like a bodyguard in moments like those, testing if the princess’s food was poisoned before she got a taste.
but it was late, and she didn’t need any of the cereals that they’d been working on, too — though, he really would never have argued with stealing a couple or a couple dozen of those little strawberry banana things.
and she was spoiled, despite all of his worries that he was failing her. she’d get to stay in his arms while she ate, instead of the high chair he should have been adjusting her to.
oh well. add it to the tallied list on how he was fucking up his — your — little girl. he could take it.
“feelin’ midnight snacky, is that it?” he asks, so softly, always so softly like any increase to his volume will shatter her. honestly, he thought that she was the strongest person he’d ever met, and she wasn’t even a year old yet. she could only grow up to impress him — and ruin him, with how she was already turning into a mini you.
she still cried, because she always cried until her problem was fixed in its entirety, but the sobs had broken and given way to sniffles and unintelligible noises that sounded too close to mama for his comfort.
mama, mama, mama. shit— how did he tell her that he missed her, too? how does someone baby-talk down the fact that she was dead, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing left anymore without her?
well, except for jude, of course. and what a stark reminder that is, that she’s all he has left of you.
tonight’s snack was mashed carrots. the last one of that flavor, because it was jude’s favorite. had to be because it was such a stark color, the color of the deepest sunsets, one of the things that you loved the most.
he pops the top with one hand, the other still cradling this tiny thing that was his daughter to his chest. the metal lid clatters to the ground, and he winces, thinking that the noise is only going to startle and break his daughter’s heart more. but to his surprise, as he dips his hand into the drawer of silverware, now mostly full of those baby sized spoons with zoo animals on the handles, jude is silent.
not just silent, but curious. dean knows the curious look, even if he doesn’t know how to differentiate most of her expressions still. it’s because it’s the same as yours used to be. lips parted, eyes wide, darting around. it’s more devastating on jude, though, because she has the longest eyelashes, and the smallest little lips, so small he can hear every breath she draws in as she searches for what captured her attention.
dean smiles to himself. it’s these moments where he doesn’t feel quite so much like a terrible father; when his little girl has stopped wailing, and looks at him for every answer he might have.
maybe by the time she’s grown, he’ll have some of those answers.
toddler.
“hey, jude,” dean snaps his fingers to capture jude’s attention, his expression flat and exasperated at once, “get the remote out of your chompers, alright? don’t know where all it’s been.”
really, he doesn’t know. at one point or another: between the couch cushions, underneath the rocking chair cushion — every damn cushion, really, the dusty floor, the clean floor. hell, it’d probably been in his mouth before, when his hands were too occupied with a beer and a plate. wouldn’t put it past him.
jude is becoming a sassy little thing. she does specifically what he tells her not to, even at her ripe age of four, when she’s just barely beginning to figure out she’s a person.
you didn’t even back talk him this much, when you were around, which leaves the answers for his many internal, baffled questions to be that jude had gotten it from him.
karma always does get its kiss, eventually. its kiss was in the form of a toddler with his attitude, his eyes, and your face.
she looked so much like you now.
her little button nose was filling out in the shape of yours, her eyes were as big as yours, and she was so little compared to him, just like you’d been. she was in the in-between stage of her growing, small chubby limbs that made her whine every night, thumb still in her mouth because he can’t, can’t, bring himself to stop that little habit.
if dean could keep her this little and innocent forever, he would. fuck, he would. it was selfish, to want to preserve this tiny little girl in a box and keep her on his shelves, but the thought of watching her grow into a version of you…
it was easier, now, that a few years had passed. never easy, and never simple, but easier. his feelings were still complex, still bottled up deep within him and ignored, where the oddest things sometimes could send him into a spiral. sam would come, pick up his pieces and keep him from doing something stupid, and the cycle of denial would repeat.
but every day, dean swore he saw more of you in her. if it wasn’t the fact she was a mini you, it was the way she acted. hence the attitude — which, realistically, was all his own, but why would he ever vocalize that out loud?
jude stomps her bare foot on the hardwood, her little face scrunched up with so much volition you’d think he beheaded all of her teddy bears, and she was coming to enact revenge on him for it. “why?”
oh, you used to do that too. that angry why at him instead of just trusting that whatever he said was with good intentions, or to the best of his knowledge, fact.
dean stands in front of her at his towering height, staring down at this knee-height little girl with bows in her hair, and a little sundress that she’d fought and fought him about putting on. it’s a battle of centuries.
jude breaks first. another foot stomp. her hand holding the remote is raising suspiciously slowly back to her mouth.
“juliet.” dean tries to make his voice sound stern and commanding but he can never quite manage it with his little girl. that’s his princess, alright? “don’t make me go get mr. bear bear.”
that used to get her. it used to get her so bad that she’d cry, thinking he was going to send mr. bear bear packing. that’s probably why he has such a hard time scolding jude — because any time he did, she’d start bawling. it had to be a manipulation tactic.
at least he was aware of it, even if he fell for it everytime.
“mr. bear bear isn’t talkin’ t’you.”
dean bristles. “and what does mr. bear bear think i did this time, huh? is he mad i made you brush your teeth?”
it’s ridiculous, standing in the middle of his living room, having a cowboy showdown with his four year old daughter about a stuffed animal named mr. bear bear. but that’s parenthood, he guesses.
her arms cross firmly over her chest. in this moment, and this moment alone, he sees himself in her. he’s standing just like that too. “he says,” she starts, interrupted by a hiccup that discredits all of his arguments, because he’s a goner. already wants to swoop her into his arms and apologize to her. “he says you make things up.”
vague. and true. but how does mr. bear bear know this? frankly, none of his business, if you asked dean.
“what’s he sayin’ i’m lyin’ about?” dean shoots back, his head tilting up in that cocky little sneer that jude loves. good cop, bad cop is her favorite game to play with him, even though her version of a good cop includes smashing her toy cars into his leg to make him confess. it works, though. his bruises prove it.
as if on cue, jude’s giggling up a storm, interrupted only by bursts of her hiccups. “lyin’ about mommy.”
the floor drops out from beneath him. he feels nauseous. he feared this day coming and here it was. the first time she brought you up, too much intelligence in that little brain of hers, to know that it just wasn’t common to not have a mommy alongside your bad cop daddy.
he keeps a brave face, though. bad cops don’t break persona the first time something detrimental gets dropped into their lap. “go bring ‘im out here. lemme give him a talkin’ to, too.”
she sprints off, so steady on her little feet now that it adds to the ache in his chest. she was getting so much bigger, and you weren’t here to see it. maybe you were looking down, watching as her tiny form grew taller and stronger. he could hope, couldn’t he?
jude returns moments later, soft brown teddy bear in her arms. his little bowtie is a mockery of him, if what jude says that he says is true.
in his heart, he knows that all of the things that the bear tells her are her own thoughts, manifesting in a gentler form so that it doesn’t hurt her as badly when they do. it breaks his heart. so little, and she’s already gotten a defense mechanism in place.
dean kneels down to be eye level with jude, gingerly plucking mr. bear bear out of her small fingers. “a certain pretty princess told me you were mad at me, sir,” he says, voice lowered like it was just him and this fucking bear, ear forever wet from jude’s gnawing, even though he’d thought she’d gotten over that fixation. he’ll feel like an idiot for having a serious, talk-it-out conversation later with his daughter’s teddy bear, but for now, her feelings are more important to him. always. “i’ll be honest, bear bear, i have been keeping things from the pretty princess. your feelings are very valid.”
he’s quoting things from his therapist, now. to a teddy bear. they don’t tell you a thing about parenthood before you get into it, but they certainly don’t tell you this.
“i just didn’t want her to think that it was her fault, not at all, about what happened to her mommy. surely you understand. you and i, we keep our pretty princess safe, don’t we?” he even pauses for an answer that won’t come, his eyes flicking over to his little girl, her folded hands in front of her as she patiently waits. she’s so sweet that it kills him. “mama didn’t go away on a business trip, you’re right. mama died, very tragically, while protecting our pretty princess. and it’s not her fault, and not our girl’s, either.”
there’s a little sniffle from behind the bear in his hands, and he looks up to see jude, eyes welled and lip wobbly in that way that makes his heart ache. just like when she was a baby, when her screams shattered his heart to pieces, but worse, because her tears were silent now, like she was trying to soothe it all away herself.
she didn’t have to. that’s why he was there. dean hands her back the bear, and in that same movement, scoops her into his arms in a tight embrace. instantly, she falls apart at the seams, her shoulders shaking as the stuffing pours from the buttons of her eyes.
“she would have loved you,” he whispers into the top of her head, smoothing out the tangly strands with his fingers. you really would have loved her, too. she humbled him — you humbled him. she broke his heart, you broke his heart.
maybe she’d forgive him one day, for letting something happen to you when he promised he wouldn’t, when he swore up and down that you were it for him, that you wouldn’t—
it’s too much. even when dean feels like he’s getting better with this grief thing, he can’t move past it. not when there’s a smaller you attached to his hip, waiting for him to hang the world for her and protect her, too.
he can only hope that he gets it right this time.
child.
“hey! jude!” dean stands out on the sidewalk before the elementary school, seeing jude off on her first day of third grade. in his hands is her little lunchbox, ever forgotten in her excitement.
every single first day, dean cries. he’s not ashamed of it, either. it’s tough seeing his little girl run off into the real world on her own, and being the one to see her off, all on his lonesome.
it wasn’t like the single moms didn’t try to catch his attention, either. they constantly did. it was that he preferred the isolation over the company every time. how could anyone hold a candle to you?
jude glances over her shoulder, her long hair flipping in the process, catching in the wind. he has to bite back a sigh. the braid’s already loose, the strands already spilling out of it, tangling in the wind.
her little feet stomp back toward him, splashing in the remnants of last night’s rain in the concrete,and dean wants to tell her to slow down. wants to tell her to stop time, stay exactly like this. young, small, forever protected by him. just to prove to himself that he could protect something, and that he’d never have to see her hurt.
“thanks, daddy!” she lisps through her wide, toothy grin. she’s got the cutest gap tooth right now from losing one of her front teeth in a burger a few days ago, the pink gums peeking from between her middle teeth making him smile every single time he saw it. she was never embarrassed, or shy, about that smile, either.
her hand is outstretched for the lunchbox. pink and purple and glittery, and one of the most expensive at the store. anything for his jude, though.
dean keeps it back from her, his chin tilting up in mock sternness. “what do we do if people are mean to us?” he asks in a reminder of their rules. he had a couple of them that he never let up on.
“kick their ass,” jude says, her fingers clapping against her palm in a gesture to get her box. “ass. ass?” each attempt comes out more lispy, her face contorting in her irritation. “kick their ass.”
dean cackles, inching the lunchbox slightly closer. “very good, baby girl,” he says with a nod, “now what do we do if someone puts their hand on us?”
“break their fuckin’ fingers,” jude grins, her eyes glimmering. ever since she found out that her dad’s rules had bad words in them, she was as mischievous as ever about saying them.
dean’s eyebrows raise. “how?”
her little hand — so big now, though, it makes his heart clench in his chest — grasps his fingers and pulls back, and once his hand is as bent as her strength can manage, she twists.
dean lets out a nervous chuckle, tugging his hand free from her light grip. “whoa, princess. no breakin’ daddy’s fingers, alright?” he flexes his fingers, reaching out to grab her hand and kiss her tiny knuckles.
she was nowhere near close to hurting him. but who was he to ever crush his little girl’s spirits? he couldn’t. he couldn’t.
jude’s evil grin only widens, though. “maybe someone will try me t’day and i’ll get t’break their fingers!”
“you should not be wishing for that,” dean says, even though his heart swells in the process. jude may have been an identical version of you, but the longer she spent around him, the more parts of him shined through. god, he loved her so much. “last rule?”
jude’s expression softens. her milky green eyes glisten with unshed tears, and this is the part that always ruins him, that brings him to his knees. “hug my daddy goodbye, always.”
“almost forgot this time,” he mumbles, his voice more strained than it should be after having done this four years now. he kneels, holding open his arms, the lunchbox still dangling in his fingers.
she was growing up too fast. getting so independent so fast. jude practically jumps into his arms, his grip tight around her little frame as hers is around his neck.
he doesn’t want to let go. letting go always feels like giving her away to someone else, and he can’t. she’s all that’s left of you, and he’s selfish, and he doesn’t want anyone else to love his little girl as much as he does.
“can i tell you a secret?” she whispers in his ear, and he nods into her hair, taking the liberty to reach up and tug the hairtie out of the ends. it would get lost somewhere in that school if he didn’t now, and the purple ones were her favorite. couldn’t lose them on his watch.
“i tell mommy goodbye, too,” jude says, lifting her head to look dean in the eyes. her look was so earnest, so warm and raw, that dean’s eyes got glassier than they already were.
“yeah?” dean asks, clearing his throat. the last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of his kid. he was a tough guy, took all of the hits that life tried to deliver to her, was covered in bruises and scars all over the skin she loved to cling to. “mommy ever say anything back?”
she nods, picking at a thread on her shirt. “she says she’s always watching.”
how weak did it make him to nearly buckle under that quiet admission? how pathetic was he that any mention of you, even in his daughter’s big imagination, had him clinging to those thoughts, using them as ways to self soothe the aching hole that you left in his soul?
dean reaches up to pinch her cheek between his two fingers, handing her the lunchbox, finally. “go on, pretty princess. don’t want you to be late.”
didn’t want her to see him cry, either. he was clinging to the last shreds of his stability, losing grip by the second.
“bye bye, daddy!” jude hugs him one last time as he stands, clinging to his knee for a second before turning on her heel and sprinting away.
he watches. watches as her little self disappears into the big front doors of lawrence elementary. watches until she’s long gone, and straggling parents running late drop off their kids that sprint away without a goodbye hug, or a promise that their mommy’s always watching them when dean can’t.
dean’s eyes flick up to the sky, like maybe he can see you there in between the clouds. the sun looks a little brighter today. maybe it’s you, seeing jude off, too.
“thanks,” he whispers, nodding once to you. he watches, then, too. for any sign in the sky that you heard him — a twitch in the clouds, a flicker in the sunbeams pouring down on the concrete. but everything is still.
☽ ₊ ㅤ˚ ㅤ✧ ㅤ ﾟ ㅤ. ㅤ☾
“i’m serious, sam,” dean says into the phone, keeping it held to his ear with the press of his shoulder, “it could just be kid stuff, but—”
“...but when is it ever actually just the imagination explanation, yeah,” sam finishes, voice scratchy through the speaker. both of them are silent for a second, dean shoveling fries into his mouth while he sits in the long ass pick-up line outside of the school. “and, you know, jude doesn’t seem like she’d make things up.”
dean almost snorts. he’s talking about the little girl that still puts mr. bear bear at the kitchen table when they eat dinner, still makes dean make him a plate and everything.
but he’s right, about this. jude had stopped asking her prying questions about you the moment dean told her the truth, so it didn’t make sense for her to suddenly tell him this, insisting that her mother talked to her—
“she died like mom did,” sam continues, his voice softer, more sincere. “which could mean—”
“that she’s one of those chosen special kids like you were, yeah, i know.” dean shakes his head. the thought makes his stomach feel like it’s bottoming out. he shoves the fast food bag further into the passenger seat, appetite vanished. “m’not thinkin’ about that right now.”
sam scoffs into the speaker. “you’ll have to. and if you don’t tell her now—”
“do not fucking tell me, sammy,” he says through gritted teeth, moving the phone from his shoulder to properly hold it at his ear, “how to raise my kid.”
“dean.” sam’s sincerity makes dean want to kill him, in this moment. “you can get cute little kid questions now, or you can get resentment later.”
dean’s eyes flick up to the front entrance of the school, to the hundreds of kids piling out of the doors. in the midst is his kid, her tiny feet carrying her quickly to his car. “gotta go, sammy. good talk.”
he hangs up before sammy can get another word in. realistically, he knows sam is right, but that doesn’t make him happy about it. what little kid doesn’t want to have superpowers? and what teenager wants to be outcasted? the choice was clear. just… uncomfortable.
jude throws up the front passenger seat door, tossing her backpack onto the ground with a hard thump. “fun first day?” dean asks, automatically scanning over her. no injuries, hair still in the loose waves from the fallen out braid, dress still in tact, shoes both still on—
“boring.” she sighs, climbing up into the seat with practiced ease. her eyes light up at the greasy bag in her seat. “for me?”
“who else, pretty girl? i don’t see anyone else around.” dean waits until she’s nice and buckled up before he takes the car out of park and starts to — slowly — leave the school zone.
jude already has her fist shoved deeply into the bag, digging around. there’s half a box of fries left, half a burger — he got hungry, alright? it isn’t until her little fingers are shoving two fries in her mouth at once than dean asks it.
“any new updates from mommy?” hurts to say, hurts to think, but he can’t imagine being jude, potentially having a direct hotline to you on the other side, and not ever getting to see you. not knowing how great you were, besides the fact that you were her mommy.
jude shrugs her shoulders. “just a little one.”
dean’s fingers tap idly on the steering wheel. “and? what was it?”
jude’s chewing with her mouth open, half bitten fries hanging out of her hand. “she said, ‘always.’ but i dunno what the heck mommy was talking about.”
dean knew. and maybe the sun was a little brighter now, and maybe the clouds looked a little bit more like you.
teenager.
“hey, jude,” dean sighs, a frown already tugged deeply on his lips at the sight of his daughter standing on the stairs, still dressed in her pajamas.
she’d been sadder lately. wouldn’t talk. wouldn’t open up. he’d pushed a little too hard, and now he was suffering the tail end of the silent treatment. tail end because he was certain that she was going to talk to him, now. even if it wasn’t to let him inside that angsty head of hers.
jude had her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes full of a deep disappointment that no girl her age should know about, let alone replicate. “dad.”
see? he knew she would talk. it was… a very poor start, but a start nonetheless.
“m’sorry that i asked about…” he made a broad, vague gesture with his hand. “you know.”
“about my abilities, or about mom?” she snaps back, her eyebrows raising. one of her arms unwind from herself and the hand leans on the stairs’ railing. “because i have a feeling that you’re only sorry for one thing.”
damn it. dean has to close his eyes and count to ten. he’s had to do this a lot, recently. teenagers were not for the faint of heart, and jude was as sassy as they came, just like you’d been.
god, she looked so much like you. it was more evident now than anything, as she approached the age that you were when you…
“jude,” he starts, his hand moving to his face, scrubbing at it. his face is scruffier than usual, not in the mood to clean it up when his little girl was seething and hurting in the other room. who could do that? who could go about their routine while their daughter suffered? “you know i don’t use you to hear from her, right? you know that?”
jude bristles. another wrong thing to say. he wants to be frustrated, but wasn’t he just like this as a teenager too? expecting everyone to know what he was thinking and what he wanted? “well, you never ask about the others.”
“the others?”
“the others,” she echoes again, like he’s the stupidest guy that’s ever walked this planet. “you never ask about grandma—”
“don’t wanna know about grandma,” he says instantly.
her eyes roll. “don’t ask about grandpa, either.”
“especially don’t wanna know about him.” dean’s figured out, in his own way, at his own pace, that his father’s treatment toward him wasn’t kind. all of the expectations placed on him were not normal, and were entirely neglectful as they were harsh.
it took having his own kid to figure that out, sure, but he did. it should count for something.
“why are you talking to grandma and grandpa, anyways?”
“because they’re telling me things!” she shouts, her lip starting to wobble. dean didn’t mean to break through to her like this, but he did, and he’s thankful, in a way, for the progress. “they’re saying—”
dean waits. he knows better than to approach without warning, has learned just how mean a teenage girl can get if you try and comfort her in the ways that she liked as a kid. he also knows that asking will only push her away. that’s how they’d gotten here, after all.
“they keep saying something bad is going to happen.”
dean blinks in alarm. “what?” he takes a step forward anyways, and he can’t help but reach out now. his hand closes around her wrist lightly, waiting for her to pull back. she doesn’t. that’s how dean knows that she’s serious, that she’s afraid. “what are they saying, princess?”
her free hand lifts to wipe at her eyes, the irises that match his own locking and holding his stare. he can almost see the little girl in them, again; the one that was so curious, had so many questions, that looked at him like he held them in his palms.
“grandma says she’ll be here for me,” she whimpers, shaking her head, “grandpa says to stay strong. mom says…”
dean holds his breath. as much as he hates jude thinking that he uses her to hear from you, each update on what you say sticks in his mind until the next comes. he’s selfish, selfish, selfish.
“mama says she’s so, so sorry.”
dean is floored. it’s all so vague, all of the messages that come through the veil and into jude’s heart are always so vague, like the energy it takes to reach her is too much, and so they try to condense it down, but it’s an unintelligible mess.
he can only think that that means something is going to happen to him. if the ghosts of his past are comforting her, that means that something godawful is in the plans for him.
he tries to keep up a strong appearance, but the thought of abandoning jude, his little girl, makes him want to be sick.
“that’s just ghost speak,” he tries to say lightheartedly, his thumb gently tracing circles on her inner wrist, trying to soothe her worries about his impending death. god, this was the worst update of them yet. he’d thought hearing your promise to watch over her always was hard, but this… “you know how they are. vague, unhelpful, stirrin’ the pot from the other side because they're bored…”
“mama’s never done that to me.” jude is starting to close off now. how come all of his worst traits made it into her, mixed in with all of your best traits? every time he’d come to terms with the fact that the only thing jude got of his was his eyes, something else peeked out, rearing its ugly head.
stubborn. hot-headed. reserved.
he couldn’t bear to see it all reflected back at him in her identical eyes.
dean doesn’t want her to keep pulling away, disappearing into her mind, a mind so much older than it needed to be. jude was only sixteen. there was no reason for her to bear all of this, to wear it so blatantly on her face.
“it’s little glimpses into the future,” he says instead of reassurances that don’t land, “right? you hear them speak to you when they can manage it, and it coincides with the—”
“visions,” jude fills in, nodding. every time sammy came over, they talked about this shared connection they had. it makes dean a little more angry than it should, that sam had this one-up on him, when it came to connecting with his impossibly-reserved daughter. “the visions.”
dean nods along with her, letting go of her wrist finally. “so what was the vision this time?”
dean’s phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. he doesn’t answer it. sam usually calls a few times after dean’s initial lack of response, and he either picks up if he’s freed before the routine comes to a close, or he just calls back when he can. right now, he wasn’t abandoning his daughter for anything.
the phone stops ringing. jude must have been waiting for it to, before she spoke, because her words are firm and confident. “you were there.”
dean closes his eyes. he expected this, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt still.
“you were there, and you had blood all over you—” her lip is trembling again. his phone is ringing again. “and you were screaming, your voice was nearly gone…”
his mind cuts back to his time in hell, when all he could do was scream as he was tortured relentlessly. every piece added up.
his phone stops for a few seconds, starts up again. dean pulls it out of his pocket to turn it off. “that it?”
jude’s eyes snap back into focus. “that’s it.”
he’s devastated. all sixteen years of jude’s life, he wished that you were here alongside him. now, more than anything, he wished it too. he’d be abandoning your daughter. leaving her to face the real world alone, by herself. he could have handled it — at least better than now — if he knew he’d be leaving jude with you, but—
“we’ll figure it out, okay?” he says softly, and when he pulls jude into his arms, she doesn’t pull away. she buries her face into his chest like she used to when she was smaller, less broken on the inside.
he wished you were here, too, with your ability to stop time. keep him and you and jude in this moment forever, before he was taken away from her.
young adult.
“hey, hey, jude,” dean’s voice trembles, shock and adrenaline at war in his veins. he’d never moved so fast in his life, catching her before she could tumble to the ground.
her body folds on itself anyways, blood staining her chin, pooled in the corners of her lips. her mouth opens and closes, and no words come out, only the sound of gurgles as her throat fills with blood.
her chest is so red that it’s black, shining under the moonlight. there, beneath her shirt, was a gunshot wound, fabric torn open where the collision happened.
this wasn’t supposed to happen. this wasn’t supposed to happen. jude asked for anything, and he gave it to her, even when she was twenty-one now, and a lot of parents would take that as meaning it was time for her to find her own footing.
how could she without trying the things that she wanted? she knew about how he used to hunt. was desperate to see what it was like, just once, at least, before he was stolen away. five years later, he was still kicking strong, and he thought — he thought it would be okay. just a lone vampire on the outskirts of kansas.
the drive had been fun. easy. he let jude drive baby a little, let her pick the music for once, and somehow fell asleep to the lullaby that was metallica. being raised by him had embedded itself into her nature, it seemed.
he didn’t anticipate that he was, maybe, out of practice. maybe a bit too old for this. it was no wonder that his dad was gone for long periods of time on hunts because it took a while to get things right, when your body was slowing and your defenses were weakening.
he hadn’t seen the gun. he hadn’t seen the gun. he—
“jude?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. “jude, baby, c’mon, open your eyes—”
“dad?” her voice is barely even a breath, wet and thick and faint. “dad, what’s… what’s happening?” jude’s mouth is opening and closing again. she coughs, and blood splatters onto his shirt, onto the wetness seeping through hers. “i don’t feel good.” her grip on his hand is loosening. his tightens.
dean’s phone rings in his pocket. sam. has to be sam. no one else ever calls him but sam, anymore, and jude. but jude was here bleeding out. sam, sam, sam, if he could spare a few seconds to answer it—
but his eyes dart away and in that moment, jude’s eyes start to roll back into her head, and he panics. he pulls her tighter to his chest with one arm, letting go of her hand to fumble for his phone. it stops ringing.
“just keep talking, baby girl, c’mon,” he mumbles, and he wants to shake her, he wants to force her eyes open, to force every bit of his life force into her. it was on a time limit anyways, right?
his heart stops. his phone starts ringing again, or maybe it’s just his ears.
grandma says she’ll be here for me.
grandpa says stay strong.
mama says—
dean feels his stomach lurch, his throat full of bile and tight with the growing lump in it. it was never him that was going to die. it was never him.
it took five years for her fate to reach her. fate was so fucking fickle like that; turning your brain into a worried muddle of mess all the while knowing and withholding the exact things that worried you.
he looks down at himself, and he’s covered in blood. and he knows exactly when he’ll start screaming to the point of losing his voice.
“dad, it’s so cold,” jude says through a small sob, tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. “it’s so—”
dean isn’t going to tell her, that she saw her own death five years prior. that this was the moment they’d been dreading, but reversed. tears pool in his eyes and spill over like waterfalls, turning the blood on her face watery and pink.
“it’s okay,” he promises, his voice shaking, tremoring. “it’s okay, baby girl.”
it wasn’t okay. but he’d been keeping secrets and sparing her from the truth for years now, when he could. maybe she’d forgive him for it. but he was not strong enough to let her feel bad for his mistakes this time.
“i’m sorry,” she chokes out, another coughing fit bursting from her blood-slickened mouth. “i’m s’sorry—”
“nothing to apologize for, pretty princess,” he says, and his voice strains through his throat like it’s being cut by shards of glass. “you have always, always been the perfect little girl. even now, look at you. trying to apologize to me, when—”
dean doesn’t finish. his lips pull into a forced, small smile. “do you remember when you were a little girl?”
jude doesn’t react. doesn’t move. each moment between her chest rising and falling is growing longer. “you’d be scared of the shadows in your closet, or of the voices you heard that i didn’t,” he explains anyways, each breath of his own trembling, “and you’d make me sing to you. remember? like my mama — like grandma used to, with me.”
her lips quirk ever so slightly, her eyes distant, foggy. “hey, jude.”
he nods. his grip on her gets tighter, like he can hug the life back into her. but dean can’t. he’s not the son with the abilities, or the dad with the magic or the answers, or you, who could stop time in this moment and call someone while the clock stayed still. he’s just dean, and he’s losing the last piece of you he had left, and the pieces of his daughter that he loved so, so much.
“i don’t want you scared right now,” he whispers, moving her carefully in his arms to cradle her. he used to wish that she’d stop growing, would always stay small enough to fit in his arms. it feels like a sick joke now. “so if you want me to sing, i’ll sing.”
“okay,” jude says, and her eyes lock onto his for a brief second, before they start to fade again.
the words fall from his mouth in shuddering, shaky gasps, his eyes locked on jude’s. jude’s, that are open and unmoving. jude’s, that have always matched his, the one thing that she got from him.
his voice is raw, echoing in the abandoned den, screaming so loud that it would have woke the dead up, if it worked that way. but it didn’t, because jude didn’t move, and the world was silent and buzzing in his ears, or maybe it was his phone ringing again, again, again, and the only thing that played in his head was the song that used to comfort him.
hey jude, don't make it bad. take a sad song and make it better. remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.
tags, @depressionbarbie2023 @jasvtsc @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas @cosmicanakin
@beausling @whyyouegg @ostaramoon @ultravi0lence14 @bombarda-babe
i fr don't know who esle to tag the more ppl i tag the more i will have to say sorry to
˚ · .˚ ༘ void,
summary. seeing you after so many years is harder than dean had ever expected.
pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angst
wordcount. 792
The Impala rumbles softly, the low growl of the engine almost soothing against the tense silence inside. Dean grips the wheel tightly, his knuckles white against the leather, his jaw clenched. Sam sits in the passenger seat, flipping through the case file with a furrowed brow, oblivious to his brother’s quiet turmoil.
The brothers are heading into a small, sleepy town, the kind Dean swears is the perfect breeding ground for monsters. The sheriff called in a favor, and they agreed to take the hunt. It was supposed to be straightforward—check out the bodies, track the thing, kill it. Dean didn’t expect ghosts from his past to come creeping in.
But that’s exactly what happens when you stop by the local diner.
Dean’s the first to spot you, sitting by the window. At first, he thinks his mind’s playing tricks on him. But then you laugh, and it hits him like a freight train. You look older, sure, but you’re still you—your smile just as bright, your eyes just as full of life.
And you’re not alone.
There’s a man across from you, his hand resting on yours as you talk. A little girl, no older than six or seven, sits between you, giggling as she tugs on your sleeve to get your attention. You lean down to kiss her forehead, your hand brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Dean’s heart twists painfully in his chest.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice snaps him out of his daze. “You okay?”
Dean doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are glued to the scene in the diner, the way you look so… settled. So happy.
“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice rough. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
Sam follows his gaze and frowns, glancing back at Dean. “Do you want to—”
“No,” Dean cuts him off, shaking his head. “Let’s just… let’s just get to work.”
But it’s too late. You’ve spotted him, and your eyes widen in recognition. You excuse yourself from the table, walking toward the door, and before Dean can think of an escape plan, you’re standing in front of him.
“Dean Winchester,” you say, your voice warm and familiar. “Of all the places…”
He forces a smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hey, sweetheart. Long time, no see.”
You laugh softly, the sound tugging at something deep inside him. “It’s been, what, ten years?”
“Something like that,” he replies, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.
Your eyes soften as you study him, like you’re trying to piece together the years that have passed. “You look good, Dean.”
“You too,” he says, and he means it. You look more than good—you look radiant. But he doesn’t say that.
You glance back at the table, where your husband is watching curiously. “I should get back. But… it’s good to see you. Really.”
Dean nods, his throat tight. “Yeah. You too.”
As you walk away, he feels like the air’s been knocked out of him. Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dean can feel his brother’s eyes on him.
“She looks happy,” Sam says quietly once you’re out of earshot.
Dean swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. She does.”
He doesn’t add that it hurts like hell, that seeing you with a family—a life he’ll never have—feels like a knife twisting in his chest.
Later, after the case is done and you’re just a memory in the rearview mirror, Dean pulls over on the side of the road, claiming he needs a minute. Sam doesn’t argue; he just waits in the car while Dean steps out into the cool night air.
Dean leans against the Impala, staring up at the stars. His hands are trembling, and he clenches them into fists, trying to steady himself.
For years, he’s carried the weight of what could’ve been. With Lisa, with you, with anyone who might’ve made him feel like he wasn’t just a soldier in this endless war. But it never works out. It’s always the job, always the life, always the damn apocalypse getting in the way.
And now, seeing you happy—truly happy—makes him wonder if he ever had a chance at that kind of peace.
When Sam joins him, neither of them speaks for a while. The silence stretches between them, heavy but comfortable, until Sam finally says, “You okay?”
Dean doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t push, because they both know it’s a lie.
As they get back in the car and drive off into the night, Dean can’t help but glance at the passenger seat, where you used to sit so many years ago, laughing and teasing him about his music choices.
It’s just a memory now, but it still lingers, bittersweet and aching.
want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos
bonnie!reader & clyde!dean - the name of the game, baby!
includes, crime :( but for the good of the people! the sexual tension is high but nothing ever gets done ab it sorry for the edging pt 2 soon tho
★ ˚⋆
times were tough these days. dean hadn't known a moment of peace from the very moment he decided that hunting wasn't doing shit for sustaining him, and, well... when he met you.
he'd made up his mind already that hunting was a deadend for him. as much as it killed him to think, it was. how could you keep up a job that didn't pay you, and expect to stay afloat? he wasn't.
it started with dining and dashing when he could, scrounging together the scraps of change and loose bills in his pockets for better things than something like a meal that he had to have or he'd die. putting money directly into corporate pockets when he'd then be out of a bed for the night was not something that he ever wanted to do.
until he met you. by chance, and by the threads of fate, you wound yourself around his heart and never let go.
he was finishing up the handful of fries on his plate, eyes drifting around the room as the waitresses moved to-and-fro. they hadn't stopped by him in a while, so he figured that he was either safe, or about to get approached and interrogated about another round of beer.
he'd take one, sure, but it'd be added to a tab he wasn't going to pay, so it was in their best interest to keep their noses out of his business.
one of the women catches his eye anyways, and she's making her way over with a noticeable sway of her hips and a swish to her long blonde hair, when-
the bell over the entrance door rings as the glass bursts open. in stumbles you, buttoning up the white blouse you wore without even looking up from it, loose and disheveled hair swaying in the burst of air your entrance caused.
you were beautiful, even in your mess, and even when your mouth opened to beg for forgiveness to a man behind the counter. "sorry! my car is shit, it wouldn't start, and-"
"louise has been covering your ass for thirty extra minutes," the man interrupts, his face stoic and unbreakable. "unpaid. don't apologize to me on your lack of punctuality, apologize to louise."
dean watches the whole exchange from his red-cushioned booth by the window, each second making his eyes narrow further. great. now he was getting a heart about stealing from this joint, just because of the way he now knew you girls were treated here. probably would have to cover his tab yourselves.
he sighs. they can't all be winners.
you're making your way over to him, and at first, with his fry smothered in a slurry of ketchup, he thinks you must be the prettiest girl he's ever seen, and here he is, shoveling down fries like a starved man.
fry drops back onto the plate. the waitress who'd been on her way over to dean is halted by your worried little mouth running all over again. "louise-"
"fuck him. i don't mind a second of it." louise pats your forearm with her hand. "it's not even been busy. he's just a dick. this one's my last."
her free hand lifts to gesture at dean, and he again feels a flush of awareness when louise turns to him, and then follows you. your eyes nearly freeze him on the spot. big and bright. christ.
"no, it's okay, i've got him," you say, and the smile you give to him and then to her does freeze him, ice cold and solid in this shoddy little booth. "you just head on home, alright?"
dean at least tries to look like he hadn't been eavesdropping. drops his head again, picks up that discarded fry from his plate.
"hi, sorry about that," you say around a frazzled sigh when you approach his table, and he can't help but bristle at how many apologies he's heard you utter in the last five minutes, all of them unnecessary. "anything i can getcha?"
he actually cannot stop looking at you. you missed a button three down from your collar, the shirt a bit crooked because of the slip. your nimble hands were in the process of tying your hair up and out of your face, flyaways dancing in the fluorescents of the diner like strands of glitter.
no, he wasn't planning on getting anything else. had cemented that idea the moment he decided he couldn't just steal from this place.
but the thought of asking for the check after only getting a few moments with you... wasn't going to fly for him.
dean lifts the empty glass bottle from the edge of his table. "just another one of these, sugar."
your lips curl something wicked, and he doesn't know why, but he knows that he feels like a teenage boy again, with the way his heart flutters at the sight. "that it?"
"yeah, that's it," and you really are a little minx, not as innocent as the act you give to your boss and your coworkers, because he can almost see the fire brewing behind your eyes, "why, you got somethin' else you wanna give me?"
that usually gets him a flush, bright pink warmth on the faces of the waitresses he says it too. you, though, only seem to brighten at the question. fire stoked. "a piece of my mind, maybe."
"alright, so sit that pretty ass down and give it to me."
you seem taken aback by it for a second, your entire face warming to such a pretty pink. your eyes flit back to the kitchen, and then to the open space in the booth across from him, and slowly, you sink down into it.
"hit me, sugar," dean says, leaning back against the ruby red cushions, "give me a little piece of that mind."
"you were gonna steal, weren't you?" you say, so fast and quick that he's taken aback this time. "when lou was leavin'. you were bankin' on her back being turned."
dean resists the urge to whistle under his breath. what an odd little talent that is, catching crimes before they happen. "nah."
"'nah'," you mimic, and his eyebrows shoot up on his forehead, "i know your type. thinkin' you're some kind of robin hood, skippin' the dollar on big brother."
"i'm not going to, sugar," he insists, more firmly this time, feeling a little on edge by your blasé attitude. he'd expect someone so accurate in their assessments to already have him by the ear, leading him into the hands of the guys with cuffs. "can't make you pay for food you didn't eat, can i?"
"i can afford a beer and a plate of fries, babe," you shoot right back at him, a sickly sweet smile on those pretty pink lips of yours. "i can't afford to sit here and waste my time cracking jokes with a joke."
dean does whistle this time, a scoff of laughter falling from his mouth. "y'think i'm a joke, huh?"
"i think anyone who claims they're doing things to damn the man is." your arms fold over your chest, the blouse bunching up beneath your breasts and pushing them up just enough-- "hey. eyes up here." fuck. "that's exactly what i'm sayin'. all damn the man but you're still a tool."
"that mean you wanna use me?"
this little back and forth was the most fun dean had had in weeks. months, even, if he discredited the cheap nights with easy girls in dirty motel rooms.
"no," you stumble the words out, spluttering them out like they burn your tongue. "i don't even know your name."
"dean."
your eyes linger on his for a few moments longer, like you're trying to assess if this is another one of his lies. you must like what you see reflected back, though, because you smile, slow and languid. "dean."
the silence that follows is short-lived and buzzing. then, your lips part again. "were you really going to dine and dash?" a test. you don't sound mad, or like you're interested in turning him in at all.
his shoulders lift in a slight shrug. "that's just the name of the game, baby." he leans forward with his elbows resting on the rickety table between the two of you. "damn the man, right?"
one second passes, then two, and then you're snatching a fry from the plate in between you, dipping it in the pool of ketchup on the edge of his plate. "there are much more fun ways to damn the man."
notes, WEEEEEE i was gonna do fallen angel!dean first but something ab these two were STUCK in my head hope u dont mind
tags, @jasvtsc @depressionbarbie2023 @figthoughts @titsout4nicholas
(if u wanna be added to this btw / u are supposed to be and i keep forgetting pls know it's not a vendetta i am just a silly lil lady who doesn't know what she's doing ok)
request: we need moreee being lee byung-hun’s controversially young girlfriend🥹🤍
a/n: I’m working through all the request rn!! So if I haven’t posted your request, don’t worry it’s on the way
being lee buying-hun’s controversially young girlfriend
─────────౨ৎ──────────
yourusername
liked by byunghun0712 and others
yourusername a cozy day with my love <3
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user2 I love their relationship
randomuser @/user2 he’s as old as her dad dude
user2 @/randomuser the older the better
leebyunghun4ever god I wish I had him
yourfriendsuser you guys are so cute
liked by author
usee14 that should be me
squidgamefandom I love them together and I hate it
yourusername
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yourusername little night out
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yourfriendsuser this is who ur replacing me for? ☹️
yourusername @/yourfriendsuser im sorryyy
ynfannnn when are we gonna date
leebyunghunsabs I came
user55 @/leebyunghunsabs WHAT
leebyunghunswifey I NEED MORE PICTURES OF MY MAN
ynswifey forget him. Date me
byunghun0712
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byunghun0712 Jackson hole, Wyoming
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yourusername where you trying to share the location?
byunghun0712 @/yourusername yes
yourusername @/byunghun0712 click add location next time
yourbestfriendsuser the view is so pretty!! (@/yourusername you’re the view)
byunghunandyn best. couple. ever
sadlife ONE CHANCE PLEASE
girlblogger couple goals. travelling with your hot ass man
byunghun0712 45m
yourusername
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yourusername working through my finals thanks to the best boyfriend ever 💕
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user59 shes smart and she has a hot bf? life isn’t fair
ynswifey my wife is smart
leebyunghunswife HES SUCH A DILF
ynfanpage where are my clothes
leebyunghunswifey @/ynfanpage I swear I just had them on
dilflover FLASH US
lickingleebyunghun and the crowd is…naked??
byunghunwifey4real I could treat him so much better
─────────౨ৎ──────────
‘TILL THE END
hwang in-ho x wife!reader
you played the games before your husband played in 2015. the money you won was enough to convince your husband to play and stay as the frontman. but not without you by his side.
─────౨ৎ─────
faking your death isn’t as hard as it seems to be. is just as easy as a disappearance
you had been missing for a while. everyone had been worried. your parents,your siblings, and especially your husband. the moment he saw you, he felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
then the questions started, "where have you been? do you even know how worried I was? ". which you could only answer by showing him the fruit of your success. the 45.6 billion won in your bank account made him go completely silent from his long rant.
although he didn’t seem to believe the place you were describing, which was quite understandable, you knew exactly what would.
"join the games", you had whispered to him in between kisses. "I’ll help you find the salesman. but please. just join the games." and so he did exactly what his wife told him to do.
that is when the opportunity of becoming the frontman was offered to him.
leaving your old life behind was part of the contract. his old life, meaning you and everyone he’s ever loved, they had told him. he had immediately refused. if you weren’t allowed to join him, he would never step foot on that island again.
to you, this had been the best decision you had ever made as a couple. you were ready to spend the rest of your life beside him. helping him control the games, the players,but especially having your own little family grow up on that island
─────౨ৎ─────
a/n: its almost midnight and i cant go to sleep . so this is what i do instead. btw this is not proof read so if there’s any mistakes let me know!!
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